Private The treasure of the West (Fallout)

[Simus]

Lily was walking along the bridge of San Francisco chomping on an enormous haunch of chargrilled brahmin and enjoying her vacation overall. She had left a week ago after Leo had gotten a little too excited and beheaded one of their bighorners. Lily had explained to Leo that this was wrong but she took it as a sign that she was stressed and needed a break from Jacobstown. Marcus was okay with this and Doctor Henry had given her plenty of medicine to keep Leo quiet. She had gotten much better at taking it than she used to, thanks to the advice of a friendly courier she had met once. She had also heard that the Enclave was coming back to the Mojave and her little Becky had been sent away by her mommy in Hidden Valley. Lilly wished Becky would visit her more often but she understood that teenagers had to live their own lives and that they didn't like having their grandmas slow them down. Still, her mommy had told her Becky was in the area with a Paladin friend of hers and Lily was eager for the suprise visit.

She then saw what looked like her little Jimmy being dragged away by some NCR soliders! Lily certainly wouldn't stand for that! Jimmy was such a good boy, he'd never been in trouble before. This was clearly a misunderstanding. Lily lumbered over to the soldiers dragging Clint and stopped them.

"Excuse me officers, but would you mind telling me what's going on here? You seem to be arresting my grandson."

"None of your fl*ffin' business mutie." One of the troopers said. "This is NCR business and you're interfering. Now fl*ff off before we blow your brains out."

"My such foul language! You should know better than to curse out an old lady dearie, not to mention pointing a gun at people. Leo doesn't like guns you see. They make him angry. No Leo you can't smash them! You can't chop them up either! That's very rude!"

The other soldiers were now thoroughly confused as to who Lilly was talking to and too intimidated by her size to attempt an arrest. That was when Courtwright stepped out of the bar and maintained order.

“What the fl*ff is going on here?” He asked

“You have my grandson officer. Did he get into a fight with Scotty Burgis again?” Lily asked.n

“Wha…who the fu-“

Lily barged past Courtwright and headed for Clint

“Jimmy! It’s grandma! Don’t you worry pumpkin! Whatever you did I know you’re sorry. Grandma’s gonna have a talk with these officers and make them leave you alone!”

“Mutie, you take another step towards my prisoner and it will be your last.” Courtwright said, pumping his combat shotgun. Lily heard the noise and turned, unsheathing the vertibird blade she used as a giant cleaver.

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is bucko. No one’s getting between me and my little Jimmy!”

Having all the cause he needed, Courtwright fired a buckshot into Lily’s chest. It would have shattered a human ribcage but being a super mutant, all it did was make Lily mad. She gave a deafening roar and let Leo take over her mind. She barreled right through Courtwright, knocking him flat on his back and hitting his head on the ground hard enough to knock his helmet off. He dropped his shotgun and was too dazed to stop Lily from charging one of his men and chopping his head clean off. The poor trooper didn’t even have time to return fire. Two other troopers looked in horror of what had just happened and froze up. Lily turned on them next.

“What are you idiots doing! Shooooot!” Courtwright screamed, reaching for his shotgun just before Lily stomped it, breaking and bending it to the point of it being useless.

“Oh no you don’t dearie!” Lily yelled as she was hit by one of many hasty shots the troopers were firing.

“NEEEEYAAAAAAAAAHHH!” Lily roared, holding her rotor blade high in the air and bringing it crashing down on one trooper’s head. It cleaved right through his helmet and split his skull open, his brains oozing onto his body. The other troopers were running for it now and Lily caught a third. She made a sideways attack with her rotor blade and cleaved a trooper at the torso, cutting him cleanly in two. His legs stopped and hit the ground just after his body did. He died holding his rifle but was dead before his upper body hit the ground.

Now that the area was relatively safe, Lily went into the bar, not noticing the still-alive Gary, and brought Clint into a big hug.

“Oh Jimmy! My little Jimmy! It’s so good to see you, your grandma missed you so much! Let’s get you home and I’ll make you a sandwich. Then you can tell grandma all about why those officers were giving you trouble. Don’t you worry yourself pumpkin, everything’s gonna be okay now that grandma’s here.”

 

[KaitoGhost]

Despite the amount of whiskey he had drunk, Richard instantly sobered up when he saw the man lying on the dirt covered bar floor. His face was gone, replaced by a mass of hamburger meat. The bar was completely silent, save for the labored breathing of the poor victim, as Clint went to work. He knelt before the man, momentarily looking him over, then began barking out orders. The trader, not knowing what else to do, wordlessly complied, holding the poor man's mouth open as Clint slid a tube looking thing down his throat.

Mere moments after the doctor handed the other end of the tube to a rather attractive young woman, the door to the tavern burst open, startling everyone inside. The police had arrived. Richard recognized Commander Courtright amongst them. He knew the Watch Commander by reputation only, having never personally dealt with him before. Courtright was a hardass, known for his hard stance on criminals. He was of the "guilty until proven innocent" school of thought, something Richard intensely disagreed with, but also perhaps something that Frisco needed to help keep it together. Frisco had been a much more dangerous place before Courtright was put in charge.

"Everyone out. Tavern's closed for the night," the Commander roared, helping a few drunken patrons through the door with his polished boot. Then he turned, a gleeful look in his eye, and began to speak to Clint, accusing him of giving the injured man an overdose of some drug. Something wasn't right. Courtright wasn't an idiot, clearly he could see the man was the victim of a beating. Richard decided to speak up.

“It was a bar fight, seen the guy who did it, he scampered away real quick after it was over.”

The look that the Commander gave the trader at his words was positively venomous. Richard recoiled from the hatred in his gaze. Courtright stood there a moment, before denying the obvious truth. He dismissed the girl, kicking her as she scampered away, then launched into a monologue. Only a couple sentences in, it became clear to the trader that Courtright had no interest in the truth, nor even in saving the life of the dying man at his feet. No, he wanted to frame Clint for the man's death, in order to advance his own career. Commander Courtright was corrupt, the embodiment of all that was wrong with the NCR. Richard seethed with a fierce loathing for the man.

Finally finished with his little speech, the Commander ordered his men to arrest not only Clint, but Richard as well. The proverbial camel's back broke, and the trader could hold in his rage no longer.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I'M AN NCR CITIZEN, AN AUTHORIZED AND SANCTIONED TRADER, AND I WILL NOT BE TREATED THIS WAY!" . He struggled against the grip of the soldiers holding his arms, but it was useless. The trader wasn't as young as he used to be, after all. As he was led past the Commander, Richard would have given up Bessie for a chance to wipe the smug sneer off of the vile officer's face.

Outside the bar, the streets were nearly empty, save for a lone Nightkin, wearing a wide brimmed straw hat. He/it approached them, and began talking about his/her/its grandson, clearly confused. When the soldiers tried to send her away, she became enraged, and attacked. The first trooper was dead before he had any time to react, the second one soon after. The soldiers restraining Richard threw him to the ground, firing their weapons at the furious mutant, before they too were cut down by her enormous blade. The few surviving soldiers scattered, Courtright among them.

Richard, a grizzled veteran of the Wastes, sat on the dusty street in a daze. Never before had he experienced anything even remotely similar to what had just happened. As Clint approached him, the old trader looked up, and said three simple words: "What the fl*ff!?"

 

[K3V!N]

Clint felt the giant creature press against him, it’s odorous flesh wafted meat and sweat from between them as they swayed back and forth.

“...your Grandma missed you so much,”

Grandma?

In a mixture of fear and gratitude Clint sheepishly wrapped him arms around the beast, embracing her as she continued to coddle him. The scene was total carnage as onlookers emerged from behind their various enclaves they’d hidden behind to survey the scene. The super mutant had neatly dispatched most of Courtwright’s men, various body parts were strewn about over the cobbled street. Blood spilled in a continuous puddle that mixed with the grime from the street forming a rust colored stream that slowly reached for the gutter.

Courtwright had vanished into the early dawn, in all likelihood heading for The Rock to dispatch more NCR troops. Clint caught a glimpse of Richard as the mutant dragged him back towards the Motor Inn. He surveyed the scene, securing Bessie to one of the old rotted columns that used to be part of the facade of the Motor Inn. He looked over at the two, still caught in a loose embrace as they made their way for the entrance, keeping a cautious distance between himself and the beast’s rotor blade,

“What the fl*ff?”

Clint looked back at Richard and feigned a shrug. Clint had no idea what was going to happen or how to begin to reason with the creature as she released him from their embrace.

“You tell Grandma why were those officers giving you trouble?” Clint took a step back, getting a good look at the creature as he tried to collect his thoughts. He’d seen these types of mutants before, Nightkin’s, Baja was full of them, or ‘ghosts’ at the NCR has referred to them at times. This one was bizarre though, could she possibly think she’s a Grandmother? My Grandmother? Clint took a few steps back, leery of upsetting the creature that had just saved him.

“Dearie, you tell Grandma why these officers were taking you away,” the creature grew more agitated as Clint searched feverishly for an escape route. Realizing quickly that there was no clear path to escape, Clint relented,

“They were trying to frame me for murder... Grandma,” Clint looked down at Gary’s body which had suffered severe oxygen deprivation to the point where the brain was almost certainly damaged beyond repair.

“Why would they do that dearie? My little Jimmy could never murder someone!”

Richard appeared in the doorway as Clint knelt down by Gary’s body once more. Ignoring the creature for now, he pulled a stethoscope from his bag,

“Can you help ventilate?” Clint asked, motioning towards the airbag that sat by the body. Richard promptly complied, carefully moving past the creature and knelt by Gary joining Clint as he went to work on Gary once more.

“How is he lookin’?” Richard asked keeping one eye on the creature as Clint moved the stethoscope over Gary’s body. The circulation in his arms and legs had gone cold, no distal pulse, without extreme medical intervention Gary wouldn’t survive, and even with that, he’d probably have only limited brain activity. A vegetable.

Clint sat up pulling the stethoscope from his ears, he looked down at Gary’s battered face as Richard pumped air into his chest, his lungs rising and falling rhythmically with squeeze of the bag. Clint grasped at his head as his vision blurred. Searing pains shot through his head as he fought the urge to vomit, he quickly slid himself to the corner of the bar, propping himself up against the sleek cold surface. It had been hours since his last hit of Jet. He knew he was deep within the throes of withdrawal as he reached for his bag,

“Doc,” Richard insisted, shooting a cautious glance between himself and the creature before turning to Clint, “what’s goin’ on? Is he dead?”

Clint heard Richard but couldn’t respond, not until he found his Jet. As he frantically rifled through the bag his hands shook violently as his body began to seize up. Clint felt the seizure come on but could do nothing to stop it. It was a new symptom for him, something that a few of his clients had experienced, but wasn’t a common side effect of the drug. It was a case of extreme withdrawal, the body had become reliant on the Jet, so much so that it played a major part in regulating the respiratory and circulatory systems. When depleted of the drug, the body simply didn’t know how to function.

Clint keeled over, forcing the strap of his rucksack into his mouth as he braced himself for the oncoming seizure. Richard looked at him wide eyed, continuing to act as a makeshift ventilator for Gary. Clint felt as his body tensed and began to convulse violently. The creature sprung into action,

“My Jimmy!” She dove to Clint’s side, cradling him like a mother cradles a newborn,

“there there now Jimmy, what’s wrong?” As he convulsed the creature managed to keep his flailing limbs at bay, pacing about the room with him for the duration of the seizure. Clint felt an odd sense of relief as she laid him back down, the worst of it was over. He woozily stood up and bent over the bar flinging the glasses him and Courtwright drank out of earlier, dry heaving over the side, nothing left to vomit. He had urinated on himself but that was the least of his worries, his hands still shaking he frantically grasped for his bag, quickly grading and depressurizing a jet vial into its applicator. He felt his body melt as he took the hit, his heart rate slowed and a feeling of warmth overwhelmed his system.

He looked up towards Richard who was still shouting something towards Clint. He tried to register the words, but Clint was fixated on the movement of his mouth. For a number of minutes Clint sat transfixed on Richard who grew increasingly frustrated with the situation. The creature paced back and forth, craning her head every once in a while to check on her ‘Jimmy’ while Clint came out of the initial high.

All at once Clint’s senses came roaring back tenfold and he let out a violent cough as he came to.

“Doc!” Richard exclaimed, “what the fl*ff are you doin’?” Clint slid up against the bar,

“He’s dead man,”

“My dearie, who is dead?” The creature interrupted as Richard looked down morbidly at the body.

“I got news for you, I don’t know who the fl*ff Jimmy is, but I’m not your guy,” Clint banged his head against the bar, the return of his high bringing back some overtly aggressive feelings.

“And this fl*ffing guy is dead, good as dead anyways.”

“What is that supposed to mean? You got me doin’ this for nothing?” Clint slid himself back up the bar, grasping at a stool and coming to rest on its creaky frame. He laid his head across his arms and silently pondered.

“There there now Dearie, don’t be so sensitive,” It seemed his head was on fire, his mind raced as he woozily looked over at the creature, then back at Richard and the body once more.

“He’s brain dead,” Clint felt his face scrunch up uncontrollably as he choked out the next few words,
“good as dead...” His voice cracked as the emotion of the last twenty-four hours overwhelmed him.

He thought of that little girl, the one he was ‘protecting’ and wondered if this is what love felt like. They’d not exchanged one word with each other, yet she invoked in him an emotion that had been long dormant, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, maybe this is what it feels like to really lose someone. The night he’d found her, beaten and abused, he didn’t know if he could save her, or even if he should save her. What was this life if not a tragic one, especially for a girl her age with nowhere to go and no one to look out for her. What kind of life would he be extending? Perhaps the most humane thing would be end it all together.

That night he cradled her, carrying her back to his shanty with the intention of ending her young life before it even began. He struggled internally as he readied the lethal dose of med-x, holding it in his hands looking down at her badly beaten body and wondering if there was any good left in the world. But then something unexpected happened, she opened her eyes. As she slowly turned her head and looked up at him for the first time, something changed in him in that moment. She would become his shining beacon of hope, and her innocence, just like everything else, was gobbled up by the wasteland as he knew it eventually would be.

Richard slowly stopped his cadence on the airbag as Clint stumbled across the room to the corner where his lever action shotgun sat patiently awaiting his return. He flung the lever halfway down and checked the chamber as he collected himself and approached Gary’s body. Richard took a few steps back, watching as Clint approached, the two met eyes,

“This is the humane thing to do,” Clint said wiping his eyes as he stepped over the body, readying his aim

“I’ll do it,” Richard pushed Clint aside, pulling the .45 pistol from it’s holster, “you’ve done enough today, Doc, let me handle this part.”

Clint watched as the weapon discharged, the bullet penetrating Gary’s bloated skull enabling a cascade of blood that soaked the underside of the body. Clint reached down and ripped the tubing from his trachea, shoving it angrily back into his rucksack.

“You’ve got enough to deal with,” Richard said, slapping Clint on the back, “you don’t need this on your conscious neither.”

Clint nodded appreciatively as he placed a few bottles of whiskey into his ruck. The creature seemed stunned by the noise of the .45 and looked at the both of them inquisitively, as if she were trying to figure out what exactly was happening.

“NCR’s comin’ better get a move on!” Richard yelled from the door, “twenty maybe thrity of em’ headed this way!”

Clint scrambled into action, grabbing the creature. He patted Richard on the shoulder,

“grab Bessie and meet me around back, I’ve got a place we can go but we’re gonna have to hurry.”

There was only one place that Clint knew to be safe from almost everyone in San Fran, the lab.

Clint waited with the Nightkin around back of the bar, the NCR were close and Clint could hear Courtwright barking out commands as the soldiers approached, his slow drawl piercing the silence of the early dawn.

Richard shot around the corner with Bessie, the jangling of her cowbell echoed off the clapboard the encircled them.

Richard looked at Bessie then grabbed the bell, tossing it aside.

“Can she run?” Clint asked, motioning in the direction they needed to move. Richard nodded as the group set off for the lab. Clint didn’t know if the creature would follow, but she seemed just as content to be moving along with the group. Clint figured, if she were going to kill them, she’d have done it by now.

The group moved as inconspicuously as possible through the streets of San Fran. The lab was located at the intersection of Stockton and Chestnut streets in the basement of a boarded up row house. There was only one entry point, a small set of basement windows around the back side of the house which clint had chained up when he wasn’t there. The sun was beginning to rise as the group approached the lab, the street was bathed in a pinkish hue as the dense night air began to dissipate into another sunny day.

Clint helped Richard as they squeezed Bessie into an abandoned garage nearby and secured the door with a padlock Richard had on his person. The three of them then slid through the basement windows into Clint’s lab, the creature came through last, barely fitting through the window with its massive frame.

The lab was neat and organized, a habit Clint had picked up in medical school that had stuck with him throughout his life. He watched as Richard examined the racks upon racks of empty jet vials, the chemistry station, and the makeshift surgical table Clint had created to treat various emergencies.

“I’ve got this cot,” Clint motioned towards the canvas NCR cot that he’d kept all these years, useful for cat naps after long nights of synthesizing at the lab,

“you can take that, Richard.” Clint flung his rucksack across the metal desk he kept in the corner of the room, pulling it open to expose its contents. He pulled the empty jet vials, atropine and lidocane from their perch in the ruck and moved them to the chemistry set.

“We’re gonna need to stay here for a while, at least until nightfall when it’s easier to move.” Clint looked to Richard for his approval who had moved his belongings to the cot.

“Fine by me.”

Clint looked to the creature,
“And what did you say your name was, Grandma?”

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Christopher had overstayed his welcome, he glanced at his pip-boy; seeing it was half past midnight. With a sigh he looked around, letting what he'd done sink in. "Ya might wanna get outta here, pricks back there will come after ya." Chris turned, seeing the man with the crossbow approaching. Normally, Chris would've wanted to be alone; but now really wasn't the time or place to be blunt about how he felt. "Yeah, guess so." Chris mumbled, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and letting it hang from his mouth as he lit it with a match.

"Names Daryl" The man exclaimed. Chris glanced up at him, exhaling a gust of smoke which dissipated in the air. "Christopher, call me Chris." He replied, noticing that behind Daryl a scene was taking place in the bar. He caught a glance of Clint; trying to save the man. The sight made Christopher's guts knot up, and he turned away; now heading towards the city's gates at a brisk pace. "Where you headed? I ain't tryna intrude on your pl*ps but I can stand another night of rat stew out in the wasteland with my brother." He was a persistent once, Chris would give him that. "Not sure, guess I'll head over to Oakland or Berekely. Where there's work."


There was shouting from behind them, a commotion was taking place. Chris looked behind to see NCR storming the bar, forcing out patrons in droves; beating against them with batons. Chris swore under his breath and shook his head, he didn't see Clint in the crowd, but thought nothing of it as he continued on his way.

Chris wasn't totally against the idea of keeping company for the trip, Daryl didn't seem like a bad guy; and Chris had a good feeling about him.

Chris stopped as he saw something ahead charging towards him, something big.

"What the...?" He said, eyes narrowing as he reached for his holstered pistol. Suddenly, the figure pounced into view; a super mutant. Chris barely caught a glimpse of the creature before it thundered by, knocking him down as it sprinted towards the bar. Chris stood stupefied, jaw agape and eyes wide. He shook his head, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him as he continued towards the gate.

 

[Simus]

Lily helped Clint and Richard as best she could with Gary but she couldn't do much more than stay out of the way. During the time between Clint's withdrawl convulsions, Gary's death and Clint leading them both to the lab, Lily’s medicine was able to catch up with her mind. She had taken it an hour prior but had skipped yesterday’s dose. Doctor Henry told her she needed to take it every day and her friend Simus’ little angel of a daughter, a sweet redhead named Jessica, had helped convince her, but sometimes she forgot. Today’s dose was only just now taking effect and Lily’s mind crystallized rather suddenly. This poor boy she had helped rescue, the one she kept calling Jimmy wasn’t Jimmy at all. Jimmy was back in Jacobstown, he had found his way there last week thanks to Niel. Leo wanted to challenge him since Jimmy was a behemoth but Lily wouldn’t have any of that! He would always be her little Jimmy, even if he was ten feet tall!

Taking a seat on the floor of The Lab, taking up about a quarter of the small room just by sitting, Lily looked up to Clint when he asked her what her name was.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry dearie! I forgot that we haven’t met yet. I didn’t take my medicine yesterday and today’s dose hasn’t quite kicked in yet. I get confused when that happens and I tend to make a fool of myself. I’m sorry about that dearie, mistaking you for my little Jimmy and all. He’s not so little anymore, he’s a super mutant like me you see. One of those big behemoths The Master used to smash through old cities and pre-war structures. My name’s Lilly and I’m a Nightkin from Jacobstown. My mind isn’t what it used to be thanks to that pesky FEV virus and a good too many Stealth Boys but you’ve probably figured that out by now. Also, don’t be concerned if I keep calling myself grandma. I don’t have many good memories from my human life anymore, too much time and all that. I like to remember my grandchildren though and I like to help the younger folks for it.“

She extended one of her giant blue hands to Clint.

“It’s very nice to meet both you boys. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused back there. Leo gets very angry at the sight of NCR troopers and you both looked to be in a tight spot so I listened when he told me to chop them up. I don’t remember smashing that poor man’s face in though. The one you were trying to help in the bar. That wasn’t me…was it?”

She then took off her sunglasses and looked at Clint, revealing worried, grandmotherly eyes.

“Also pumpkin, you had quite the episode there. And this place looks more like a jet stand than a doctor’s office: Not a good place for somebody as sick as you were. Is there anything you want to tell your grandma? I just ask because I think you need help dearie. Just because you’re a doctor doesn’t mean you don’t get sick you know.”

 

[K3V!N]

Jet stand? Clint looked around the room while shaking Lily’s hand, was it that obvious?

“Well, it’s really not what it seems,” Clint shuffled to the portion of the room dedicated to manufacturing and began sliding the various peripherals from view. Clint glanced over to Richard, who had slouched back on the cot but was listening to the exchange intently,

“I’m Richard, that’s Clint,” Richard added, pulling a piece of Gecko jerky from his bag.

“In the bar, it wasn’t you who hurt that man.” Lily looked relieved, although Clint worried about the mental stability of the nightkin considering the circumstances.

“Listen, I owe you both a debt of gratitude,” Clint said, taking a seat at the desk,
“I apologize for getting you mixed up in my pl*ps, things are… Complicated.”

“I’m not on the receiving end of many favors, so if I can do anything or need anything, what you see is as good as yours.”

“No need to worry about me either, seizure’s just a side effect, rarely happens but the last day or so has been a wild one.”

“Side effect of what, dearie?”

Clint felt his stomach clench, he realized he’d not eaten in days and began rifling through the locker behind him,
“You all hungry? I’ve got a few things back here. Well all I have is some cram, takes like pl*ps but it's something.” Clint turned back around, cracking up one of the cans, the methane like smell filling the room.

“I’ve got a condition, kind of like you, that needs medication on a continual basis.” Clint took a cracker and pulled a glob of cram from the can shoving it in his mouth.


“Did you say Jacobstown? That anywhere near New Vegas? I know someone out there… A woman, Doctor Alvarez, don’t suppose you know her. Last I heard she was tied up with the Followers somewhere.”

 

[Daryl Dixon]

Daryl and Chris continued on out the gates, the hot sun shining down on them. Daryl and Chris didn't speak a word, they walked for about 20 minutes when they spotted something in the distance. "Fiends" Chris said, keeping his voice low. Daryl drew his crossbow as they approached, there was three of them. None of them had a gun, all armed with a machete. It was two men and one women, they approached weapons drawn.

"Well we-" the male fiend on the left began to say, Chris shot him before he finished. The other two charged and Daryl fired an arrow into the middle males throat. The female, white, dirty and with short hair stood 10 metres away weapon in the air with her hands out in the 'surrender position'. "Drop the machete or you die" Daryl said, his voice firm and clear. She dropped her hands by her side, still holding the machete. "Oh but I'm just an innocent girl" She whined, dragging out the last word. "You wouldn't kill me, you don't have the-" she started, Daryl fired an arrow into her chest, she stood there shocked before falling dead.

Daryl retrieved his arrows, wiping them clean with a red bandana before stuffing it back into his back pocket, it was still hanging out like always. They continued to walk in silence, Daryl was walking in line with Chris but still following him.

 

[Skyrimosity]

After a three day walk, Justice could see the city of San Francisco not too far away. He had been looking forward to this moment for a long time and it caused him to smile. The hunt would soon be over. His parents' deaths would be avenged. Justice had tracked the leader of the gang that raided his town all those years back to a small camp outside San Fran. He had a crew of five people now, but he would die nonetheless. Justice cradled his hunting rifle in his hands before looking down at the .44 Magnum safely in its holster. "Its ok. Its almost time."

Justice did not know exactly where this camp was; only that it was somewhere outside of San Fran. Sources weren't always too great at remembering right before they got a bullet to the head. A shame, really. Justice has been awaiting this kill for nearly eighteen years however so it'd take a little more than a small gang or not knowing their exact place for him to pass up the opportunity. No... he would get his target. This raider, who took so much away from him and likely countless other people, would die.

The information that was provided said the man would be one to two miles away from San Francisco in a small camp. San Francisco is a large city however so that leaves a lot of land to cover. Wait... there were dead bodies ahead. Justice ran to them to investigate. Perhaps these were killing by the people he was searching for.

Two men and one woman lie dead. A bullet hole in one mans head, and a smaller hole in the other man's throat and the woman's chest. But it was not a bullet hole. Certainly, its been a long time since Justice had seen an arrow used in killing. Judging from their dress, these dead people belonged to a band of fiends. There were a few footprints heading away from San Fran that Justice believed belonged to the killers. He decided to follow them.

After going the directions the footprints had led (there were only a few of them to go by), Justice now saw two figures ahead. He quietly got within shooting range of his hunting rifle and he aimed it at the figure on the left, another owner of a hunting rifle, before shouting out "You two! Yea, you two! I wanna have a nice civil conversation. I'm not gonna shoot either of ya unless you draw on me. I'll put away my gun after you answer this question. Why are you two out here, in the wasteland like this?"

Justice could see a crossbow on the other man's back. He was the one who had shot those two dead folk earlier.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

For a while Christopher and Daryl walked, trekking across desert rock and sand. It was dusk when they left, and Chris hated the idea of setting out so close to nightfall, but he hardly had a choice; he had overstayed his welcome at the Golden Gate and likely would've been arrested or killed for what had happened at the bar. He thought about the stranger a lot as he walked, he wondered who he was, if he was a good man or a man that deserved what Chris had done to him. Chris didn't think that he had killed him, yet everything felt like a blur, the memory in his head seemed so vivid and dreamlike; how hard did Chris hit him? How many times? Chris thought about asking Daryl, but quickly shot down that prospect.

Daryl and Chris stopped and crouched as a trio of figures appeared in the distance. It was hard to make them out with the setting sun and the rapid onset of night, but as they trekked closer there was no mistaking who they were. "Fiends." Chris said as he took hold of his rifle and stood, realizing that the raiders were unarmed save for crude, makeshift machetes and blunt objects.

One of them began to say something, but Chris didn't let him finish before he raised his rifle and punched a .308 round through the man's chest in a gust of blood. The rest charged, Chris anticipating their movements as he pulled the bolt back; automatically chambering another round as he slid it forward. But he was too slow, Daryl had pumped an arrow into one of them; and the other, a girl, had surrendered.

She began to sarcastically beg, and it was clear to Chris that she was chemed up. Her eyes seemed glazed over, her pupils flicking back and forth. She seemed to be shaking as if she had a bad shiver, and she would twitch and convulse violently at random as she spoke.

Daryl didn't even speak, he reloaded his crossbow and sent an arrow into her chest cavity. She gasped as the bolt pierced her heart in a flurry of blood, then she fell limp; still kneeling with her head hanging before she teetered to the side and collapsed against the dirt.

Chris was caught off guard a bit, he expected some discussion as to what to do with her. It was clear that the girl was a drugged up psycho, but still, he was surprised at how quickly Daryl had ended her without hesitation. Chris looked into the girl's eyes for a moment, before shaking away the thought.

"Take what you can, leave the rest." Chris said as he crouched down by the body and began rummaging through her pockets. None of them had much, the girl had a cap and some shell casings, along with a syringe, but that was about it. The rest were the same for the most part, nothing remarkable. Chris pocketed the cap and the casings, and threw away the syringe. "They were probably looking for drugs." Chris remarked as he stepped over the body and glanced at his pip-boy watch.

It was 7:05, night would be upon them soon. Chris cursed under his breath and sighed, turning toward Daryl. "Sun'll be down soon, we should find a place to set up camp."

Chris and Daryl found a spot, far from the bodies, along a rock wall. It was small and out of the open; start a fire in the middle of the plain and you'd be spotted by raiders, muties, anything for miles around. Chris set down his pack, and set upon starting a small fire. "Fiends don't typically come out this far, usually stay in the Mojave." He said as he began striking a small knife against a flint, showering some kindling with sparks. "But even though they're not as big anymore, you'll find pockets of them all over the Southwest." The kindling caught fire, and Chris tended to it until they had a small campfire going.

"You two!" Chris whipped around towards the voice, "Yea, you two! I wanna have a nice civil conversation. I'm not gonna shoot either of ya unless you draw on me. I'll put away my gun after you answer this question. Why are you two out here, in the wasteland like this?"

Chris could hardly make out the figure, standing a few dozen meters away. He had a gun drawn, that much was clear. Chris glanced over to his hunting rifle, which was propped against the rocks about a yard or two away. He turned back to the figure, then stood. "We're travelers, headed to Oakland." Chris replied, trying to keep blunt, the only thing going through his mind was the fact that this stranger could end them both here and now.

 

[Skyrimosity]

"We're travelers, headed to Oakland." That certainly wasn't the reply Justice had been expecting. Not many people just "traveling" around in the Wasteland all the time, after all. Still, they weren't dressed in any particular way to indicate they were raiders. Justice knew that if he realized one thing in all his years, it was that a man usually told the truth when there was a bullet about to pass through his skull. Justice decided to trust these people, at least the one who had answered, for now.

"I told you I wasn't going to shoot. If I am anything, I am a man of my word. Just had to make sure you guys weren't raiders." Justice knew there was a slight chance these people still were Raiders, but if either of them drew a weapon on him then he would draw out his magnum. He walked towards the two, putting the hunting rifle behind his back and putting his hands where they could see. Neither of them drew out their weapons.

As he got closer, within about 5 yards, he began to talk calmly. "I apologize for any scare I may have caused you fine folks. I found some dead bodies a while back and thought maybe another group of Fiends had killed them for whatever reason. If you don't mind my asking, have you two seen anything that could be a raider camp when you were outside San Fran? I'm... looking for someone. Oh, pardon my manners. The name's Justice."

Justice made sure he appeared peaceful to the two but he remained vigilant, making sure neither of them drew their weapons on him.

 

[Daryl Dixon]

"You two! Yea, you two! I wanna have a nice civil conversation. I'm not gonna shoot either of ya unless you draw on me. I'll put away my gun after you answer this question. Why are you two out here, in the wasteland like this?" Daryl heard a man call out, he turned to see a man aiming down the scope of a rifle.

"Well, we fl*ffing live here." Daryl wanted to say, to answer the question the question. Daryl wondered why the man thought it was a big deal, people travelled the wastes all the time, it's impossible to live without travelling the wasteland ever. A million things Daryl could say raced through his mind, but Daryl kept quiet and let Chris do the talking lest Daryl say something that earn a bullet through their skulls.

Chris had said something to the man, and he approached the two telling his name. Daryl stood up and walked over, shaking the mans hand. "We dealt with some fiends earlier, but I haven't seen any sign of a camp", answered Daryl. Daryl went back over to the rock he was sitting on and looked over to Justice, Daryl slowly removed his crossbow and leaned it against the rock. He noticed Justice still eyeing him, Daryl removed the arrow from his crossbow so it'd be a few seconds to reload before he can shoot. Daryl hoped this lowered the mans distrust towards him, he still had his pistol though.

Daryl sat waiting for someone to say or do something, wondering how this would play out.

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Chris felt uneasy as Justice approached, though he seemed like a trustworthy and wholesome character, Chris' experiences with the Wastes have taught him to be distrustful and skeptical of others. Usually, Chris would outright try and slip by unnoticed when he spotted others. He was jaded into always expecting the worst out of people, and his narrowed, hawk like eyes reflected this as the stranger stepped closer. "I apologize for any scare I may have caused you fine folks. I found some dead bodies a while back and thought maybe another group of Fiends had killed them for whatever reason. If you don't mind my asking, have you two seen anything that could be a raider camp when you were outside San Fran? I'm... looking for someone. Oh, pardon my manners. The name's Justice."

Justice? The hell kind of name is that? Chris thought as he sized up the man, he was definitely hardened; or at least had the look of it. His leather armor was beaten and battered from sand, and he had the look of a hardened and grizzled wastelander. "Those fiends you saw, we shot 'em. Funny seeing them this far out, but I suppose it's to be expected considering how scattered they are." Chris glanced down to his holstered pistol, before looking back at the stranger. "You won't find any big raider camps this close to the Gate, NCR makes sure of that. May find a few in the under city but the place to be for one of 'em around here is Oakland."



Chris glanced at his pip-boy, it was 8:30 and the sky was a dull shade of navy blue. The moon and the stars were beginning to show through the sky, and the wasteland around them was becoming dark. In the middle of summer, it was typical for the sun to stay out for so long. In his head, Chris weighed his options; the stranger didn't seem like a bad guy, and Chris was a good judge of character. He sighed, looking up at the man, "Name's Chris, by the way."

 

[Skyrimosity]

"You won't find any big raider camps this close to the Gate, NCR makes sure of that. May find a few in the under city but the place to be for one of 'em around here is Oakland." Justice was semi-angry that perhaps his informant had given him false information. Or, at the least, out-dated information. "Oakland. Oakland..." Justice began to lose his calm for a moment. "Oakland! That's great! This... this never ends does it! I'll be hunting this murderer for the rest of my natural life at this pace!" Justice realized he was acting poorly in front of these people so he gathered himself. "Sorry... been hunting this murderer John Stanton for eighteen years and just when I thought I could get him easy... he's further away."


Justice suddenly remembered these people had said they were going to Oakland. Surely three people had more efficiency than just one. Besides, lessened the chance of being randomly shot by someone having a bad day. "If you fellas have anything planned in Oakland, I mean got anything to take care of, I'd be glad to offer my services. After all, you two seem alright at least and now I have to head to Oakland anyway."

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Chris glared cautiously at this man, he was still a bit uncomfortable about him but he didn't seem like too bad of a guy. He didn't exactly like the idea of keeping more company, but he considered it. He seemed honest, even going as far as inviting them into his business and mission of finding someone. He glanced over at Daryl, trying to get a read on what he was thinking. "Well..." Christopher said, turning back to the man. "I wouldn't mind." He exclaimed, cementing his decision.

The three sat around the campfire for a while, sharing stories, talking on experiences and tales and rumors and stories. Chris' pip-boy was mentioned, "Found it when I was a boy" was all he had to say about it. Justice touched on his mission and his past, and why he wanted this John Stanton dead so bad. Chris and Daryl rebounded with some of their stories, but Chris left out most of it; he didn't touch on the Fiends or the drugs, Chris hated talking about it.

After a while, it was time to rest. Chris slept lightly that night, thinking about the chance that this stranger may slit their throats in their sleep and make off with their gear. He shrugged off the thought, but Chris kept a watch on Justice for a while before drifting into unconsciousness.

 

[Daryl Dixon]

(OOC: Sorry for taking so long to post, been really busy.)
Daryl was being pretty casual to a man who had just threatened to kill him, he let the man tell them his story before he spoke. "Well now that we're done playin' meet and greet, im gonna eat." Daryl said as he clapped his hands together. He sat near the fire and after a bit of time had passed decided to break the silence. Daryl was going to ask who the man he was hunting murdered but thought it'd be too soon, they'd only just met. "Who names their kid Justice?" Daryl asked, trying to make it sound like a joke rather than an insult. He still wasn't sure if this man was legit, and would be careful to sleep with one eye open and his hunting knife in an easily accessible place. Daryls crossbow was mentioned, which brang back some memories. In pubs and towns alike people mocked Daryl for using a crossbow, saying it'd get him killed but Daryl disagreed. "Ah, Quiet quick and deadly." Daryl started, "Also ammo is near limitless. I can retrieve my arrows and make more, I do have a gun though." Daryl said tapping his leg where the holster for his pistol was.

Not long after Chris made off to sleep, Daryl sat awake by the dying fire and would wait till Justice slept first. Justice was still awake, and before things got awkward Daryl initiated conversation. "You always greet people with a gun?" asked Daryl, he understood Justice's actions but couldn't find another way to start a conversation.

 

[Seanu Reaves]

Michael looked out over what was once the Bay. If what his mom and dad had said were true before the war his great, great grandparents, or some old relative Michael never really listened, lived out here. What was it called, Michael thought holding his cigarette up to his temple with his left hand like a copy of a portrait he saw amongst the garbage. Michael did feel something in his heart jump when he saw the sunrise over the wasteland. He was a city person, never left sight of New Vegas Freeside if he ventured out at all. And so he walked, he had changed into his sweatshirt and cargo shorts. As much as he loved his suit, this more casual outfit was better to travel around in. He considered chopping of his revolver's longer barrel, but decided against it. so he tucked it into his waistband. His silenced .22 was masterfully tucked away as well, it was a good hold out weapon just in case things got to hairy for the young hitman.

His feet hurt, he really wondered why in the hell he decided to leave Freeside to chase after some treasure hunters. It wasn't his thing, and it seemed like it would get him killed. It may have been late but as Michael walked and saw the Golden Gate bridge his heart jumped. He felt that surge of confidence from completing an objective. The moon may have just been coming out but the young man could see the buildings around either end of the bridge. He smiled as he began to walk faster determined to make it. He was getting sloppy thought in his fatigue, for he failed to notice the Rad Scorpions scuttling closer. When he finally realized that he wasn't alone it was to late. A stinger pierced his thigh and Michael began to fall down the hill. This may have seen like good luck but as he rolled he realized that he had rolled to the outskirts of a camp. And in the wasteland finding other people isn't as much of a blessing as it used to be. Michael forced himself into a crouch, his leg was cripped from the venom and the fall. His vision swam as he moved a tanned hand in front of his face to brush some raven hair out of th way of his eyes. Well this is just my luck, Michael thought, as he limped and collapsed into the middle of the camp. Oh well... You can't fight fate.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Justice and the two men he had met, Chris and Daryl he had learned their names to be, stayed up part of the night swapping old stories. Justice told them of his many years hunting John Stanton and they in turn told their own stories. It seemed to him that Chris had surprisingly few stories to tell for someone who had the appearance of a near lifelong waste traveler but Justice let it slide.

Daryl had asked Justice why his parents had named him that early in the night and Justice answered "Its not my birth name. It is my name now." Daryl showed off his crossbow a bit and gave a nudge to his gun.

Chris was the first to drift to sleep after what Justice assumed had been a long day. Daryl remained awake and instead of the two just sitting there, judging what tactics they would use if the other turned enemy.

"You always greet people with a gun?"

Justice allowed himself a smile. "If I can't tell they are peaceful, I will always pull out my gun. Saw you two out here after I found some dead bodies a while back so yea, pulled out my gun. I assure you I had no intent to fire unless one of you made a move. So anyway, think I'm gonna catch a few winks of sleep."

Justice yawned, but nudged his magnum with his right hand to make sure Daryl hadn't forgotten about it.

Lying back, Justice quickly fell asleep.