chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which friendships are built
From the journals of Ranger Nina "Farsight" Stills
I remember when life made sense. It was still shitty, brutish, and short, but it made sense. You work every day for food and water. Raiders and mutants come to kill everyone from time to time, and you fight them off as best you can.
Now? Now I have no idea.
On the positive side of the ledger, I now have a gauss rifle. Brotherhood built, with some inspiration from old design sketches, it's the best gun I've ever seen. Almost no drop, amazing range, and it actually hurts the robots we're up against. Babs got the final draft version of the Pulse rifle prototype we recovered, which doesn't go on the fritz right when you need it most, and everyone got enough ammunition to work with. I guess there's less demand among the upper ranks these days, with most of them being dead.
...Most of us, now. I've had people look at me with awe around camp. As I said, life doesn't make sense any more. And Milo's still keeping secrets from the brass, even when he is the brass.
Babs asked Shaav and me to come take a look at something she and Milo had been working on. Rage and Ice were on temporary patrol, part of the elaborate network of favors and obligations our CO has been running since I met him.
It seems more habit now than anything. Pretending things are still normal.
What we saw... wasn't.
Milo spoke while Shaav and I couldn't.
"Say hello to HR 1205. If all goes well, we will be working with him."
And then the robot spoke up in a voice a bit like Barnaky's run through three half broken radios.
"It's a pleasure to meet such patriotic members of the glorious United States Armed Forces in these dark times!"
Followed by turning to look at Shaav
"Except possibly the long hair. Looks like a hippy and a draft dodger! Tools for the Communist in their attempts to destroy America!"
"Ah, that's Shaav. He's taken the position of our medical officer."
"One of those MASH types, then. Never trusted them. Doctors with their pansy non-violence oaths and their wacky hijinks, they can't be trusted. Still, you meatbags need them."
"Shaav good doctor. Volunteer!"
"I assure you, Shaav is as committed as any of us to the defense of this great nation."
"If you say so, General."
Then the robot turned to Shaav
"Keeping an eye on you, hippy."
It stomped off. Shaav followed.
"Shaav good citizen! Have patriotism certificate!"
I turned to Milo and stared.
"Now, I assume you have a number of questions that need answering, Stills. Harris and I will answer as best we can, but some should be cut off at the gate. Yes, we know what we're doing, and yes, I will be expecting you, as an accepted outside expert, to not say we are entirely psychotic in front of Dekker and the other generals. This is the sort of thing that could get us all in trouble if it goes wrong."
Well, the "Are you out of your mind" was covered, at least. I went with a less obvious avenue.
"Why isn't it shooting us?"
Babs nodded.
"Ah reckon that's mine to field. Y'see, them robots were built to do two things. Kill off commies, and deal with us unfortunate folks who soaked down a rad or two somewhere along the way. Now, if'n we could take the scraps of one of them, and turn off the old bits about mutants, then we'd just have to go and prove we ain't commies."
Well, for all his other faults, I'm pretty sure the General isn't a socialist.
Milo nodded.
"And, well, we are with the United States Army."
My skepticism must have showed then, because he went into the rest of the speech with even more energy than usual
"One of the few good things about the great war? No-one was able to officially acknowledge Roger Maxon's, shall we say, resignation. Officially, he was still acting as the ranking officer, and after the war, with everyone above him dead, the Brotherhood of Steel is the last officially sanctioned military group. And, as our division was sent on a mission rather than officially exiled, we continue to exercise the relevant authority. Meanwhile, the Calculator is discouraging private enterprise, taking government control of the means of production, and generally behaving in a red fashion."
He leaned back a little.
"Always a deal somewhere, if you pay attention."
There was only one thing left to say, and like an idiot I said it.
"Please tell me this was the only reason you and Babs have been so chipper lately."
He nodded. It was a nod and I will remember it that way no matter what my subconscious insists.
"We'll need you later for a high level strategy meeting. Dekker will want your input. I can request, but not order a positive response, but I like to think I respect you too much for that. Do as you feel best."
"I will."
And I went back to the firing range. Some idiot bet he could take me. Still the unquestioned champion, $500 richer, I went to the special council.
Milo gave the same speech as earlier, with adjustments for the audience. One of the Generals, (Slim, I think) kept asking technical questions I couldn't understand, another kept twitching like he had a little much afterburn, and Dekker nodded appreciatively. It seemed I wouldn't have to speak for Milo at all. And the robot was just saluting. Perfect.
Then Clarise spoke up.
Apparently, before Milo started fieldwork, she was the wunderkind, some Paladin's daughter who managed to get promotions in record time. Solid record against mutants and raiders, model Knight, model Paladin, model General.
And, unfortunately, the first person to find out John Milo was conning the Brotherhood. She apparently hadn't warmed to him since.
"So, how much are they paying you?"
Milo looked innocently shocked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You've survived impossible missions too often. You're constantly recovering new, valuable equipment. And now we have a robot walking around finding out everything. You traitorous little..."
HR-1205 almost jumped on the table.
"GENERAL DEKKER, I FEAR ONE OF YOUR ADVISORS MAY BE A COMMUNIST!"
Clarise stared.
"What?"
"SHE IS DOUBTING THE VALUE OF AMERICAN SMALL BUSINESS! COMMIE TALK!"
Dekker just sighed and buried his face in his hands.
"Ranger Stills, please give your expert opinion."
"The robot doesn't seem to be a threat at present. The armor is modified to be more resistant to all known weapons, that could be an issue, but..."
I tried to remember what dad said about robots. No sense in ruining my prestige the first time out with something stupid.
"Rangers managed to use some robots when they dealt with a similar outbreak a few decades back. Tool or a hazard, depending on their user, same as any technology. Asshole or saint, depending on their own decisions if they're sapient, same as anyone else."
"I'll take it under advisement."
The generals went back to discuss things further and I was left with the robot.
"Democracy is non-negotiable."
"Sure. Fine."
Milo came back out with the news after some time. We have another mission, details classified. Rage and Ice won't be back in time, so we're testing the robot.
And lucky us, General Clarise will be watching to make sure it's "functional", and to watch Milo like a hawk.
Location tracker: Offline. Unit impossible to trace
Internal feedback: Available. Playing back
"Commanding officer is an alright Joe. Still, suspect communism from supposed "General" Clarise, hippyism from medical officer. No good can come of it! Talked with seconded ranger, second in command about suspicions. Vouched for medical officer's credentials. Ranger seems patriotic in the classic run down Willy and Joe model. Not ideal, but acceptable. Second in command is also alright Joe. Will not attempt to engage McCarthy Evaluation on medical officer at her recommendation."
"Found crashed Soviet spacecraft. Suspected dirty reds of doing something along these lines. Broken, a sign of FLAWED SOVIET ENGINEERING. I myself am a product of ROBUST AMERICAN ENGINEERING, and would never experience catastrophic failure in such circumstances. Medical officer claims to have a degree in engineering. Must be from one of those foreign correspondence schools. Not real American study like "Paladin" (must be classified rank before the war) Harris.
Marked location for later study and recovery. Reds might have stolen AMERICAN secrets for use in satellite, which would make it more useful."
"Found small business. Example of American enterprise, sticktoitiveness. Purchased local patent medicine to encourage."
"More small business. The spirit of America lives on! Found last remaining Nuka-Cola distributor, apparently family business. Told him he was doing his country proud.
Medical officer offered to take on some portion of duties. Nuka-Cola distributor questioned "What the fuck?" loudly. Medical officer responded with "Yes! Shaav is good Deathclaw!"
What kind of hippy doesn't know what "Fuck" means? Civilian behavior. Still, legally ranking officer. Treat with respect until proof of communism can be found.
"Saw robot cow. Odd."
"Ran into a veritable gathering of communist Canadians. Two of the greatest dangers to the American way of life at once.
Retraction: Canadians are not all the enemy. Little America has long been a valuable resource for its superior, providing a number of resources and suchlike. Unfortunately, a few bad (COMMUNIST) apples resisted their proper position in the new order of things and made a mess of everything! These seemed like just that sort of troublemaker.
Still, the general insisted we allow Communism to destroy itself rather than waste precious ammunition, as they were already nearing a schism. The probable communist suggested we try to talk instead. Just like a red."
"Found invasion reenactment group. Patriotic to the end! The General insisted on participating. I refrained, as Humanoid models were not present at the time. Accuracy is important in these activities!"
"It went off without a hitch. Probable communist argued activity was waste of time. Medical officer argued in favor of the activity. Medical officer still distrusted, but probably not a full on Red. Possibly a dupe, like many long hairs and medical types. Engaged in historical discussion after! Most civilians agreed with my interpretations of historical events, with great enthusiasm."
"Met talking skull. Individual used unfamiliar, possibly unamerican terms like 'Berk' and 'Spiv'. Claimed to be working with a 'Nameless One'. Still, General vouched for him.
Skull disrespected United States Army, all present. Did not seem to approve of communism either, at least.
Approaching mission site. Should... ah, right. Still transmitting. Forgot that the receiver would be subverted by communism!"
Wait... wait... wait.... Morte is in fallout: brotherhood as a secret easter egg?
+1000 like points for this game!
Yup. He's apparently always the last random encounter you find. Well, Fallout Tactics: Brotherhood of Steel. We generally don't talk about Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel.
It doesn't have Morte in it. This is the least of its sins. (The greatest is no Ron Perlman narration. I mean, really.)
And I have a question for you fine people. Last mission is coming up, and you can't swap anyone out once you get started. So, that being said, who would you lot want to see for it?
Keep in mind we'll want someone with heavy weapon skills, for reasons that will soon be apparent.
Has HR met Rage yet? Cause I think those two would get along really well and should be partnered together as soon as possible. Shaav should come along too, cause everyone loves hippy doctors.
This is the best thing ever. Someone get Shaav another doctorate!
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chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which prices are paid.
HR 1205 mission log: Scott City
Another glorious day in this man's army! Although the siren song of Communism still compels my former allies from Vault Zero to act against the best interests of AMERICAN DEMOCRACY, we stay strong and vigilant!
We arrived in Scott City to liberate the oppressed citizens from their horrible gulag conditions, winning hearts and minds for America, baseball, and apple pie.
Unfortunately, the dirty ChiComs had deployed behemoth combat units. Superior American marksmanship and know how allowed us to get out of the way, but the gigantic enemy combatant pursued us.
Further, it summoned a number of light hover droids, swarming us with numbers. Just like a Red, to assume the collective masses would solve their problems when they were outmatched. It didn't work in Alaska and it didn't here!
Eventually, its head exploded. Clarise, the SUSPECTED COMMUNIST command was allowing to travel with us, said something about my loyalty being confirmed. AS IF IT WAS EVER IN DOUBT!
There were more of the reds everywhere, and we were constantly firing to hold them off. The dirty Maoists hadn't tried anything like this for more than a century, and we were back to back, firing into the unending hordes! Of course, the longhair slipped off then.
"Scouting". More like running away! The root of the hippie movement is, was, and always will be cowardice! He's lucky we need his so called medical expertise. Otherwise he'd be court-martialed.
We deactivated their security network and found numerous dead civilians. Communist tactics if I've ever seen them. They even removed the brain, probably to spread the grey matter equally.
It makes me sick.
They had jamming towers to keep us from contacting command, but they were communist designs and communist technology, no match for AMERICAN laser and plasma technology. Soon we had remote mapping to help us find the POWs captured by the traitors.
We ran into some minor setbacks, of course, but we prevailed.
Soon, we found the unfortunate civilians captured by the enemy. We began the liberation immediately.
Immediately after the important work, that is. More behemoths arrived shortly.
And I mean more! I've never seen so much oil spilling everywhere, never felt so alive! Still, good times must end, and when we were done with the inferior communist combat robots, we returned to the unpleasant duty of talking to the civvies.
One of them was a Supermutant. Not fond of them, but as they are here and can neither be killed nor driven away, the only American thing to do is to treat them strictly on their merits.
Which exceeded those of some of the humans. Apparently, he was from West of Vault Zero, showing the growth of the communist menace. Terrifying to contemplate. Apparently, there is an army division there as well. We will have to hope they practice American virtue as well.
There was also a ghoul present with information about a high ranking POW.
Apparently, they had used fiendish communist torture techniques. I wish I could be shocked.
Meanwhile, the mutant wished to meet some tribal warlord or other. Apparently, he had some association with our glorious unit.
Imagine my surprise when the longhair showed up.
"Shaav Gammorin."
"No. The Gammorin I knew was a human. A mighty warrior. A brilliant leader."
"Shaav know. Killed him. Ate liver. Honorable single combat."
"My... my liege. I will fight an army for you."
"Shaav fine. Just..."
"I will bathe in the blood of your enemies. It is the least I can do to honor the greatest warrior I have met."
"Shaav fine."
I never would have believed it. The hippy, some kind of general. LAX DISCIPLINE!
The mutant charged ahead, ready to die for his country.
And he did. It makes me proud to see the enthusiasm of today's freakish mutant to help his country in its hour of need. And dying for his country, well, it doesn't get better!
We rescued the rest of the surviving civilians and military personnel, and moved on. Just another day of work. There were bodies everywhere, apparently the product of communist experimentation. Shame.
There was nothing for it except violent retribution! Soon, I helped the rest of the squad mow down the rest of the metal communist horde.
We were battered.
Blasted.
And massively outnumbered.
But never outmatched! Even the suspected commie pulled her weight. I may have be premature in judgement there.
I had to deal with another behemoth on my own when we were pinned down. Fortunately, its cheap chinese bullets were useless against mighty American titanium.
Hooray for America. We crushed it and moved ahead.
Unfortunately, we ran into trouble with another behemoth. As we were nearly out of repair supplies, I provided flank protection.
I was powerless to help while my trusted allies risked death in my place.
They found the body of the lost Brotherhood officer. My tragedy subroutine was operating at maximum efficiency when I saw the damage to (presumably, I never met the man) one of our finest generals.
Just a little too late. Two days sooner, and we would have...
No sense dwelling on hypotheticals! Communists to kill!
We found one of the dastardly reds holding the chinese Gauss minigun. A weapon so powerful, it's hard to believe that it was designed by the cowardly mao-loving Confuciusian scumbags. If we'd been closer, we all could have died in one burst!
Fortunately, the ranger is an expert sniper, and neutralized the hostile.
It was a Fourth-of-July fireworks show.
With a Christmas prize at the end. With the minigun captured, resistance fell apart before us. We advanced towards the location of the other known captive with valuable intel.
He was severely injured, filled with improperly handled tubes, and looked uncomfortable. The medical officer examined him.
"Shaav, let's have the situation."
"...No can fix."
The Ranger exhaled slowly
"Fuck. Just..."
Then she handed the general a pistol with six bullets.
"I don't think it's right. I don't like it. But I can't see anything better, sir."
The general saluted the merchant and fired a single round.
Everyone else seemed depressed then. I tried to raise the unit morale by playing the Star Spangled Banner, but it seemed to have minimal effect, as did "America the Beautiful". Sad to see.
Another behemoth attacked us by the exit, but it didn't last long.
Then, we left.
It was a glorious victory for freedom and democracy, but no-one else in the squad seemed to appreciate it. The medical officer even seemed depressed!
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
INTERMISSION 5
From "The War of the Steel Plague: An initiate's Guide"
In the waning days of the war, the outcome looked certain, for reasons foreign to any modern citizen of the Midwestern Confederacy. The Brotherhood was not, as today, an unopposed power in the region. We were few, against many. Our normal technological advantage was at best a delicate equilibrium. Our training had never planned for this. The enemy was a plague and an abomination, an unstoppable wall of steel pressing against our forces.
To put it simply, we were losing. And if not for a last, desperate effort, it is very likely we would have lost.
Our scribes and scholars, using information recovered by field teams, discovered the central command for the robotic menace. Vault Zero was indeed the home of the Calculator's army. Built to cleanse the world after the atomic holocaust, only chance had spared non-baseline humanity until the time of the war. Plans were made and discarded as the casualty reports mounted. Assaulting the stronghold could fail, all our hopes could have been in vain, but the Brotherhood of Steel would die fighting.
The Calculator, as confirmed by the assault teams, was a cybernetic organism, a combination of human brains and synthetic circuitry built to restore the wastelands to fertility and pre-war America to "greatness". If a strike team could enter the complex, the calculator could, possibly, be destroyed as simply as any foe. Even if the attack failed to totally exterminate the robotic armies, the loss of coordination and the gains in technology would leave our forces with hope. Something sorely lacking in the later days of the war.
Seven of the best available assault squads were prepared for the attack. Dagger. Falcon. Lance. Smear. Shadow. Tusk. Magpie. They would breach the Calculator's defenses and attack Vault Zero itself. Magpie, under the command of General Milo, would form the tip of the spear, using a tactical nuclear device to breach the heavy vault doors. While they plunged into the unknown, General Dekker would command the remainder of the Brotherhood's elite squads in a diversionary attack, buying the assault team time. The Elders, medical officers, scribes, and the injured were pulled back to bunker Delta for the attack.
Early assessments considered fifty percent fatalities absurdly optimistic.
This would be the most important battle in our history. It would be decades before another threat to all life in the wastes would arrive, and that attempt would be killed in the cradle. All the dangers of the waste today are not signs of weakness or loss. They are a sign of victory. The Legion, the NCR, the Eastern Brotherhood. The mutant and the deathclaw. They all would have died stillborn if not for the Battle of Vault Zero.
And the last of the originals.
In the paranoid times leading up to the war, new Vaults were being constructed every day. The ancient's temples of war known as NORAD became the home for Vault 0, a storage place for the cryogenically frozen geniuses of the time. The Calculator was built to be a mixture of machine and man, a gestalt of mechanical switches and human brains linked through a cybernetic interface. Supposedly representing the idea society, these brains were to govern the higher functions of the Calculator, powering its neural network. The Calculator was designed to oversee the repopulation of the continent in the event of a war and educate the new humanity in the ways of the old world but first it was to sterilise the land making a fresh start for the soon to be emerging citizens of Neo-America.
For this task the Calculator had at its disposal an army of emergency pacification robots that were designed to survive the holocaust and surface from the ashes immediately after to begin their task, but a mechanical malfunction left the Calculator damaged. During the years since the bombs dropped mankind had defined its own ways in the darkness of the Post Apocalypse, only now is the Calculator activating it's robots and embarking on its mission of mass genocide. Because of hardwired programming it is unable to adapt to the world that has arisen while it slumbered. The Calculator will not listen to pleas or threats, it cannot be bargained with. It must be stopped.
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which the end does not arrive, but all involved can see it from here
From the Journals of Ranger Nina "Farsight" Stills
We're all going to die. Merry Christmas.
6 Behemoths last time out. Behemoths on the way back from the last mission. Every patrol west runs into a wall of steel.
We're going into the middle of it with an atomic bomb and detonating it. If we survive that, (Not likely) we're going into the hornet's nest and kicking it until we die or a miracle happens.
Miracles don't come cheap.
I managed to buy the last drink in the base yesterday. A last moment of almost-happiness before we die. I found a nice secluded spot, got out the bottle...
And suddenly saw Milo walking out of the brush.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes. We're going to die, and I like a little alcohol."
He awkwardly reached into a pack on his power armor.
"No... I meant..."
And pulled out a bottle of something.
"Maybe a better drink would be in order. In case you don't recognize it, it's real Champagne. The last one, as far as I know, in the world. I had a buyer, of course, but it seems you're right. Not much chance of surviving to collect. Might as well share it with a friend."
"Friend?"
He grinned.
"And since Paladin Harris doesn't like french wine, it had to be a subordinate instead."
I must have smiled a little, because he sat down and got a couple glasses.
"Runiart. Vintage 2075."
It fizzed like Nuka. Not much of a judge of wine, but it was good.
"I'll admit a selfish motive for this."
"You? Having an angle for something? I'm shocked."
"See, things like that are why I came to you with this. You don't let me get away with things as often as the average. No, not money, not prestige. Just need to get something off my chest. You remember why you joined the Brotherhood, I trust?"
It was easy enough to forget between the mutants, the robots, and giving the Deathclaw lectures on religious history so he could earn his "DD", whatever that was.
"I wanted to help people. The Brotherhood did that, and let me see more of the world than one small town."
"Honest and simple. I wish I could say the same. This will be a bit longwinded, but again, I need to tell someone."
"Fine."
"It all started when I was born. I did say it would be longwinded. I'm from a vault. 58. It was a fairly decent place to grow up. Non-standard, the overseer's chair was empty save some bloodstains, and the lowest level was sealed, occasionally unearthly moanings. But other than that, perfectly decent. I suppose whatever experiment it was built for ended a little early."
"Experiment?"
"Vaults were never meant to save anyone. It explains some details nicely about my childhood. Certain blocked out terminals, the security chief's stories of his grandfather killing the overseer and then himself, the barricades and sealed lower level. Of course, some people always want more, and I found a market. Formed a small syndicate, ran the black market. Unfortunately, I got sloppy, ruling council found out I was doing something illegal, if not what. I didn't rat, and there were enough people who liked me that it was officially a 'scouting mission' rather than exile. I promised not to reveal the location, kept my word so far, could never come back on pain of death, and was lucky enough to find a small town rather than raiders. Used what I had from the vault to get started, and moved into the brotherhood once I found the opportunity to expand. And you more or less know the rest."
"Drug trade, gun running, general assholery. I remember the trial transcript."
I paused for a second.
"And everything since. You've done some good."
"I try. That means a lot, thank you. Enjoy the rest of your wine."
I did.
Rage is back, and Ice is at Delta with a missing leg. Wish it was the other way around. Still, I know that when push comes to shove, I can trust him. Him, and everyone else in the squad.
We're going into uncertain danger. God preserve us from Hell.
One of the downsides of the LP format is that praise/conversation/review posts are interspersed with the actual content. Thus I always feel like I'm spamming when I say, for the 10th time, "Awesome LP, keep up the good work." I worry that I'm cluttering up the thread too much, detracting from the content.
But I just want to say, awesome LP, keep up the good work.
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chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
One of the downsides of the LP format is that praise/conversation/review posts are interspersed with the actual content. Thus I always feel like I'm spamming when I say, for the 10th time, "Awesome LP, keep up the good work." I worry that I'm cluttering up the thread too much, detracting from the content.
But I just want to say, awesome LP, keep up the good work.
Don't worry about it.
I am, like many writers, inherently needy, desperate for praise, and self doubting to the point where I assume a lack of comments is a glaring indictment, not just on that particular work, but everything I've ever done, stretching back to my infancy.
Well, I exaggerate, but feedback, even (especially, if it's honest and thought through) negative feedback is always appreciated.
This is awesome. Not just awesome, but fantastic. I regularly await your updates, because they're immensely enjoyable.
There are so many things that can go wrong with something like this. So far, you've done everything so incredibly right.
When I share something I've written, I desperately want people to slam it into the ground with their criticism, so that I can improve. Everyone is so polite though, so all they do is point out what I do well.
Which is even more embarrassing, since I'm a self-depreciating bastard and cringe when people compliment me.
This is awesome. Not just awesome, but fantastic. I regularly await your updates, because they're immensely enjoyable.
There are so many things that can go wrong with something like this. So far, you've done everything so incredibly right.
When I share something I've written, I desperately want people to slam it into the ground with their criticism, so that I can improve. Everyone is so polite though, so all they do is point out what I do well.
Which is even more embarrassing, since I'm a self-depreciating bastard and cringe when people compliment me.
I concur with Nerivant here. We can't reply every update with : "Love your work. Keep at it." since it'll be spam and reduce the quality of our opinions. Nevertheless. This is good Chiasaur11. Love the fact that you can do sevreal updates and make them great. Something I'll never be able to do.
Nerivant: I feel the same thing about everything I do as well. Whenever someone says "All-in-all good". I go "WHAT DOES ALL-IN-ALL MEAN?! Was the writing poor? Was the content repetative? Did I do any mistakes? WHAAAAAAAAATT?!" instead of: "Thanks".
This is awesome. Not just awesome, but fantastic. I regularly await your updates, because they're immensely enjoyable.
There are so many things that can go wrong with something like this. So far, you've done everything so incredibly right.
When I share something I've written, I desperately want people to slam it into the ground with their criticism, so that I can improve. Everyone is so polite though, so all they do is point out what I do well.
Which is even more embarrassing, since I'm a self-depreciating bastard and cringe when people compliment me.
I concur with Nerivant here. We can't reply every update with : "Love your work. Keep at it." since it'll be spam and reduce the quality of our opinions. Nevertheless. This is good Chiasaur11. Love the fact that you can do sevreal updates and make them great. Something I'll never be able to do.
Nerivant: I feel the same thing about everything I do as well. Whenever someone says "All-in-all good". I go "WHAT DOES ALL-IN-ALL MEAN?! Was the writing poor? Was the content repetative? Did I do any mistakes? WHAAAAAAAAATT?!" instead of: "Thanks".
I'm so awful about this at work. Doing commercial design and having a custom go "That looks alright" is the absolute worst thing. Depending on the customer "alright" can mean it's the best thing they've ever seen, or it could mean "You're completely redoing it if you expect to be paid."
Chia, this LP is far and away the former of those two options.
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which a letter goes homeward
Dear Mama:
It cold and dark here, and doesn't smell good but Shaav fine. Shaav helping.
We went to big mountain with the clanky yelly robot. Ice wasn't there, lost leg. Rage said Shaav could have fixed. Everyone but stupid robot say Shaav good doctor. Shaav know Mama proud.
Shaav drove car for Milo and Babs. Car had nu-clear explosive (That means really big bomb.). Babs fixed the truck when broken, while Shaav kept driving. We were going to blow up doors. Get into Vault. Milo said vaults clean and metal and not have much meat and smell like washing. Shaav not like vaults.
Found big shelter to run to when bomb goes off. Dumb shouty robot who doesn't like Shaav went in.
Dumb robot got shot lots. Babs fix dumb shouty robot, and Rage ran in. Rage had big M2 gun.
Rage also get shot lots, said Shaav good Deathclaw lots. Shaav fix and dumb robot stay behind to guard bunker. Shaav saw dumb robot put up desks.
Robot is dumb.
Other robots attack truck. Babs fixed as Shaav drove, but tracks fall off and truck nearly broke.
Drove more careful after that.
Example: Shaav not drive through mines.
Robots shot us instead. Milo and Babs shot them. Shaav focus on driving. Broodmother Farsight and Rage follow behind. Shoot more robots.
Found generators that let turrets shoot us. Throwed grenades, made them explode.
Made robot explode too. Lots of exploding.
Broodmother Farsight helped shoot robots when they were far away. Broodmother Farsight good Broodmother when away from home, but still miss Mama and family. Even dumb Shriek.
Saw hummers. Other squads not do as good as us, not have good driver like Shaav. Didn't see bodies. Shaav not like to think about. Saw bodies last time. Shaav... Shaav good doctor, but not good enough then. Do better soon? Want to do better next time. Hope isn't a next time.
Lots of barricades. Not good building, exploded.
Generators exploded. Lots of exploding. Shaav good at making things explode.
Saw back door into bunker. Made mental note.
Lots of robots shot at us. Everyone shoot back, and lots of yelling.
Then big robots attacked. Shaav know Mama and Shaav's brothers not seen the big robots, so Shaav describe.
It is big and shooty and stompy and metal.
Also, it doesn't like EMP. Shaav helped blow it up.
Rage got shot lots by turret and shot generator so turret exploded and we drove up to door. Shaav volunteer to set bomb while everyone else ran to shelter. Shaav has been smarter before.
Shaav ran very fast. Shaav fastest of everybody.
Shaav fast enough. Hid in bunker. It cold and hurt Shaav's feet and dumb shouty robot says everyone hide under desk.
Dark.
Bright now!
...Dark. Shaav tired and hungry and have to go.
May not get back. Love Mama lots. If not get back, Krldraav can have stuff. Krldraav good brother. Not his fault.
If you ever need a man who'll drive you around, help you in a fistfight, throw explosives at your enemies and get you up when no other man can.... Shaav is your man.
Shaav for 2012 presidential election - Shaav good president.
If you ever need a man who'll drive you around, help you in a fistfight, throw explosives at your enemies and get you up when no other man can.... Shaav is your man.
Shaav for 2012 presidential election - Shaav good president.
And when congress stalls out, gripping tightly to partisan lines and refusing to budge an inch despite the country sliding into ruin around them, you can count on Vice President Rage to come in and kick some ass.
Though maybe President Shaav would be more hands on, and just kill and eat them himself.
All proposals would have to be carried to within twelve feet of the President. (Fun fact: Deathclaws can lunge up to 15 feet, but we don't want the President to get tired, do we?)
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which the war is not over, the dream is not over, and the world is not ending, but all of the above are coming too close for comfort
From the journals of Ranger Nina "Farsight" Stills, Brotherhood of Steel
Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Also? Fuck.
We're it now. Even if anyone, scratch that, even if everyone else is alive, we're cut off, and the calculator sealed the elevators 30 seconds after it landed. No-one's going to find this.
When we got in, the radio started chattering about an attack on Epsilon. Multiple behemoths, armies of humanoid robots, and more. It looked like a winning decision to leave them the tank, but any comments on the situation were cut off by static. I don't like the odds.
We met Dagger squad just after that. The Dagger squad. The examples every squad leader I've had other than Milo uses when they need an excuse to train harder, or someone they can be sure did better. (I checked, Stein. Dagger Squad couldn't have made that shot. I did. Feels good to finally write that down.)
Milo walked up to Maximus and started talking to him like an equal. I doubt that anyone had done that in years. All Maximus could do was stare.
He eventually managed to say he was here as our backup. All of it, as far as he knows. 42 of the Brotherhood's finest, and we're down to 12 by the time we get in the door. He didn't seem too thrilled with the job.
Then an alarm went off. Or several alarms. All of the alarms. A stealth approach was pretty much out of the question. Milo handed the robot a Gauss minigun and asked everyone for as much 2mm EC as they could spare.
Babs got into the computer network to get us a map and divert some of the robots.
She succeeded. Unfortunately, getting into the network just showed us how much we were up against. Maybe a hundreth of the robots would manage to get to us before we either get to the command center or die. Probably less.
That's still an army big enough to kill any other military force in the wastes.
We'd barely got in position when they broke the door down. The minigun whined, the M2 screamed, and I tried to find and take down any targets that slipped through before they noticed me.
There was blood and oil everywhere.
And Maximus was punching a broken robot when we found him. Just repeating the motion, over and over. He stopped when we arrived and straightened up.
"Unprofessional of me. Personal isn't the same as important."
Which is when we saw the body.
Dagger Squad's medic. Not much left of her body. We took what we needed and left them to guard the area. No time and no energy to even pretend to mourn her. Milo passed around the Rad-x in case of radiation leaks.
No power for the elevator, and the door to the generator was locked. Security might have the shutdown codes, so we went to security.
I saw Milo putting some psycho in the armor's auto-injector. Not the best sign.
Nothing much interesting in the security wing. Milo and the robot we're paling around with blew up a lot of hostiles with sustained burst fire.
When he went out cold, Rage and I went in to cover until Shaav could get him back on his feet. He just shrugged it off and waded forward again. Good old psycho. Makes people invincible until it makes them dead.
Lot of explosions as we went.
And plenty of ammo on the scrap heaps. The one good thing about fighting here? We are not running out of ammunition any time soon.
Even the Brotherhood designed stuff. Apparently, the robots have been scavenging from us ever since we started slowing them down. Not that they need to.
They can afford to just keep throwing troops at us. We're good, maybe even the best. But there's only so long we can go.
Eventually, Babs got us entry to cryonics, and we had enough scrap metal on the floor to take a breather. None of us talked except the robot, and it shut off when Rage told it to shut the fuck up in the middle of a speech on the perils of communism.
Eventually, we had the energy to get up again. Shaav finished patching everyone up, and we moved to the Popsicle stand.
Which was also full of robots. Big surprise.
But Shaav said he smelled something else. Humans. Some recently dead, some still breathing. It was a goal.
I used a lot of EMP slugs in those rooms. I did a count just now.
Not that many left.
Eventually, we found the door where Shaav had smelled the bodies. Turrets and medical experiments. We took them down, but it didn't do anyone any good except getting Rage more ammo for his M2. Thousands of rounds, where 50 could
Prisoners were all dead a few hours before we arrived. At least they weren't ours.
We found the live civvies a little later, surrounded by robots. Robots who weren't firing. Quick takedown, and we moved to assist.
"General John Milo, Brotherhood of Steel, a division of the armed services. We're dealing with a security failure here, and..."
"Da! Da!"
"Dear lord. Communist agents, stored since the war! I knew the talks with Russia were a mistake."
"Have candy?"
Milo coughed.
"I think it's just brain damage. Cheap cryo chambers, radiation leaks, and the like. Failure of business practices. Probably market forces being left out for contractors. Or money spent on corporate bonuses. One or the other. No time to try to find any functional survivors, unfortunately. Harris? Please tell me there's a security override for the generators."
"Sure as shootin'"
"Right. Tell Maximus we have survivors here, Stills. He seems to hate you a little less than me, and this area seems to be lighter on patrols. Moving ahead."
I called in, and we moved on.
More hostiles.
Babs worked out a way to control the security, and we worked our way ahead. There was a pacification bot at the end of the corridor.
Died quick, and Babs fixed the generator. I kept the robots away.
I've gotten good at that.
Ah, sniper. Ups the crit rate by an insane amount. For someone moderately lucky like Farsight, it's a nice boost to, oh, 60%. 10 luck, and every shot is a crit. The insta-kill crits are gone in this one, as far as I can tell, but it's still very useful.
We're in the elevator now, heading directly for the Calculator, whatever it is. Milo's already feeling the kick from Psycho wearing off, and the robot is banged up. Rage is more pissed off than ever, and Shaav's depressed.
I think the boss theme from metal slug fits in well here, too.
0
Options
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which the blood dimmed tide is loosed
From the journals of General John Milo
It ends today. No matter how it ends, it ends today. Reassuring, in a way.
Of course, one way it could end would be everyone dying in vain. An ending, at least.
I considered a rousing speech on the elevator, but it seemed in bad taste. Fortunately, the robot took that bullet for me.
“AMERICA will not contain communism, it will transcend communism! We will dismiss the damn dirty reds as a sad, bizarre chapter in human history whose last pages are even now being written!”
"Sure. Whatever."
"Why the fuck not?"
It was a better reception than I expected. It was also an opening and a receptive audience.
"Good work, honor to serve with you all, try not to die, and MOVE."
The robot, Rage, and I went to the door, miniguns ready. The phrase "Ready for anything" has always struck me as a cliche, and one of the more unfortunate ones. Some cliches become cliches because they are true, fine and good for them. Ready for anything, less so.
]
Case in point. We expected the hordes of basic combat models. Maybe some prototypes.
General Barnaky back from the dead? That was distinct. We were never close, I suppose, but I did have some respect for the man, matters of personal politics aside. It slowed our firing slightly.
Opening us to rocket fire.
We barely got to cover, and could hear Barnaky coming behind.
Rage's comment on the situation was a simple, sustained,
"What the fucking fuck?"
HR-1205 turned to philosophy.
"A general, going Red. Human free will is a rich tapestry of mistakes and treachery! What is it that makes a man go red?"
And I looked through my supplies for a delivery. One I'd missed earlier.
The letter to Maria Barnaky was... I'd always meant to get around to delivering it. Once I was sure the man was dead. And once that happened, well, things were a bit busy. I hit the playback on my PIP and hoped it would do something. Anything. Buy time. HR-1205 had the gauss minigun ready if all else failed. I doubted that would work, but hope and eternity and such.
"General Barnaky, sir? You might want to hear this.
"I know, sir. She loves you too. Seeing you alive again..."
And he stomped off. I didn't know where.
Rage just continued with "What the fuck".
Babs went over to patch the robot.
"If'n I remember right, it's awful lucky you didn't go and tell him I made Paladin. Corpse is spinning in his grave from that, already."
And Farsight nodded as Shaav healed everyone up.
"He wasn't alone. I'll clear the area of everything else. Seeing Barnaky again gets a lot of old aggression to the surface. Might as well use it for something productive."
And then there was just the sound of a Gauss rifle and explosions for a few minutes.
There were a lot of broken machines when we followed. Stills was always a remarkable sniper, but she's improved in the past months. Then again, a few months ago I could hardly fire a pistol, and I'm carrying a minigun now. This past year has been a series of painful learning experiences.
Then we saw the calculator. Brains in jars connected to a central computer.
Barnaky sat in a corner, whispering about Maria.
We advanced cautiously.
And ran into a security shutdown, just as the Psycho really wore off. It cleared the brain, but it was hard to keep moving, keep standing. Duty kept me going.
Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.
The brains were babbling happily. Innocently. But they were, unfortunately, keeping the Calculator going. Their lives versus every other person in the wastes was simple math.
And I always prided myself on economics.
No screams, at least.
And from all I hear, after long enough in an immobile tank, the brain loses all grip on reality. I'm sure Farsight would say it doesn't make things much better morally, but it does make it easier. Enough for now.
And if anyone bears the burden, it might as well be me.
More defenses. More robots.
Rage took out the other brains. I generally find it useful to have a sociopath or two somewhere on the payroll. Machievelli recommends that you make yourself feared, but I have trouble with the task. More helpful to have someone you can trust feared for you.
A few more robots.
And a last brain. We were lucky there.
One of the bastards behind the world before the war. Behind the Vault experiments, which Babs had informed me, were frequently disastrous. Behind the war policy that left billions dead. I dislike communism as much as the next fellow, but the methods left something to be desired. It made firing a little easier.
We went back to the Calculator. And it started talking. Making offers. To me.
"You have come a long way, John Milo, Vault 58 citizen 1766."
"1765."
"Ah, the damage to my organic mainframe is significant. Certain mistakes will arise. We have much to offer each other, Milo. You are fond of making deals."
]
"Imagine it, human. The savior of the wasteland. The man who brings peace to the ruins of the war. Your name would live in glory."
"Of course, I would have my brain extracted. All due respect, ma'am, but that seems something of a sticking point."
"There is a price to everything, as you well know. But the rewards are worth it."
Which is when Farsight entered the room.
"It's quiet right now. Too... are you talking to the enemy?"
"Your commander is securing a future for himself. Do not let jealousy stand in the way."
"Nothing important right now, Stills. But we aren't being attacked right now. Worth savoring."
She looked at the calculator for a second.
"Alright. I trust you, General."
Time for more cliche, of the true variety.
That meant more than all the promotions and medals this last year.
"And if you betray us, I will kill you."
Ah, Nina. Never would have made it this far without you at my back. Often jamming a pistol to it.
"Well, there is a catch to any negotiation. You have tried to murder anyone who isn't genetically pure. I have friends and contacts who fail to qualify. You see the problem."
The calculator gave a mechanical sigh.
"Perimeters for acceptable mutation can be extended. "
I thought of Shaav, as good a medic as any I'd worked with. Who trusted me.
Harris, ever reliable mechanic who I liked as much as anyone. Kleptomaniac, of course, but everyone has flaws.
"And Ghouls? Deathclaws? Supermutants? You'll have to do better."
"Fine. My survival is too important to allow such minor concerns to interfere. But decide quickly."
And here I am.
The most important decision in post war history in my hands.
chiasaur11Never doubt a raccoon.Do you think it's trademarked?Registered Userregular
In Which Mere Anarchy is loosed upon the world.
Journals of General John Milo
My brain began rushing faster than it ever had. Scenarios appeared and finished in seconds, whole worlds rushed past.
58 seconds. I could be trusted with nearly absolute power, couldn't I?
Deep in the Warrior's heart the decision had been made long ago, to forfeit one's life for the security of others what nobler end could there be? Sacrifices were always expected but to lose one's mortal shell and join with a machine is not an ending, instead it is a new beginning revolving around the rebirth of humanity. The first command to speed through the new Calculator's relays is the disabling of the active robotic forces averting the sterilization of all life on the continent. The Warrior's mind had proved itself exceptional time and again in the field of battle now working in conjunction with the Calculator's sheer processing power a union between the Brotherhood of Steel and the robotic forces quickly takes shape.
The region sees new laws established to ease humanity back into civilized life laws that are strictly enforced by the combined patrols of Brotherhood soldiers and pacification robots. To speed the unification process discrimination against mutates is outlawed, many prejudices are eliminated through education or the harsh implementation of Brotherhood Justice. The willingness to overcome differences opens avenues of recruitment that would otherwise remained unutilized. Mutated creatures that wish to live in peace under the new regime are welcomed, though hesitantly into the population. Old hatreds and fears are soon forgotten as the task at hand becomes apparent; humans, ghouls, super mutants and deathclaws all work together to begin transforming the wastelands into a post nuclear utopia. The combined knowledge of the Brotherhood and Calculator's databases are a powerful tool for reshaping the world and no time is wasted. Technology is slowly re-introduced into the land; irrigation systems are established bringing water to the barren soils for the first time in decades.
New settlements spring up as land becomes fertile once again, with places of learning becoming the hubs of the fledgling civilization. A combination of old world science with new world wisdom paves the way to higher understanding and unity amongst the population. The new regime begins to expand across the wasteland absorbing towns and villages and quickly dispatching those who would halt progress. Soon the Brotherhood is protector to a string of settlements, as the Brotherhood's power grows so does it's hold on the wasteland but one question remains; what will happen when this young civilization encounters the original knowledge hording Brotherhood of Steel? The Scribes and Elders prepare for the meeting and hope to put differences in the past as the future of mankind hangs in the balance but that is a battle for another day and perhaps another hero.
57 seconds. No, I couldn't.
Having weighed the options, the Warrior purposefully strides into the Calculator's brain removing mechanism. While this union of mind and machine represents an end to the hero's mortal shell, it also promises rebirth with the power and resources essential to rescue civilization from the brink of oblivion. With the mind of the Warrior working in conjunction with the ancient machine's sheer processing power a new and potent Calculator thunders into existence. Years of neglected faults and decay are repaired almost instantly becoming the catalyst for dozens of defunct systems to flash back into full operation. The calculator becomes whole for the first time since its conception, contact is immediately established with the Brotherhood Elders and an alliance is formed. While no longer an opponent the Calculator chooses to not directly serve the Brotherhood, a delegation of the top Brotherhood Elders departs for Vault 0 to discuss details of the new alliance, they never reach their destination. Brotherhood soldiers and robots alike are dispatched to investigate; however no traces of the ill-fated expedition are found. The impact on Brotherhood morale is devastating, for every soldier knows leaders define rules and rules shape the Brotherhood.
The Calculator quickly integrates with the surviving Brotherhood leaders; protocol robots infused with knowledge of Brotherhood procedure begin to handle operations in Brotherhood outposts. Behemoth robots are sent to bunkers and allied towns to ease the strain of basic needs like patrols, while maintaining a military show of force to keep outlaws at bay. Soon the alliance is discarded with all forces now under one computerized leader, the Brotherhood is once again reborn. To speed the unification process discrimination against mutates is outlawed, the new Brotherhood views these creatures as a valuable resource instead of a threat to be eliminated. Old hatreds and fears are soon set aside as humans, ghouls, super mutants and deathclaws work together to carry out the Brotherhood's plans for transforming the wastelands into a post nuclear utopia.
The new regime begins to expand across the wasteland absorbing towns and villages and quickly dispatching those that would halt progress. Soon the Brotherhood is protector to a string of settlements with entire regions under its influence. As the Calculator's power grows so does its hold on the continent but one question remains; what will happen when this new force encounters the original knowledge hording Brotherhood of Steel? In the depths of Vault 0 the Calculator processes millions of possible scenarios in preparation for the inevitable meeting. It will not be as easy to eliminate the original west coast Brotherhood Elders but it must be done, for in the end there can only be one leader. One who is willing to sacrifice anything or anyone to unify the wasteland.
56 seconds. I'm not qualified to make this call. I should ask someone who actually is Brotherhood, not just playing at it for a little money.
55 seconds.
The General driven by the memory of his wife and convinced by your words boldly steps into the chamber, his brain is removed once again and placed into a specially constructed container. Now the sole organic influence on the Calculator's super computer neural network he finds himself united with an enemy he had sworn to destroy, his only objective to restore order to the chaotic wastes and provide his beloved wife with the security he had promised so long ago. The new Calculator dedicates its existence to the rescuing of pure blood humanity from the brink of destruction. Order is established with the Brotherhood soldiers and Calculator robots enforcing new laws and spearheading the task of rebuilding and re-educating mankind. The first step is to comfort the battle weary region; combined groups of Brotherhood soldiers and robots are dispatched to patrol troubled areas. These forces are charged with the task of dealing the bandit lords a blow that will take then years to recover from.
Technology is slowly re-introduced into the land; irrigation systems are established bringing water to the barren soils for the first time in decades. New settlements spring up as trade routes become safe from attacks. Once again humanity begins to prosper, for the various mutates of the land their destiny is somewhat darker. All known genetic divergents are immediately rounded up into internment camps and registered. Those that comply are forced to endure harsh conditions in labor gulags where their unique abilities are exploited in tasks considered too dangerous or simply beneath pure blood humans. Humans who speak out against this new system are disciplined or silenced. Those mutants who choose to flee are ruthlessly hunted by gangs, these unfortunates are captured, killed, and displayed across the region as a gruesome reminder to all impure life forms that disobedience from lesser creatures will be met with uncompromising punishment. Small factions of humans defiant of the new Brotherhood dictatorship join their outcast cousins to form the Mutant Liberation Army, any creatures suspected of supporting this outlawed faction are quickly rounded up and interrogated by the General's handpicked inquisitors.
Many are never seen again but for every disappearance, for every public execution by the new regime another rebel joins the outlaw movement. Soon the Brotherhood finds itself under repeated attack, the Mutant Liberation Army attempts to utilize guerrilla tactics to offset the overwhelming combined force of robot and Brotherhood soldiers. The rebels fight for many reasons now; revenge, freedom, and a chance for a better life. Some join the battle because raging war is all they know. It is a struggle they are destined to lose. Soon, without the required resources and firepower the Mutant Liberation Army is driven west, back to an area where many of them met bitter defeat not long ago. Their actions becoming more and more desperate when they realize they are being driven back into a region controlled by the old Brotherhood. Humanity rules the land again while the mutates have nothing but death; it lies waiting over every hill, behind every rock, through every crosshair. They are without justice, they are without hope, such is life in the wasteland.
On second thought, I probably should manage it. Certain... personal quirks render Barnaky unsuitable for the decision.
54 seconds. All the moments leading here flash by, my own decisions and those of others. Standard fare and the exceptional. The old Brotherhood hiding in its bunker, away from the new world. Pain. Death. Fear.
53 seconds. The Vault. The same situation. Clinging to the old, not knowing how fragile that peace is. I don't even know if they're alive. Haven't thought of them in too long.
52. Mutants clinging to an old army. Reavers refusing to acknowledge their current situation and fighting us in the face of the coming threat. And right here, the Vault 0 residents. Geniuses of the age, reduced to babbling simpletons, relying on their old machines to stay alive.
51. So much to consider. There's probably a moral in there somewhere. Not that I'm good with them. Adapting. Or learning from the past. Or something else simple.
50. Oh. Letting go of the old before it gets you killed.
I opened fire on the calculator. I'm still not entirely sure why. Oh, there were good reasons. It was a genocidal engine of destruction and deserved death with no moral culpability. (Farsight's bad influence, I suspect. I never let it get in the way in the past.). Its trustworthyness was questionable, but it was hardly alone in that.
Bad reasons as well. I didn't want to die. I didn't want the thing to be happy.
I'm sure someone else would have found a better solution. They weren't here
None of that matters now. It shut down in a hail of bullets.
The background hum cut in half. Radio static cleared. Barnaky slumped in despair as HR-1205 tried to pep him back up.
"Look on the bright side. We've defeated the hordes of dirty Reds! Hooray for America!"
I decided to try to reduce the damage. Slightly.
"I talked to Maria, when we found your body. If you never trust me again, which I would not blame you for, honestly, trust me on this. She'll just be happy to have you back."
He seemed slightly less depressed then. At least, I hope so, but it became borderline irrelevant in fairly short order. I radioed for Bunker Epsilon. Mission accomplished and that.
"General John Milo, Magpie Squad. Mission accomplished."
Paladin Solo responded.
"Congratulations, Commander."
"So, pass me to the officer in charge. A more thorough debriefing..."
"You're talking to her. Damn robots didn't give us a chance to breathe, and they figured out the chain of command damn fast. Dekker took as many as he could with him, but, well, we're lucky they stopped. As far as I can tell, you're ranking officer."
"Please tell me that's a joke."
"It isn't."
And suddenly I had the weight of the world on me. Not entirely pleasant.
"Alright. Obviously, the first thing to do is find survivors. Full sweep. Once you're done with the immediate tasks, move the wounded and non-essentially personel back to Delta. Major assault teams, tanks, medics, and engineers, we'll want up here. There's a treasure trove of old world tech, and civies. None of it will last long unattended, and we don't have the forces in the region to support a forward assault position and a fortified research bunker, so we want the most bang for our buck. Eventually, we'll want the Elders down here with the best scribes, but for now, securing it is enough."
"Yes, sir. I'll pass it on. We are Steel."
"We are hard."
"We have been sharpened to an edge."
I shut the radio down.
Farsight walked up to me.
"Status, sir?"
"We won. And lost too many good people doing it. In other words, the best projected outcome."
"Shit."
Not much talking as we rode the elevator to the residential area to wait for backup. Token salutes for the three remaining members of Dagger squad. A little discussion.
They'd found a survivor still capable of coherent english. In agreement with standard security protocols, they'd held him at gunpoint without telling him anything.
Salute. Dismissed. And go talk to him.
"Who are you?"
"John Milo, acting Commander in Chief. We're here to help."
It might as well have been true. I let him talk, listening to how ill prepared he'd be to face the wasteland while he thought he was talking about something else. And that's staying with the non-braindamaged part of the vault.
We won.
I only hope we all live to reap the benefits.
Epilogue to follow tomorrow.
And finally, the last of the four endings in the game:
When the acrid smoke clears nothing remains of the entity known as the Calculator except burnt wires and broken valves. It is a decisive victory for humanity, for at a crucial point in the raging battle the robots were stopped dead in their course of destruction. The Warrior can only ponder on the lost opportunity that the destruction of such a technological marvel represents, history has shown that even the victors of battle have some regrets but sometimes one must move forward. The Brotherhood is quick to establish Vault 0 as its main base of operations, all though much destruction was wrought here it still represents a massive store house of knowledge and technology. The ancient structure becomes the central hub of operations, coordinating between outposts far and near and reinforcing their supply lines and transport routes across the countryside. Ironically mimicking the original purpose of their defeated enemy.
Recruitment and education of the local tribal and village populations becomes the all important mission of the depleted and wounded Brotherhood but the education is not once sided, after generations of surviving in the harshness of the wastelands the indigenous people are in tune with the land. They have valuable lessons to teach those immersed solely with technology, lessons of nature and balance that the Brotherhood had previously neglected. Not all of the wasteland's inhabitants are sharing the same noble purpose, opportunistic raiders and bandits enjoy the fruits of a recovering war torn Brotherhood. Patrols are scarce and in smaller numbers than the thieves remember encountering in the past, as the Brotherhood focuses on consolidating its power base. Several frontier outposts are lost as the Brotherhood finds they are fighting a guerrilla war without the support of large numbers, but adversity and hardship are as familiar to the Brotherhood as discipline and knowledge and they learn their lessons quickly. With a new power over this region comes a new responsibility, all plans for re-establishing contact with the west are postponed indefinitely.
Recruitment begins anew and the initiate ranks swell, all military efforts are then concentrated on uprooting all outlaw predators in the region finally making it safe for the Brotherhood and its allies. In time the Brotherhood once again rules the land, resources are then allocated to expansion and development. Technology becomes more widespread, with irrigation systems established to make the nuclear blasted land fertile, humanity once again starts to prosper. The Hero, the warrior of the Brotherhood, now a general, shares the burden and the satisfaction of overseeing civilization's development. The Brotherhood of Steel has come through the trials of this region and emerged scarred but wiser, it will be decades before a reunion is possible between the old Brotherhood and the new Brotherhood regime. In that time there are new alliances to be made, new battles to be fought, new victories to be had but that is a tale for another day.
Posts
Steam: Elvenshae // PSN: Elvenshae // WotC: Elvenshae
Wilds of Aladrion: [https://forums.penny-arcade.com/discussion/comment/43159014/#Comment_43159014]Ellandryn[/url]
I remember when life made sense. It was still shitty, brutish, and short, but it made sense. You work every day for food and water. Raiders and mutants come to kill everyone from time to time, and you fight them off as best you can.
Now? Now I have no idea.
On the positive side of the ledger, I now have a gauss rifle. Brotherhood built, with some inspiration from old design sketches, it's the best gun I've ever seen. Almost no drop, amazing range, and it actually hurts the robots we're up against. Babs got the final draft version of the Pulse rifle prototype we recovered, which doesn't go on the fritz right when you need it most, and everyone got enough ammunition to work with. I guess there's less demand among the upper ranks these days, with most of them being dead.
...Most of us, now. I've had people look at me with awe around camp. As I said, life doesn't make sense any more. And Milo's still keeping secrets from the brass, even when he is the brass.
Babs asked Shaav and me to come take a look at something she and Milo had been working on. Rage and Ice were on temporary patrol, part of the elaborate network of favors and obligations our CO has been running since I met him.
It seems more habit now than anything. Pretending things are still normal.
What we saw... wasn't.
Milo spoke while Shaav and I couldn't.
"Say hello to HR 1205. If all goes well, we will be working with him."
And then the robot spoke up in a voice a bit like Barnaky's run through three half broken radios.
"It's a pleasure to meet such patriotic members of the glorious United States Armed Forces in these dark times!"
Followed by turning to look at Shaav
"Except possibly the long hair. Looks like a hippy and a draft dodger! Tools for the Communist in their attempts to destroy America!"
"Ah, that's Shaav. He's taken the position of our medical officer."
"One of those MASH types, then. Never trusted them. Doctors with their pansy non-violence oaths and their wacky hijinks, they can't be trusted. Still, you meatbags need them."
"Shaav good doctor. Volunteer!"
"I assure you, Shaav is as committed as any of us to the defense of this great nation."
"If you say so, General."
Then the robot turned to Shaav
"Keeping an eye on you, hippy."
It stomped off. Shaav followed.
"Shaav good citizen! Have patriotism certificate!"
I turned to Milo and stared.
"Now, I assume you have a number of questions that need answering, Stills. Harris and I will answer as best we can, but some should be cut off at the gate. Yes, we know what we're doing, and yes, I will be expecting you, as an accepted outside expert, to not say we are entirely psychotic in front of Dekker and the other generals. This is the sort of thing that could get us all in trouble if it goes wrong."
Well, the "Are you out of your mind" was covered, at least. I went with a less obvious avenue.
"Why isn't it shooting us?"
Babs nodded.
"Ah reckon that's mine to field. Y'see, them robots were built to do two things. Kill off commies, and deal with us unfortunate folks who soaked down a rad or two somewhere along the way. Now, if'n we could take the scraps of one of them, and turn off the old bits about mutants, then we'd just have to go and prove we ain't commies."
Well, for all his other faults, I'm pretty sure the General isn't a socialist.
Milo nodded.
"And, well, we are with the United States Army."
My skepticism must have showed then, because he went into the rest of the speech with even more energy than usual
"One of the few good things about the great war? No-one was able to officially acknowledge Roger Maxon's, shall we say, resignation. Officially, he was still acting as the ranking officer, and after the war, with everyone above him dead, the Brotherhood of Steel is the last officially sanctioned military group. And, as our division was sent on a mission rather than officially exiled, we continue to exercise the relevant authority. Meanwhile, the Calculator is discouraging private enterprise, taking government control of the means of production, and generally behaving in a red fashion."
He leaned back a little.
"Always a deal somewhere, if you pay attention."
There was only one thing left to say, and like an idiot I said it.
"Please tell me this was the only reason you and Babs have been so chipper lately."
He nodded. It was a nod and I will remember it that way no matter what my subconscious insists.
"We'll need you later for a high level strategy meeting. Dekker will want your input. I can request, but not order a positive response, but I like to think I respect you too much for that. Do as you feel best."
"I will."
And I went back to the firing range. Some idiot bet he could take me. Still the unquestioned champion, $500 richer, I went to the special council.
Milo gave the same speech as earlier, with adjustments for the audience. One of the Generals, (Slim, I think) kept asking technical questions I couldn't understand, another kept twitching like he had a little much afterburn, and Dekker nodded appreciatively. It seemed I wouldn't have to speak for Milo at all. And the robot was just saluting. Perfect.
Then Clarise spoke up.
Apparently, before Milo started fieldwork, she was the wunderkind, some Paladin's daughter who managed to get promotions in record time. Solid record against mutants and raiders, model Knight, model Paladin, model General.
And, unfortunately, the first person to find out John Milo was conning the Brotherhood. She apparently hadn't warmed to him since.
"So, how much are they paying you?"
Milo looked innocently shocked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You've survived impossible missions too often. You're constantly recovering new, valuable equipment. And now we have a robot walking around finding out everything. You traitorous little..."
HR-1205 almost jumped on the table.
"GENERAL DEKKER, I FEAR ONE OF YOUR ADVISORS MAY BE A COMMUNIST!"
Clarise stared.
"What?"
"SHE IS DOUBTING THE VALUE OF AMERICAN SMALL BUSINESS! COMMIE TALK!"
Dekker just sighed and buried his face in his hands.
"Ranger Stills, please give your expert opinion."
"The robot doesn't seem to be a threat at present. The armor is modified to be more resistant to all known weapons, that could be an issue, but..."
I tried to remember what dad said about robots. No sense in ruining my prestige the first time out with something stupid.
"Rangers managed to use some robots when they dealt with a similar outbreak a few decades back. Tool or a hazard, depending on their user, same as any technology. Asshole or saint, depending on their own decisions if they're sapient, same as anyone else."
"I'll take it under advisement."
The generals went back to discuss things further and I was left with the robot.
"Democracy is non-negotiable."
"Sure. Fine."
Milo came back out with the news after some time. We have another mission, details classified. Rage and Ice won't be back in time, so we're testing the robot.
And lucky us, General Clarise will be watching to make sure it's "functional", and to watch Milo like a hawk.
I never thought I'd miss having Rage around.
Why I fear the ocean.
Also Hr? Human resources? Can this robot get a job after the conflict as a communist sniffer/Hr rep?
Patriotism check: 150% expected value. Possible math error.
Mutation sensors: Offline. Possibly removed, remote reactivation impossible
Location tracker: Offline. Unit impossible to trace
Internal feedback: Available. Playing back
"Commanding officer is an alright Joe. Still, suspect communism from supposed "General" Clarise, hippyism from medical officer. No good can come of it! Talked with seconded ranger, second in command about suspicions. Vouched for medical officer's credentials. Ranger seems patriotic in the classic run down Willy and Joe model. Not ideal, but acceptable. Second in command is also alright Joe. Will not attempt to engage McCarthy Evaluation on medical officer at her recommendation."
"Found crashed Soviet spacecraft. Suspected dirty reds of doing something along these lines. Broken, a sign of FLAWED SOVIET ENGINEERING. I myself am a product of ROBUST AMERICAN ENGINEERING, and would never experience catastrophic failure in such circumstances. Medical officer claims to have a degree in engineering. Must be from one of those foreign correspondence schools. Not real American study like "Paladin" (must be classified rank before the war) Harris.
Marked location for later study and recovery. Reds might have stolen AMERICAN secrets for use in satellite, which would make it more useful."
"Found small business. Example of American enterprise, sticktoitiveness. Purchased local patent medicine to encourage."
"More small business. The spirit of America lives on! Found last remaining Nuka-Cola distributor, apparently family business. Told him he was doing his country proud.
Medical officer offered to take on some portion of duties. Nuka-Cola distributor questioned "What the fuck?" loudly. Medical officer responded with "Yes! Shaav is good Deathclaw!"
What kind of hippy doesn't know what "Fuck" means? Civilian behavior. Still, legally ranking officer. Treat with respect until proof of communism can be found.
"Saw robot cow. Odd."
"Ran into a veritable gathering of communist Canadians. Two of the greatest dangers to the American way of life at once.
Retraction: Canadians are not all the enemy. Little America has long been a valuable resource for its superior, providing a number of resources and suchlike. Unfortunately, a few bad (COMMUNIST) apples resisted their proper position in the new order of things and made a mess of everything! These seemed like just that sort of troublemaker.
Still, the general insisted we allow Communism to destroy itself rather than waste precious ammunition, as they were already nearing a schism. The probable communist suggested we try to talk instead. Just like a red."
"Found invasion reenactment group. Patriotic to the end! The General insisted on participating. I refrained, as Humanoid models were not present at the time. Accuracy is important in these activities!"
"It went off without a hitch. Probable communist argued activity was waste of time. Medical officer argued in favor of the activity. Medical officer still distrusted, but probably not a full on Red. Possibly a dupe, like many long hairs and medical types. Engaged in historical discussion after! Most civilians agreed with my interpretations of historical events, with great enthusiasm."
"Met talking skull. Individual used unfamiliar, possibly unamerican terms like 'Berk' and 'Spiv'. Claimed to be working with a 'Nameless One'. Still, General vouched for him.
Skull disrespected United States Army, all present. Did not seem to approve of communism either, at least.
Approaching mission site. Should... ah, right. Still transmitting. Forgot that the receiver would be subverted by communism!"
TRANSMISSION ENDS
Why I fear the ocean.
+1000 like points for this game!
Yup. He's apparently always the last random encounter you find. Well, Fallout Tactics: Brotherhood of Steel. We generally don't talk about Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel.
It doesn't have Morte in it. This is the least of its sins. (The greatest is no Ron Perlman narration. I mean, really.)
And I have a question for you fine people. Last mission is coming up, and you can't swap anyone out once you get started. So, that being said, who would you lot want to see for it?
Keep in mind we'll want someone with heavy weapon skills, for reasons that will soon be apparent.
Why I fear the ocean.
Another glorious day in this man's army! Although the siren song of Communism still compels my former allies from Vault Zero to act against the best interests of AMERICAN DEMOCRACY, we stay strong and vigilant!
We arrived in Scott City to liberate the oppressed citizens from their horrible gulag conditions, winning hearts and minds for America, baseball, and apple pie.
Unfortunately, the dirty ChiComs had deployed behemoth combat units. Superior American marksmanship and know how allowed us to get out of the way, but the gigantic enemy combatant pursued us.
Further, it summoned a number of light hover droids, swarming us with numbers. Just like a Red, to assume the collective masses would solve their problems when they were outmatched. It didn't work in Alaska and it didn't here!
Eventually, its head exploded. Clarise, the SUSPECTED COMMUNIST command was allowing to travel with us, said something about my loyalty being confirmed. AS IF IT WAS EVER IN DOUBT!
There were more of the reds everywhere, and we were constantly firing to hold them off. The dirty Maoists hadn't tried anything like this for more than a century, and we were back to back, firing into the unending hordes! Of course, the longhair slipped off then.
"Scouting". More like running away! The root of the hippie movement is, was, and always will be cowardice! He's lucky we need his so called medical expertise. Otherwise he'd be court-martialed.
We deactivated their security network and found numerous dead civilians. Communist tactics if I've ever seen them. They even removed the brain, probably to spread the grey matter equally.
It makes me sick.
They had jamming towers to keep us from contacting command, but they were communist designs and communist technology, no match for AMERICAN laser and plasma technology. Soon we had remote mapping to help us find the POWs captured by the traitors.
We ran into some minor setbacks, of course, but we prevailed.
Soon, we found the unfortunate civilians captured by the enemy. We began the liberation immediately.
Immediately after the important work, that is. More behemoths arrived shortly.
And I mean more! I've never seen so much oil spilling everywhere, never felt so alive! Still, good times must end, and when we were done with the inferior communist combat robots, we returned to the unpleasant duty of talking to the civvies.
One of them was a Supermutant. Not fond of them, but as they are here and can neither be killed nor driven away, the only American thing to do is to treat them strictly on their merits.
Which exceeded those of some of the humans. Apparently, he was from West of Vault Zero, showing the growth of the communist menace. Terrifying to contemplate. Apparently, there is an army division there as well. We will have to hope they practice American virtue as well.
There was also a ghoul present with information about a high ranking POW.
Apparently, they had used fiendish communist torture techniques. I wish I could be shocked.
Meanwhile, the mutant wished to meet some tribal warlord or other. Apparently, he had some association with our glorious unit.
Imagine my surprise when the longhair showed up.
"Shaav Gammorin."
"No. The Gammorin I knew was a human. A mighty warrior. A brilliant leader."
"Shaav know. Killed him. Ate liver. Honorable single combat."
"My... my liege. I will fight an army for you."
"Shaav fine. Just..."
"I will bathe in the blood of your enemies. It is the least I can do to honor the greatest warrior I have met."
"Shaav fine."
I never would have believed it. The hippy, some kind of general. LAX DISCIPLINE!
The mutant charged ahead, ready to die for his country.
And he did. It makes me proud to see the enthusiasm of today's freakish mutant to help his country in its hour of need. And dying for his country, well, it doesn't get better!
We rescued the rest of the surviving civilians and military personnel, and moved on. Just another day of work. There were bodies everywhere, apparently the product of communist experimentation. Shame.
There was nothing for it except violent retribution! Soon, I helped the rest of the squad mow down the rest of the metal communist horde.
We were battered.
Blasted.
And massively outnumbered.
But never outmatched! Even the suspected commie pulled her weight. I may have be premature in judgement there.
I had to deal with another behemoth on my own when we were pinned down. Fortunately, its cheap chinese bullets were useless against mighty American titanium.
Hooray for America. We crushed it and moved ahead.
Unfortunately, we ran into trouble with another behemoth. As we were nearly out of repair supplies, I provided flank protection.
I was powerless to help while my trusted allies risked death in my place.
They found the body of the lost Brotherhood officer. My tragedy subroutine was operating at maximum efficiency when I saw the damage to (presumably, I never met the man) one of our finest generals.
Just a little too late. Two days sooner, and we would have...
No sense dwelling on hypotheticals! Communists to kill!
We found one of the dastardly reds holding the chinese Gauss minigun. A weapon so powerful, it's hard to believe that it was designed by the cowardly mao-loving Confuciusian scumbags. If we'd been closer, we all could have died in one burst!
Fortunately, the ranger is an expert sniper, and neutralized the hostile.
It was a Fourth-of-July fireworks show.
With a Christmas prize at the end. With the minigun captured, resistance fell apart before us. We advanced towards the location of the other known captive with valuable intel.
He was severely injured, filled with improperly handled tubes, and looked uncomfortable. The medical officer examined him.
"Shaav, let's have the situation."
"...No can fix."
The Ranger exhaled slowly
"Fuck. Just..."
Then she handed the general a pistol with six bullets.
"I don't think it's right. I don't like it. But I can't see anything better, sir."
The general saluted the merchant and fired a single round.
Everyone else seemed depressed then. I tried to raise the unit morale by playing the Star Spangled Banner, but it seemed to have minimal effect, as did "America the Beautiful". Sad to see.
Another behemoth attacked us by the exit, but it didn't last long.
Then, we left.
It was a glorious victory for freedom and democracy, but no-one else in the squad seemed to appreciate it. The medical officer even seemed depressed!
Odd to see.
Why I fear the ocean.
I choked on my drink.
Yeah - that was a great line.
Steam: Elvenshae // PSN: Elvenshae // WotC: Elvenshae
Wilds of Aladrion: [https://forums.penny-arcade.com/discussion/comment/43159014/#Comment_43159014]Ellandryn[/url]
In the waning days of the war, the outcome looked certain, for reasons foreign to any modern citizen of the Midwestern Confederacy. The Brotherhood was not, as today, an unopposed power in the region. We were few, against many. Our normal technological advantage was at best a delicate equilibrium. Our training had never planned for this. The enemy was a plague and an abomination, an unstoppable wall of steel pressing against our forces.
To put it simply, we were losing. And if not for a last, desperate effort, it is very likely we would have lost.
Our scribes and scholars, using information recovered by field teams, discovered the central command for the robotic menace. Vault Zero was indeed the home of the Calculator's army. Built to cleanse the world after the atomic holocaust, only chance had spared non-baseline humanity until the time of the war. Plans were made and discarded as the casualty reports mounted. Assaulting the stronghold could fail, all our hopes could have been in vain, but the Brotherhood of Steel would die fighting.
The Calculator, as confirmed by the assault teams, was a cybernetic organism, a combination of human brains and synthetic circuitry built to restore the wastelands to fertility and pre-war America to "greatness". If a strike team could enter the complex, the calculator could, possibly, be destroyed as simply as any foe. Even if the attack failed to totally exterminate the robotic armies, the loss of coordination and the gains in technology would leave our forces with hope. Something sorely lacking in the later days of the war.
Seven of the best available assault squads were prepared for the attack. Dagger. Falcon. Lance. Smear. Shadow. Tusk. Magpie. They would breach the Calculator's defenses and attack Vault Zero itself. Magpie, under the command of General Milo, would form the tip of the spear, using a tactical nuclear device to breach the heavy vault doors. While they plunged into the unknown, General Dekker would command the remainder of the Brotherhood's elite squads in a diversionary attack, buying the assault team time. The Elders, medical officers, scribes, and the injured were pulled back to bunker Delta for the attack.
Early assessments considered fifty percent fatalities absurdly optimistic.
This would be the most important battle in our history. It would be decades before another threat to all life in the wastes would arrive, and that attempt would be killed in the cradle. All the dangers of the waste today are not signs of weakness or loss. They are a sign of victory. The Legion, the NCR, the Eastern Brotherhood. The mutant and the deathclaw. They all would have died stillborn if not for the Battle of Vault Zero.
And the last of the originals.
For this task the Calculator had at its disposal an army of emergency pacification robots that were designed to survive the holocaust and surface from the ashes immediately after to begin their task, but a mechanical malfunction left the Calculator damaged. During the years since the bombs dropped mankind had defined its own ways in the darkness of the Post Apocalypse, only now is the Calculator activating it's robots and embarking on its mission of mass genocide. Because of hardwired programming it is unable to adapt to the world that has arisen while it slumbered. The Calculator will not listen to pleas or threats, it cannot be bargained with. It must be stopped.
Why I fear the ocean.
We're all going to die. Merry Christmas.
6 Behemoths last time out. Behemoths on the way back from the last mission. Every patrol west runs into a wall of steel.
We're going into the middle of it with an atomic bomb and detonating it. If we survive that, (Not likely) we're going into the hornet's nest and kicking it until we die or a miracle happens.
Miracles don't come cheap.
I managed to buy the last drink in the base yesterday. A last moment of almost-happiness before we die. I found a nice secluded spot, got out the bottle...
And suddenly saw Milo walking out of the brush.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Yes. We're going to die, and I like a little alcohol."
He awkwardly reached into a pack on his power armor.
"No... I meant..."
And pulled out a bottle of something.
"Maybe a better drink would be in order. In case you don't recognize it, it's real Champagne. The last one, as far as I know, in the world. I had a buyer, of course, but it seems you're right. Not much chance of surviving to collect. Might as well share it with a friend."
"Friend?"
He grinned.
"And since Paladin Harris doesn't like french wine, it had to be a subordinate instead."
I must have smiled a little, because he sat down and got a couple glasses.
"Runiart. Vintage 2075."
It fizzed like Nuka. Not much of a judge of wine, but it was good.
"I'll admit a selfish motive for this."
"You? Having an angle for something? I'm shocked."
"See, things like that are why I came to you with this. You don't let me get away with things as often as the average. No, not money, not prestige. Just need to get something off my chest. You remember why you joined the Brotherhood, I trust?"
It was easy enough to forget between the mutants, the robots, and giving the Deathclaw lectures on religious history so he could earn his "DD", whatever that was.
"I wanted to help people. The Brotherhood did that, and let me see more of the world than one small town."
"Honest and simple. I wish I could say the same. This will be a bit longwinded, but again, I need to tell someone."
"Fine."
"It all started when I was born. I did say it would be longwinded. I'm from a vault. 58. It was a fairly decent place to grow up. Non-standard, the overseer's chair was empty save some bloodstains, and the lowest level was sealed, occasionally unearthly moanings. But other than that, perfectly decent. I suppose whatever experiment it was built for ended a little early."
"Experiment?"
"Vaults were never meant to save anyone. It explains some details nicely about my childhood. Certain blocked out terminals, the security chief's stories of his grandfather killing the overseer and then himself, the barricades and sealed lower level. Of course, some people always want more, and I found a market. Formed a small syndicate, ran the black market. Unfortunately, I got sloppy, ruling council found out I was doing something illegal, if not what. I didn't rat, and there were enough people who liked me that it was officially a 'scouting mission' rather than exile. I promised not to reveal the location, kept my word so far, could never come back on pain of death, and was lucky enough to find a small town rather than raiders. Used what I had from the vault to get started, and moved into the brotherhood once I found the opportunity to expand. And you more or less know the rest."
"Drug trade, gun running, general assholery. I remember the trial transcript."
I paused for a second.
"And everything since. You've done some good."
"I try. That means a lot, thank you. Enjoy the rest of your wine."
I did.
Rage is back, and Ice is at Delta with a missing leg. Wish it was the other way around. Still, I know that when push comes to shove, I can trust him. Him, and everyone else in the squad.
We're going into uncertain danger. God preserve us from Hell.
Why I fear the ocean.
But I just want to say, awesome LP, keep up the good work.
Don't worry about it.
I am, like many writers, inherently needy, desperate for praise, and self doubting to the point where I assume a lack of comments is a glaring indictment, not just on that particular work, but everything I've ever done, stretching back to my infancy.
Well, I exaggerate, but feedback, even (especially, if it's honest and thought through) negative feedback is always appreciated.
Thanks.
Why I fear the ocean.
There are so many things that can go wrong with something like this. So far, you've done everything so incredibly right.
I concur with Nerivant here. We can't reply every update with : "Love your work. Keep at it." since it'll be spam and reduce the quality of our opinions. Nevertheless. This is good Chiasaur11. Love the fact that you can do sevreal updates and make them great. Something I'll never be able to do.
Nerivant: I feel the same thing about everything I do as well. Whenever someone says "All-in-all good". I go "WHAT DOES ALL-IN-ALL MEAN?! Was the writing poor? Was the content repetative? Did I do any mistakes? WHAAAAAAAAATT?!" instead of: "Thanks".
I'm so awful about this at work. Doing commercial design and having a custom go "That looks alright" is the absolute worst thing. Depending on the customer "alright" can mean it's the best thing they've ever seen, or it could mean "You're completely redoing it if you expect to be paid."
Chia, this LP is far and away the former of those two options.
It cold and dark here, and doesn't smell good but Shaav fine. Shaav helping.
We went to big mountain with the clanky yelly robot. Ice wasn't there, lost leg. Rage said Shaav could have fixed. Everyone but stupid robot say Shaav good doctor. Shaav know Mama proud.
Shaav drove car for Milo and Babs. Car had nu-clear explosive (That means really big bomb.). Babs fixed the truck when broken, while Shaav kept driving. We were going to blow up doors. Get into Vault. Milo said vaults clean and metal and not have much meat and smell like washing. Shaav not like vaults.
Found big shelter to run to when bomb goes off. Dumb shouty robot who doesn't like Shaav went in.
Dumb robot got shot lots. Babs fix dumb shouty robot, and Rage ran in. Rage had big M2 gun.
Rage also get shot lots, said Shaav good Deathclaw lots. Shaav fix and dumb robot stay behind to guard bunker. Shaav saw dumb robot put up desks.
Robot is dumb.
Other robots attack truck. Babs fixed as Shaav drove, but tracks fall off and truck nearly broke.
Drove more careful after that.
Example: Shaav not drive through mines.
Robots shot us instead. Milo and Babs shot them. Shaav focus on driving. Broodmother Farsight and Rage follow behind. Shoot more robots.
Found generators that let turrets shoot us. Throwed grenades, made them explode.
Made robot explode too. Lots of exploding.
Broodmother Farsight helped shoot robots when they were far away. Broodmother Farsight good Broodmother when away from home, but still miss Mama and family. Even dumb Shriek.
Saw hummers. Other squads not do as good as us, not have good driver like Shaav. Didn't see bodies. Shaav not like to think about. Saw bodies last time. Shaav... Shaav good doctor, but not good enough then. Do better soon? Want to do better next time. Hope isn't a next time.
Lots of barricades. Not good building, exploded.
Generators exploded. Lots of exploding. Shaav good at making things explode.
Saw back door into bunker. Made mental note.
Lots of robots shot at us. Everyone shoot back, and lots of yelling.
Then big robots attacked. Shaav know Mama and Shaav's brothers not seen the big robots, so Shaav describe.
It is big and shooty and stompy and metal.
Also, it doesn't like EMP. Shaav helped blow it up.
Rage got shot lots by turret and shot generator so turret exploded and we drove up to door. Shaav volunteer to set bomb while everyone else ran to shelter. Shaav has been smarter before.
Shaav ran very fast. Shaav fastest of everybody.
Shaav fast enough. Hid in bunker. It cold and hurt Shaav's feet and dumb shouty robot says everyone hide under desk.
Dark.
Bright now!
...Dark. Shaav tired and hungry and have to go.
May not get back. Love Mama lots. If not get back, Krldraav can have stuff. Krldraav good brother. Not his fault.
Shaav's fault. Try harder.
Your son
Shaav.
Why I fear the ocean.
START!
Shaav for 2012 presidential election - Shaav good president.
Though maybe President Shaav would be more hands on, and just kill and eat them himself.
It'd make things quite a bit more interesting.
Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Also? Fuck.
We're it now. Even if anyone, scratch that, even if everyone else is alive, we're cut off, and the calculator sealed the elevators 30 seconds after it landed. No-one's going to find this.
When we got in, the radio started chattering about an attack on Epsilon. Multiple behemoths, armies of humanoid robots, and more. It looked like a winning decision to leave them the tank, but any comments on the situation were cut off by static. I don't like the odds.
We met Dagger squad just after that. The Dagger squad. The examples every squad leader I've had other than Milo uses when they need an excuse to train harder, or someone they can be sure did better. (I checked, Stein. Dagger Squad couldn't have made that shot. I did. Feels good to finally write that down.)
Milo walked up to Maximus and started talking to him like an equal. I doubt that anyone had done that in years. All Maximus could do was stare.
He eventually managed to say he was here as our backup. All of it, as far as he knows. 42 of the Brotherhood's finest, and we're down to 12 by the time we get in the door. He didn't seem too thrilled with the job.
Then an alarm went off. Or several alarms. All of the alarms. A stealth approach was pretty much out of the question. Milo handed the robot a Gauss minigun and asked everyone for as much 2mm EC as they could spare.
Babs got into the computer network to get us a map and divert some of the robots.
She succeeded. Unfortunately, getting into the network just showed us how much we were up against. Maybe a hundreth of the robots would manage to get to us before we either get to the command center or die. Probably less.
That's still an army big enough to kill any other military force in the wastes.
We'd barely got in position when they broke the door down. The minigun whined, the M2 screamed, and I tried to find and take down any targets that slipped through before they noticed me.
There was blood and oil everywhere.
And Maximus was punching a broken robot when we found him. Just repeating the motion, over and over. He stopped when we arrived and straightened up.
"Unprofessional of me. Personal isn't the same as important."
Which is when we saw the body.
Dagger Squad's medic. Not much left of her body. We took what we needed and left them to guard the area. No time and no energy to even pretend to mourn her. Milo passed around the Rad-x in case of radiation leaks.
No power for the elevator, and the door to the generator was locked. Security might have the shutdown codes, so we went to security.
I saw Milo putting some psycho in the armor's auto-injector. Not the best sign.
Nothing much interesting in the security wing. Milo and the robot we're paling around with blew up a lot of hostiles with sustained burst fire.
When he went out cold, Rage and I went in to cover until Shaav could get him back on his feet. He just shrugged it off and waded forward again. Good old psycho. Makes people invincible until it makes them dead.
Lot of explosions as we went.
And plenty of ammo on the scrap heaps. The one good thing about fighting here? We are not running out of ammunition any time soon.
Even the Brotherhood designed stuff. Apparently, the robots have been scavenging from us ever since we started slowing them down. Not that they need to.
They can afford to just keep throwing troops at us. We're good, maybe even the best. But there's only so long we can go.
Eventually, Babs got us entry to cryonics, and we had enough scrap metal on the floor to take a breather. None of us talked except the robot, and it shut off when Rage told it to shut the fuck up in the middle of a speech on the perils of communism.
Eventually, we had the energy to get up again. Shaav finished patching everyone up, and we moved to the Popsicle stand.
Which was also full of robots. Big surprise.
But Shaav said he smelled something else. Humans. Some recently dead, some still breathing. It was a goal.
I used a lot of EMP slugs in those rooms. I did a count just now.
Not that many left.
Eventually, we found the door where Shaav had smelled the bodies. Turrets and medical experiments. We took them down, but it didn't do anyone any good except getting Rage more ammo for his M2. Thousands of rounds, where 50 could
Prisoners were all dead a few hours before we arrived. At least they weren't ours.
We found the live civvies a little later, surrounded by robots. Robots who weren't firing. Quick takedown, and we moved to assist.
"General John Milo, Brotherhood of Steel, a division of the armed services. We're dealing with a security failure here, and..."
"Da! Da!"
"Dear lord. Communist agents, stored since the war! I knew the talks with Russia were a mistake."
"Have candy?"
Milo coughed.
"I think it's just brain damage. Cheap cryo chambers, radiation leaks, and the like. Failure of business practices. Probably market forces being left out for contractors. Or money spent on corporate bonuses. One or the other. No time to try to find any functional survivors, unfortunately. Harris? Please tell me there's a security override for the generators."
"Sure as shootin'"
"Right. Tell Maximus we have survivors here, Stills. He seems to hate you a little less than me, and this area seems to be lighter on patrols. Moving ahead."
I called in, and we moved on.
More hostiles.
Babs worked out a way to control the security, and we worked our way ahead. There was a pacification bot at the end of the corridor.
Died quick, and Babs fixed the generator. I kept the robots away.
I've gotten good at that.
We're in the elevator now, heading directly for the Calculator, whatever it is. Milo's already feeling the kick from Psycho wearing off, and the robot is banged up. Rage is more pissed off than ever, and Shaav's depressed.
Take this cup...
Why I fear the ocean.
Go get 'em, team.
hooooooo.
Any plans for your next LP?
I think the boss theme from metal slug fits in well here, too.
It ends today. No matter how it ends, it ends today. Reassuring, in a way.
Of course, one way it could end would be everyone dying in vain. An ending, at least.
I considered a rousing speech on the elevator, but it seemed in bad taste. Fortunately, the robot took that bullet for me.
“AMERICA will not contain communism, it will transcend communism! We will dismiss the damn dirty reds as a sad, bizarre chapter in human history whose last pages are even now being written!”
"Sure. Whatever."
"Why the fuck not?"
It was a better reception than I expected. It was also an opening and a receptive audience.
"Good work, honor to serve with you all, try not to die, and MOVE."
The robot, Rage, and I went to the door, miniguns ready. The phrase "Ready for anything" has always struck me as a cliche, and one of the more unfortunate ones. Some cliches become cliches because they are true, fine and good for them. Ready for anything, less so.
]
Case in point. We expected the hordes of basic combat models. Maybe some prototypes.
General Barnaky back from the dead? That was distinct. We were never close, I suppose, but I did have some respect for the man, matters of personal politics aside. It slowed our firing slightly.
Opening us to rocket fire.
We barely got to cover, and could hear Barnaky coming behind.
Rage's comment on the situation was a simple, sustained,
"What the fucking fuck?"
HR-1205 turned to philosophy.
"A general, going Red. Human free will is a rich tapestry of mistakes and treachery! What is it that makes a man go red?"
And I looked through my supplies for a delivery. One I'd missed earlier.
The letter to Maria Barnaky was... I'd always meant to get around to delivering it. Once I was sure the man was dead. And once that happened, well, things were a bit busy. I hit the playback on my PIP and hoped it would do something. Anything. Buy time. HR-1205 had the gauss minigun ready if all else failed. I doubted that would work, but hope and eternity and such.
"General Barnaky, sir? You might want to hear this.
"I know, sir. She loves you too. Seeing you alive again..."
And he stomped off. I didn't know where.
Rage just continued with "What the fuck".
Babs went over to patch the robot.
"If'n I remember right, it's awful lucky you didn't go and tell him I made Paladin. Corpse is spinning in his grave from that, already."
And Farsight nodded as Shaav healed everyone up.
"He wasn't alone. I'll clear the area of everything else. Seeing Barnaky again gets a lot of old aggression to the surface. Might as well use it for something productive."
And then there was just the sound of a Gauss rifle and explosions for a few minutes.
There were a lot of broken machines when we followed. Stills was always a remarkable sniper, but she's improved in the past months. Then again, a few months ago I could hardly fire a pistol, and I'm carrying a minigun now. This past year has been a series of painful learning experiences.
Then we saw the calculator. Brains in jars connected to a central computer.
Barnaky sat in a corner, whispering about Maria.
We advanced cautiously.
And ran into a security shutdown, just as the Psycho really wore off. It cleared the brain, but it was hard to keep moving, keep standing. Duty kept me going.
Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.
The brains were babbling happily. Innocently. But they were, unfortunately, keeping the Calculator going. Their lives versus every other person in the wastes was simple math.
And I always prided myself on economics.
No screams, at least.
And from all I hear, after long enough in an immobile tank, the brain loses all grip on reality. I'm sure Farsight would say it doesn't make things much better morally, but it does make it easier. Enough for now.
And if anyone bears the burden, it might as well be me.
More defenses. More robots.
Rage took out the other brains. I generally find it useful to have a sociopath or two somewhere on the payroll. Machievelli recommends that you make yourself feared, but I have trouble with the task. More helpful to have someone you can trust feared for you.
A few more robots.
And a last brain. We were lucky there.
One of the bastards behind the world before the war. Behind the Vault experiments, which Babs had informed me, were frequently disastrous. Behind the war policy that left billions dead. I dislike communism as much as the next fellow, but the methods left something to be desired. It made firing a little easier.
We went back to the Calculator. And it started talking. Making offers. To me.
"You have come a long way, John Milo, Vault 58 citizen 1766."
"1765."
"Ah, the damage to my organic mainframe is significant. Certain mistakes will arise. We have much to offer each other, Milo. You are fond of making deals."
]
"Imagine it, human. The savior of the wasteland. The man who brings peace to the ruins of the war. Your name would live in glory."
"Of course, I would have my brain extracted. All due respect, ma'am, but that seems something of a sticking point."
"There is a price to everything, as you well know. But the rewards are worth it."
Which is when Farsight entered the room.
"It's quiet right now. Too... are you talking to the enemy?"
"Your commander is securing a future for himself. Do not let jealousy stand in the way."
"Nothing important right now, Stills. But we aren't being attacked right now. Worth savoring."
She looked at the calculator for a second.
"Alright. I trust you, General."
Time for more cliche, of the true variety.
That meant more than all the promotions and medals this last year.
"And if you betray us, I will kill you."
Ah, Nina. Never would have made it this far without you at my back. Often jamming a pistol to it.
"Well, there is a catch to any negotiation. You have tried to murder anyone who isn't genetically pure. I have friends and contacts who fail to qualify. You see the problem."
The calculator gave a mechanical sigh.
"Perimeters for acceptable mutation can be extended. "
I thought of Shaav, as good a medic as any I'd worked with. Who trusted me.
Harris, ever reliable mechanic who I liked as much as anyone. Kleptomaniac, of course, but everyone has flaws.
"And Ghouls? Deathclaws? Supermutants? You'll have to do better."
"Fine. My survival is too important to allow such minor concerns to interfere. But decide quickly."
And here I am.
The most important decision in post war history in my hands.
As I said, it will end soon. One way or another.
Why I fear the ocean.
They sacrificed to bring you this, General.
You can't be the best humanity has to offer.
John Milo... you have to be better.
My brain began rushing faster than it ever had. Scenarios appeared and finished in seconds, whole worlds rushed past.
58 seconds. I could be trusted with nearly absolute power, couldn't I?
The region sees new laws established to ease humanity back into civilized life laws that are strictly enforced by the combined patrols of Brotherhood soldiers and pacification robots. To speed the unification process discrimination against mutates is outlawed, many prejudices are eliminated through education or the harsh implementation of Brotherhood Justice. The willingness to overcome differences opens avenues of recruitment that would otherwise remained unutilized. Mutated creatures that wish to live in peace under the new regime are welcomed, though hesitantly into the population. Old hatreds and fears are soon forgotten as the task at hand becomes apparent; humans, ghouls, super mutants and deathclaws all work together to begin transforming the wastelands into a post nuclear utopia. The combined knowledge of the Brotherhood and Calculator's databases are a powerful tool for reshaping the world and no time is wasted. Technology is slowly re-introduced into the land; irrigation systems are established bringing water to the barren soils for the first time in decades.
New settlements spring up as land becomes fertile once again, with places of learning becoming the hubs of the fledgling civilization. A combination of old world science with new world wisdom paves the way to higher understanding and unity amongst the population. The new regime begins to expand across the wasteland absorbing towns and villages and quickly dispatching those who would halt progress. Soon the Brotherhood is protector to a string of settlements, as the Brotherhood's power grows so does it's hold on the wasteland but one question remains; what will happen when this young civilization encounters the original knowledge hording Brotherhood of Steel? The Scribes and Elders prepare for the meeting and hope to put differences in the past as the future of mankind hangs in the balance but that is a battle for another day and perhaps another hero.
57 seconds. No, I couldn't.
The Calculator quickly integrates with the surviving Brotherhood leaders; protocol robots infused with knowledge of Brotherhood procedure begin to handle operations in Brotherhood outposts. Behemoth robots are sent to bunkers and allied towns to ease the strain of basic needs like patrols, while maintaining a military show of force to keep outlaws at bay. Soon the alliance is discarded with all forces now under one computerized leader, the Brotherhood is once again reborn. To speed the unification process discrimination against mutates is outlawed, the new Brotherhood views these creatures as a valuable resource instead of a threat to be eliminated. Old hatreds and fears are soon set aside as humans, ghouls, super mutants and deathclaws work together to carry out the Brotherhood's plans for transforming the wastelands into a post nuclear utopia.
The new regime begins to expand across the wasteland absorbing towns and villages and quickly dispatching those that would halt progress. Soon the Brotherhood is protector to a string of settlements with entire regions under its influence. As the Calculator's power grows so does its hold on the continent but one question remains; what will happen when this new force encounters the original knowledge hording Brotherhood of Steel? In the depths of Vault 0 the Calculator processes millions of possible scenarios in preparation for the inevitable meeting. It will not be as easy to eliminate the original west coast Brotherhood Elders but it must be done, for in the end there can only be one leader. One who is willing to sacrifice anything or anyone to unify the wasteland.
56 seconds. I'm not qualified to make this call. I should ask someone who actually is Brotherhood, not just playing at it for a little money.
55 seconds.
Technology is slowly re-introduced into the land; irrigation systems are established bringing water to the barren soils for the first time in decades. New settlements spring up as trade routes become safe from attacks. Once again humanity begins to prosper, for the various mutates of the land their destiny is somewhat darker. All known genetic divergents are immediately rounded up into internment camps and registered. Those that comply are forced to endure harsh conditions in labor gulags where their unique abilities are exploited in tasks considered too dangerous or simply beneath pure blood humans. Humans who speak out against this new system are disciplined or silenced. Those mutants who choose to flee are ruthlessly hunted by gangs, these unfortunates are captured, killed, and displayed across the region as a gruesome reminder to all impure life forms that disobedience from lesser creatures will be met with uncompromising punishment. Small factions of humans defiant of the new Brotherhood dictatorship join their outcast cousins to form the Mutant Liberation Army, any creatures suspected of supporting this outlawed faction are quickly rounded up and interrogated by the General's handpicked inquisitors.
Many are never seen again but for every disappearance, for every public execution by the new regime another rebel joins the outlaw movement. Soon the Brotherhood finds itself under repeated attack, the Mutant Liberation Army attempts to utilize guerrilla tactics to offset the overwhelming combined force of robot and Brotherhood soldiers. The rebels fight for many reasons now; revenge, freedom, and a chance for a better life. Some join the battle because raging war is all they know. It is a struggle they are destined to lose. Soon, without the required resources and firepower the Mutant Liberation Army is driven west, back to an area where many of them met bitter defeat not long ago. Their actions becoming more and more desperate when they realize they are being driven back into a region controlled by the old Brotherhood. Humanity rules the land again while the mutates have nothing but death; it lies waiting over every hill, behind every rock, through every crosshair. They are without justice, they are without hope, such is life in the wasteland.
54 seconds. All the moments leading here flash by, my own decisions and those of others. Standard fare and the exceptional. The old Brotherhood hiding in its bunker, away from the new world. Pain. Death. Fear.
53 seconds. The Vault. The same situation. Clinging to the old, not knowing how fragile that peace is. I don't even know if they're alive. Haven't thought of them in too long.
52. Mutants clinging to an old army. Reavers refusing to acknowledge their current situation and fighting us in the face of the coming threat. And right here, the Vault 0 residents. Geniuses of the age, reduced to babbling simpletons, relying on their old machines to stay alive.
51. So much to consider. There's probably a moral in there somewhere. Not that I'm good with them. Adapting. Or learning from the past. Or something else simple.
50. Oh. Letting go of the old before it gets you killed.
I opened fire on the calculator. I'm still not entirely sure why. Oh, there were good reasons. It was a genocidal engine of destruction and deserved death with no moral culpability. (Farsight's bad influence, I suspect. I never let it get in the way in the past.). Its trustworthyness was questionable, but it was hardly alone in that.
Bad reasons as well. I didn't want to die. I didn't want the thing to be happy.
I'm sure someone else would have found a better solution. They weren't here
None of that matters now. It shut down in a hail of bullets.
And all its armies with it.
The background hum cut in half. Radio static cleared. Barnaky slumped in despair as HR-1205 tried to pep him back up.
"Look on the bright side. We've defeated the hordes of dirty Reds! Hooray for America!"
I decided to try to reduce the damage. Slightly.
"I talked to Maria, when we found your body. If you never trust me again, which I would not blame you for, honestly, trust me on this. She'll just be happy to have you back."
He seemed slightly less depressed then. At least, I hope so, but it became borderline irrelevant in fairly short order. I radioed for Bunker Epsilon. Mission accomplished and that.
"General John Milo, Magpie Squad. Mission accomplished."
Paladin Solo responded.
"Congratulations, Commander."
"So, pass me to the officer in charge. A more thorough debriefing..."
"You're talking to her. Damn robots didn't give us a chance to breathe, and they figured out the chain of command damn fast. Dekker took as many as he could with him, but, well, we're lucky they stopped. As far as I can tell, you're ranking officer."
"Please tell me that's a joke."
"It isn't."
And suddenly I had the weight of the world on me. Not entirely pleasant.
"Alright. Obviously, the first thing to do is find survivors. Full sweep. Once you're done with the immediate tasks, move the wounded and non-essentially personel back to Delta. Major assault teams, tanks, medics, and engineers, we'll want up here. There's a treasure trove of old world tech, and civies. None of it will last long unattended, and we don't have the forces in the region to support a forward assault position and a fortified research bunker, so we want the most bang for our buck. Eventually, we'll want the Elders down here with the best scribes, but for now, securing it is enough."
"Yes, sir. I'll pass it on. We are Steel."
"We are hard."
"We have been sharpened to an edge."
I shut the radio down.
Farsight walked up to me.
"Status, sir?"
"We won. And lost too many good people doing it. In other words, the best projected outcome."
"Shit."
Not much talking as we rode the elevator to the residential area to wait for backup. Token salutes for the three remaining members of Dagger squad. A little discussion.
They'd found a survivor still capable of coherent english. In agreement with standard security protocols, they'd held him at gunpoint without telling him anything.
Salute. Dismissed. And go talk to him.
"Who are you?"
"John Milo, acting Commander in Chief. We're here to help."
It might as well have been true. I let him talk, listening to how ill prepared he'd be to face the wasteland while he thought he was talking about something else. And that's staying with the non-braindamaged part of the vault.
We won.
I only hope we all live to reap the benefits.
Epilogue to follow tomorrow.
And finally, the last of the four endings in the game:
Recruitment and education of the local tribal and village populations becomes the all important mission of the depleted and wounded Brotherhood but the education is not once sided, after generations of surviving in the harshness of the wastelands the indigenous people are in tune with the land. They have valuable lessons to teach those immersed solely with technology, lessons of nature and balance that the Brotherhood had previously neglected. Not all of the wasteland's inhabitants are sharing the same noble purpose, opportunistic raiders and bandits enjoy the fruits of a recovering war torn Brotherhood. Patrols are scarce and in smaller numbers than the thieves remember encountering in the past, as the Brotherhood focuses on consolidating its power base. Several frontier outposts are lost as the Brotherhood finds they are fighting a guerrilla war without the support of large numbers, but adversity and hardship are as familiar to the Brotherhood as discipline and knowledge and they learn their lessons quickly. With a new power over this region comes a new responsibility, all plans for re-establishing contact with the west are postponed indefinitely.
Recruitment begins anew and the initiate ranks swell, all military efforts are then concentrated on uprooting all outlaw predators in the region finally making it safe for the Brotherhood and its allies. In time the Brotherhood once again rules the land, resources are then allocated to expansion and development. Technology becomes more widespread, with irrigation systems established to make the nuclear blasted land fertile, humanity once again starts to prosper. The Hero, the warrior of the Brotherhood, now a general, shares the burden and the satisfaction of overseeing civilization's development. The Brotherhood of Steel has come through the trials of this region and emerged scarred but wiser, it will be decades before a reunion is possible between the old Brotherhood and the new Brotherhood regime. In that time there are new alliances to be made, new battles to be fought, new victories to be had but that is a tale for another day.
Why I fear the ocean.