Roleplaying: Be All My Sins Remember'd

The year is 2281, and the Capitol Wastes are changing once more. Since the fall of Jerusalem and the DC Crusade to Colonel Nathaniel Roarke and the Last Legion, a wall of iron has come down around DC. As brutal and dominating as the Crusade were, the Last Legion have managed to outdo them, crushing many the rival forces of DC under their heel as they reeled in the wake of the DC Riots. Only the Brotherhood and the Enclave truly weathered the storm. Months ago, a group known as the Horde, a coalition of Tribals, Mercenaries, Bounty Hunters and Wastelanders, supported by the Brotherhood and other factions, attacked the Last Legion as they made their home in Jerusalem. The attack faltered and the Last Legion brushed the assault aside, scattering the Horde, and keeping thier prize.
But all is not well in DC. The Horde gathers to push the Last Legion, the one remnant of the Crusade, from DC once and for all. While their individual soldiers are no match for Roarke's veterans, they have many times the Last Legion's numbers and are led by some of the most formidable soldiers in the Capitol Wastelands. They gather in force on the very doorstep of the Last Legion, and intend to grind Roarke and his "Last Chancers" to dust for all time.
Only one thing is set in stone: The Last Legion will not pass quietly into the annals of history.
==Act 1==
Jacob Vaughton moved along the ridge, watching the raiders below. He flexed his fingers around the grip of Mother's Woe and lay down in a prone firing position. He took a look through the scope, adjusted for the drop, and the crosswind, and squeezed the trigger in a relaxed movement. The furthest Raider's head burst apart as the HEIAP bullet went to work. Jacob fired again, killing the Raider next to that one. The other four milled around, still unsure as to where the shots were coming from. Jacob squeezed the trigger again, and the bullet tore through yet another Raider's chest. Three to go. It was funny in a way, he didn't even need to relocate, he'd panicked these bastards so badly. So he pulled the trigger again, dropping another. And another. The last one had hidden, taking cover in the dubious shelter of a boulder. Jacob just kept an eye on the rock, waiting for the prick to poke his head up over the top. Which the idiot Raider did. And received a bullet through the eye for his troubles.
"Still got it." Jacob said to himself. He had broken off from the others a few weeks ago, trying to get back to himself. But this, killing Raiders non-stop, just didn't feel the same. He felt like he'd abandoned his friends. He stood up, stretching his shoulders back, thinking to himself. Wonder if Stefanie's still held up in Bailey's Crossroads. Jacob thought to himself. He might drop by, see how she's doing. Or check in on Jackal in Underworld. Or any of the others in Rivet City. He scratched his chin.
"Nothin better to do." Jacob said to himself as he turned towards Bailey's Crossroads. He was pathetic at keeping in contact with his friends. The living ones, anyway. He'd stop by Dutch's grave on the way, see if anyone else was paying the blind soldier a visit.
----
Jackal was moving along the road, slowly and contentedly. He was headed for Rivet City, gonna see what was goin on over there with Dave and Weston and Alexis. And anyone else that might be there. He'd dropped by to Stefanie a few days ago in Bailey's Crossroads. She seemed to be getting along fine. They even went on an Anterk hunt. A small herd had moved down from Baltimore not too long ago, and Stefanie had been pretty eager to show Jackal how the people of Zanadu dealt with the giant car-fucking-nivorous deer. He started whistling, a stilted little tune he remembered from his youth, out in Dublin. "Dirty Old Town".
A Horde recruiter had dropped by just after he had returned from hunting giant deer with Stefanie, and, like the fool he was, Jackal had signed on, volunteering to join their attack on Jerusalem, which they would be staging quite soon, if the bombastic old man was to be believed. See waht you get yourself into? Three fucking attacks on Jerusalem! Jackal thought to himself. He almost missed the Talon Co Merc running at him with a Laser Rifle.
"Bollocks!" Jackal roared as he dived for cover. Thankfully, the prick was a terrible shot. Jackal drew his Dadao, and waited for the merc to come running. Which he did. Fuckin rookie. The melee was as good as over as Jackal stood up and swung his blade around, sending the Merc's head spinning gently off across the road.
Stefanie McRae sat in the workshop of Bailey Crossroads. She was using the massive skull of an Anterk she and Jackal had killed as a stool. It was nice keeping contact with the guys after they had gotten back into urban D.C. Most of them were living over in Rivet City. Jackal had moved into Underworld, and Riley was somewhere in Bailey with Stefanie, tinkering with who knows what. Every once in a while she'd venture out to Rivet City to see them, get drunk, and tie some other unfortunate bastard to a bed. More often then not she'd make the hike across the river to Underworld to see Jackal. Or he'd come by Bailey to surprise Stefanie. The crazy old ghoul was becoming sort of a father figure to Stefanie, but only bcause his craziness was matched by her own. Jeeves hovered back in the room. He wasn't quite the same after Riley had fixed him. He sported his usual arms and did his usual tasks, but Riley had found a new AI system and voice box. Now Jeeves talked with a thick German accent (think Arnold Schwarzenagger, Ha!) and referred to people as 'sissies' and 'girly men.' Riley thought it was hilarious. 
"Agh, I made you dis steak from de Anterk. It's rich in protein and will bulk your muscle mass," Jeeves said. "Thanks Jeeves," Stefanie chuckled. She was working on a new Power Fist she'd run across down in the deep sewers while hunting 'Lurks. She found a manual that said the fist was of a series called 'The Shocker," and was rare. Combined with her Stabhappy knife, she was getting a nice little unique collection. Her thoughts were jarred again as she swollowed a Buffout. "Eat your steak, weakling!" Jeeves yelled at her. "Get out of here Jeeves, I'm trying to fix this." Jeeves hovered to the doorway. "If I come back and dat steak is not in your belly, I'll punch it through your head!" Stefanie shook her head. Riley had to fix that. Or she'd have to beat him up. Again.
Dave Holmes had decided to make his father's grave his permanent residence. Sure, he was always more of the adventurer and women type, but right now he wasn't in the mood. With the small pathetic shack just next to his father's grave situated on a hill overlooking Jerusalem, Dave was cleaning off his father's ornate katana when he thought he heard something outside. Setting the women down and strapping his holsters to his jeans, Dave pulled his jacket and shades off the rack, holstered his M9 and USP9, and stepped outside the door very slowly, poking his head out first. Immediately, strong hands grasped his head, pulling him out and putting him in a choke-hold. "Oooow!" Dave said, not even being able to grapple for release. Slowly, the hands let go, Dave noting the numerous scars on their hands. "Jacob?" Dave said, being released and brushing his jacket off.
"Damn right. Whats wrong with you, pulling a gun on me like that?" Jacob joked, slapping Dave on the back. Jacob didn't seem to understand the fact that he was a lot stronger than the average human. Dave thought the friendly slap may have slipped a disk on him. Jacob looked over at Dutch's grave, overlooking Jerusalem. It was still untouched thanks to Dave's presence here, but apparently a few looters had visited, judging by the mounds of freshly turned earth on the far side of the shack.
"Been up to much?" Jacob asked, standing at Dutch's grave, arms folded. Dave's head snapped to attention suddenly as he realized the question was directed at him, and not Dutch's spirit, or the greater powers of the universe or whatever. He shrugged. Jacob could relate to the hermit-like existence Dave had taken up at his father's grave-site. After all, Jacob had Lone-Wolfed his way through life for almost twelve years. Not a pleasant experience, he realized. He still found it quite difficult to deal with people. Unless dealing with people involved a .45 Caliber injection of lead. Jacob looked over his shoulder to Dave and raised an eyebrow. Dave half-looked like he wanted to ask Jacob a question, half-looked like he didn't want to know the answer.
"The usual, senor." Dave said, looking at Dutch's grave. "Jerusalem has been pretty quiet. The Last Legion hasn't bothered me after I shot the patrol that approached my house with ma M24." Dave said, joking around. "They excavated Hennard's body and hung it from the remains of that giant tower. They've been spewing propaganda that they killed the thing with nothing but a little elbow-grease and some determination." Dave said, pointing in the distance to the giant, headless carcass that hung from the tower. It was quiet for a moment. "What was he like in the last few months? The Dutch I knew was cold and unfeeling. It seemed that all those people reacted like they lost their own father." Dave said, kicking aside a mole rat that scurried too close.
"Prepare to be terminated," Jeeves said as he used laser tools to cut Anterk steak, while Riley Alan was working on a Bio-Cannon Stefanie had found in Baltimore. "I'll be back," Jeeves said before he left to go back to Stefanie. The Bio-Cannon seemed to be filled with a thinner FEV of some sort, he wasn't going to let any of it touch him well he worked on it. About thirty minutes past and he was finished the Anterk steak, and the gun. "Get out." Jeeves said as he came back in, but for no reason. It seemed he was reciting quotes from a movie of some sort. "Hasta la vista, baby." That Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger voice box was strange.
"I met him for the first time in years just before what people call the DC Riots. A rat bastard called Bren Tenkage set off his own little war for the sake of his own glory. The Senate took an interest as the situation started to boil over and your da recruited me. We raided Jerusalem, killed most of HighCom and got the hell back out." Jacob said.
"When I met your father again, it was in Bailey's Crossroads, an old Outcast fortress, and he seemed to have softened up a little. Probably after the Wastelander coningent of the DC Assault Unit saved our sorry asses after a Vertibird crash almost killed us. He'd gone from that cold, unfeeling bastard to someone more pragmatic, a little more understanding. He couldn't really figure it out, but he tried at it. He became a friend. That was what changed. He had friends. Something to fight for, more than his country. More than man and God and law." Jacob finished. He scratched his head. That was the longest he had ever spoken non-stop except with Roland or the Outcasts. He really was changing.
Jacob looked over to Dave, who was staring at the grave.
"He thought of you, right up to the end. Kept a photo of you two. He wanted to see you grow up, get married, see his grandkids. Metaphorically of course. He was blind and all." Jacob babbled. He paused, collected his thoughts and finished, "You were what made him human. The Enclave made him a soldier, but you made him a man."
Dave nodded. "He was always sort of quiet back at the base during childhood, except for when he made me go through his damned training program." Dave said. "It's kind of odd, though, about what your telling me. Not because he had friends; no, not that. The fact that he changed. His attitude was static for almost sixteen years. Kinda hard to believe he changed and what not." Dave said, again kicking the mole rat who had scurried too close. "He told me stories about you. Childhood and teenage tales to get me in line. He'd say "If you mess with the General's daughter one more time, I'll get the boogey-man to set you in line."" Dave said, joking around a little bit. "He said you were basically him, but ten times stronger and more durable. I know for a fact that he could've killed every one in the base two times over straight with his eyes close and one hand tied behind his back, so I'm not even gonna fathom what you could do." Dave said, smiling slightly. "What was that mother fucker that crushed my dad?" Dave said, touching a sensitive issue.
"That was Hennard. A Chimera. Project Chimera, it was the brainchild of Professor Evan Jankowski. It was replaced with Warrior Weapons, but Evan never gave up on it. Hennard was the ultimate Chimera, the last throw of the dice. FEV, gene splicing, God knows what else. Bigger, faster, stronger and tougher than any living creature has a right to be." Jacob said, staring into the middle distance as he flashed back to that sickening crunch as Hennard butchered Dutch. He collected himself and went on, "I can only hope Hale or one of the others got to Jankowski before he could hightailit after hearing about Hennard's death."
Jacob looked over at Dave, who seemed to be contemplating why Jankowski could be so obsessed. Or how he could do all that shit to a living thing. He looked disgusted.
"I'm headed to Bailey's crossroads, gonna pay Stefanie and Riley a visit. You can tag along. The fresh air'll do you some good." Jacob said to Dave, snapping him out of his trance.
"Sure, why not. I can always use some irradiated air to enhance the radiation ghoul process, ha." Dave said, joking a little. Hennard. That thing must've been huge. And this Evan dude was crazy. Making a mental note to kill Mr. Jankowski should he ever be pointed out by Jacob, Dave stepped inside his small little shack for a moment, retrieving his father's katana, army backpack, and other things. "Gimme a second." Dave said, began rigging a tripwire with a rigged shotgun, a little nasty trick he had learned from his father. "Don't want anybody inside my shack." Dave said, connecting his father's sheath and sword to his belt on his worn, dirtied jeans. "Ready when you are." Dave said, eyeing the locked door with the tripwire. That'll be a nasty little suprise for the scavenger who's bound to break in. Noting what he was doing was extremely evil and rather nasty, Dave ignored the thought and tagged along after Jacob.
Stefanie turned around as Jeeves hovered back into the room. "Hello cutie pie." Stefanie looked around as the Mr. Handy set down another raw Anterk steak on the counter. "This thing isn't even cooked," Stefanie said. Jeeves turned to her, "Yoa clothes, give dem to me now." Stefanie shook her head and went back to her business. "You're not getting my clothes," she said. "Fock you asshole," Jeeves said monotonously. Stefanie turned around again. "Excuse me?" she said. "Eat da steak, it'll be good, but I hope you leave enough room for my fist because I'm going to ram it into your stomach!" With that Jeeves hovered out of the room. Stefanie heard him in the hallway before he disappeared somewhere else in the bunker. "I'll be back." She shook her head again.
A few sparks and The Shocker was moving freely again. It'd jammed up fighting a group of Talons looking for the bounty on her head set by Allistair Tenpenny. A bunch of brain matter got into the servos when she had crushed the skull of one of the mercs. She still didn't typically fight with firearms, though around her an expanding collection of guns was building up. She'd scavenge them and repair them. Some she'd use occasionally, but with the Horde about, the price for good guns was high and the majority she would sell or trade for Buffout. Still hadn't kicked that habit. No big deal though, she still had much of her supply from the Super Duper Mart, though she'd started to hear rumors of a group of mercs snooping around the place and then settling in the outlying wasteland. She hoped they weren't looking for her too. No matter, she was safe down here in Bailey. Just as that thought formed, she heard a scream and watched Riley run past the doorway, with Jeeves chasing him. "Riley remember when I told you I'd kill you last? I lied!" Stefanie had a chuckle. Now THAT was funny.
Bren Tenkage was hiking through the Wasteland, after coming back to his group he had heard rumers of Jacob taking the Crusade downa Notch, he had relized he was nothing but a Coward but no more. It would be time to settle the score. He already gave up leadership to his group, Brock will have to take care of them, he even called off the Wedding to Eliz, he rather not leave her a widow. Even his trademarked rifle was left behind, theo nly thing he carried was a an average hunting rifle on his back, 200 caps in a small bag, the pistiol that Jack gave him back in the pitt and forgot to return, and the memorys of Jacob that still haunt his Nightmares. Bren was going to die but he wouldn't die a Coward, he will die facing the reaper and die like a man. Soon Bren will reach Jacob and soon his Chapter of the great Story will end and with it the Claws will not be eradicated by Jacob.
It seems that Jeeves did mean something when he said, "Get out". He was now being chased by a laser saw (an addition Riley added) wielding robot Austrian body-builder. But if it wasn't just his personality, Riley'd be dead. Then Cat jumped out from nowhere and toppled the robot. "Prepare to be terminated!" Jeeves yelled at Cat, and Cat ran away. Cat hid under a bed while Jeeves hovered over it, and thought Cat was attempting suicide, "You cannot self-terminate!" Jeeves said, but Cat just stayed there. "Get out!" he said again before Riley came up and pressed the off button.
Silas Webb had just finished scooping out some of the ammunition in the tiny cave that formed his safehouse. He turned and began walking up the rise. A niggling feeling bored its way into the back of his head. Something was wrong. Silas slowed his gait slightly and sniffed the air. His intuition hadn't failed him yet. The hair on the back of his rose slightly as he realized that someone was hiding behind the rock ahead of him. That wasn't good. Silas moved as far away from the rock as he could, but kept an eye on it. He wasn't too surprised when a raider with a switchblade lunged out and tried to stab downward at his head. Silas' hand shot up and caught the man's wrist. That dinky little blade was no longer a threat to Silas, and now the raider was dead. Silas' hand shot to his Bowie knife. He slashed up and out, neatly slicing open the raider's throat. One less one to deal with.
Silas crested the rise and saw a sheet metal hut. That wasn't there the last time Silas was in DC. Silas also saw that one of the two individuals walking away from the structure appeared to be Jacob. Silas descended the hill and closed the distance with the two. "Howdy there, Jacob," Silas said as he approached. "What's been goin' on in DC since I was here last? And, by the way, where's Shades? I 'xpected him t' be with ya 'ver since them goin's on in Jeruslem."
The usually derelict cavern system of Hamilton's Hideaway, once infested with Radroaches, Radscorpions and Raiders, was devoid of sound or movement apart from the whirring noise the turrets made as they rotated and the occasional clanking of a Protectron's feet as it patrolled. The new door was a sight in itself - a sheet metal gate, opened and closed by a small turbine that bore the slightest resemblence to the one in Megaton, flanked by a pair of Mark V chaingun turrets with a small terminal sitting next to it. On the terminal's screen was the following:
:USER: STRAUSSC
PASSWORD: _________
Nobody dared go near it with those turrets sitting there. Their targetting parameters only recognised a small group of Wastelanders as friendlies. Of course, the actual proximity somebody needed to be for them to open fire was ridiculously low - within typing distance of the terminal, in fact - but they sure looked intimidating. And for extra reassurance, one of them just rotated its barrels and looked intimidating without actually firing. Only one could actually shoot. 
Miles to the southeast, three figures made their way through the desert. One was quite clearly a Mr. Handy - or was it a pair of them floating really close together? Another appeared to be a large Sentry Bot, pulling along what seemed to be a large dumpster behind it, attached by a chain. The third of the figures looked like a man, but was far too bulky to be a man. He was too short to be a Super Mutant, and his very build was uneven. He seemed to have spikes coming out of his shoulder. On closer inspection, though, this would have been revealed to have been a man in Power Armor. 
Conor Strauss paused to take a gulp of water, fresh from Worthington's condensation collectors and poured into an old plastic bottle he'd found not long ago. He took a long look at Frank 2.0 and couldn't help but grin at his own handywork. Seeing it brought back memories of months of hard work. Domingo's previous prediction was entirely correct - he had certainly rebuilt the robot. But what nobody had properly anticipated was the sudden influx of military-grade hardware on the market after the fall of various Crusade bases and the second attack on Jerusalem. G36Cs, D'Eagles and auto-revolvers had been flying off the shelves and market stalls like hot potatoes, and in massive quantity. Even the infamous and ever-amusingly-named BRA suits were becoming more and more common to be seen in the hands of Raiders and mercs. It was like the Winter of Arms back in '77 after the downfall of the Enclave, and the ensuing increase in Power Armor and energy weapons in Wasteland traders' inventories. 
Strauss had taken advantage of the Crusade's similar situation, and established himself a little monopoly on their equipment (which were now going for plenty caps a piece), earning himself a large fortune. His trips to Canterbury were becoming more and more common, his meetings with good ol' Uncle Roe becoming more frequent. Canterbury Commons was recognised as a major supplier to the Horde's new offensive (alongside a prick or a few), and Strauss was, in turn, a major supplier of Canterbury who got a fairly decent cut of the profits. With his earnings, he'd liberated turrets, Protectrons and scrap metal from around the Wasteland, creating his own little one-man, dozen-robot fort in the Hideaway. For some reason, there were rumours being circulated throughout the Wasteland that Strauss'd gone insane. He couldn't possibly imagine why.
He'd even made a little mobile home out of a dumpster with a Sentry Bot pulling it along. Maybe it was nostalgia for being in the back of El Oso, or maybe he just liked moving around. Whatever it was, he was heading towards D.C now, and had two options: Bailey's, to check up on Stef and Riley (and see if they'd gotten hitched yet) or Rivet City to say hello to his new buddies. Decisions, decisions...
Domingo Velasquez looked over the top of El Osos cabin in a very familiar and cominc gesture. This was his third trip into Jerusalem in two weeks; apparently whatever salvage could be stripped from the walls and rooms of the old building. He had personally sold at least twenty boxes of Crusade weapons, armor and equipment. However, he kpet at least two mementos in the trailer at all times.
The first one (or rather, two) were a minigun and a super sledge discarded in one of the armories. Their names were George and Belton, and Domingo had re-acquired them at great self risk during the early days of Last Legion occupation. They were the weapons of Hennard, the man-beast that had killed Dutch Holmes and almost ripped his own head off.
The second was a single gun. It was an SCM Desert Eagle, which was gold plated. It hung on a belt next to George and Belton, and often ended up as a spectacle for merchants doing an on-the-site deal. It had belonged to the late Frederick Thomas, who was a Crusade commander that had been killed in the previous occupation. Domingo had acquired it within two days of leaving Jerusalem the first time. 
After the first attack, Domingo had gone with El Oso to Megaton while the rest of the group dispersed across the Wasteland, Riley and Stefanie heading to Bailey's Crossroads, Jackal dissappearing into the Wastes, Dave living as a hermit at the foot of his father's grave, Roland heading off to sea again (raving something about Oktoberfest) and Jacob going back to doing whatever the hell it was he did. 
Domingo had an established homestead in Megaton, where he had finally delivered his (massively delayed) weapons shipment. He had then rested for the rest of the day, drowned his sorrows at Moriarty's, and gone back out at first light the next day. He had brought back all of that equipment and sold it off to the Horde merchant setting up shop in the back of Moriarty's Saloon. And life was good. He had a steady income of booze, ammunition and fine cigars, and the wasteland roads intertwined infinitely. 
He locked up the back of his trailer and headed for Bailey's Crossroads. Maybe Stef or Riley would be interested in some new hardware.
Alexis had spent a long time wondering the wastes following dutch's death.The death of dutch had shocked him to his core and he had spent his time wondering the wastes with a member of rapture co.Aaron Cross cross and alexis had quite a lot in commen and at the moment they were both on there way into DC albiet for diferent reasons.Alexis was heading in to scalvage tech but aaron had a diferent mission."Hang on were neer Baileys Crossroads were a few of my friends live want to stop in".Aaron nodded he didn't say much.The two of them made it towards the building and the lift that led to where Riely and Steffanie lived.
Westom calmy light a Cigaerrte and brought his Assualt Rifle to bear. Right now, a Protcetron had him pinned behind cover. And he was down on his last clip. Squzzing off burstrs, the Bullets pinged off the Protectrons armour before finnaly, a lucky bullet ukilled it. Falling down, Weston slung his rifle and moved towards it. Pulling out it's fission batery and some other peices trhat looked like it could be worth something, Weston put them into a backpack. Looking around, he saw the lights of something that looked rather...familiar. El Oso. Grinning, Weston took off after it. Finnaly manging to catach up to it, he jumped in front of the tank and the old, lumbering Tank ground to a halt. 
"Hey, Domingo! Miss me?"
Stefanie walked in the room as Riley was opening the back of Jeeve's hull and looking at the circuitry within. "I thought you liked his new pesronality," Stefanie said mockingly. "I did," Riley said, not looking up, "but when he's chasing me around threatening to terminate me, I gotta draw a line." Stefanie shook her head. "You dope, why did you give him a new brain anyway." This time Riley looked up. "I gave him a new AI because the old one was wrecked. I couldn't salvage it." Stefanie put her hands on her hips. "Well maybe if you and Dutchie hadn't shot him, he wouldn't be tryin' to get even." The two paused at the mention of Dutch. The man was still missed. "Dutch shot him, there was no 'we.' Riley said, sticking his head back inside Jeeves. "And you didn't need to give him a laser saw," Stefanie added, "He was fine without one."
Suddenly, Riley pulled his head out as Jeeves rose to life again. "Jeeves, you ok?" Stefanie said. The Handy rotated around. "John Kimball," he said. Stefanie cocked her head, "What?" "I'm Detective John Kimball," Jeeves said. Stefanie looked puzzled. "I'm a cop you idiot!" Stefanie shook her head. Who was this Governor Schwarzenegger anyway and why did he say such ridiculous things? The robot hovered out the door and Stefanie heard Cat bark once before she heard Jeeves yelling, "SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!" Stefanie chuckled again before hurrying out the door to see what was going on, followed closely by Riley. "You gotta fix Jeeves," she said to Riley, who didn't answer, "but before you start could you quit staring at my ass?"
Alexis and Aaron walked up towards the lift and the intercom neer it. "Steffanie its me alexis can i come down i have someone with me,Is that ok?".Alexis droped his new magnum back into his holster,He had picked it up from rivet city and it was already modded beyond belife but it wasn't the same as his old one.But that belonged to dutch and by extention dave now.
A few vertibirds were flying, trying to reach Jerusalem. No supplies had come in since they took the base, as the Horde destroyed nearly every vertibird and Caravan that got into several miles near Jerusalem. All caravans were being checked by the more honest of the Horde to make sure they weren't Crusade, and certain folks were named faces in the wasteland. Hell, with the amount of Crusade goods on the market, friend and foe were looking more and more the same. A few missiles hit the vertibirds, and they came right on down. Laughing to himself, Boris Kozlov and several other Crusade members got into their vertibird. "Tell the Horde that the Last Legion should have most of their supplies run down. I want to get this shit over with."
Jack and a group of Horde members were traveling, trying to reach the destination. Singing a merry old song about alcohol and woman. Or maybe the other way around? He couldn't remember, he and the group had too much to drink in Moriaties before leaving megaton. They would sober up on the way their though.
"Dutch is dead, Silas. Meet his son." Jacob said, pointing towards Dave, who nodded at Silas. "Shades had a young un'? He looks lik' a damned clone?" Silas said, sizing up Dave's shades and jacket. Their conversation was cut short by an asian man with a limp, carrying a hunting rifle in his hands. "Jacob!" He shouted. "Who the hell is that? Some crazed acquaintance of yours, I presume?" Dave said, drawing his USP9 from his holster and flicking off the safety. The man was wearing a cloth tied like a bandana around his forehead with a pony-tail, and he reeked of disgusting food and vermin. The man truly was an odd sight. However, being the newcomer, Dave knew it might be better to let "Uncle Jake" handle the situation. After all, it was most likely that the two had a vendetta. Which meant that this Bren fellow was fucked.
 (looks like it's time)
Sasuke was about to draw his sword but he was stopped by Jack who had a look in his eyes, this look wasn't sorrow or Joy, it was fear because he had told Bren before he left the knnew HQ not to find Jacob
Bren looked down at Jacob "Hey" He shouted and eased himself down, almost tripped because of his fake leg and him and jacob looked at each other in the eyes.
{{Rpt|--Cerebralz 22:13, 3 June 2009 (UTC)|I would assume now. Or later, but Kub1 had Bren show up.))
"Like hell I did," Domingo said as he bailed out of El Oso. He looked at Weston. For a guy who had been gut-shot just a few weeks ago, the man was getting around well enough. "I was just heading over to Bailey's Crossroads to see if Stef wanted to buy anything from the caravan. I finally just got that shipment to Megaton." He chuckled a bit. The shipment had become a bit of a running gag in the merchanting community, with "Sorry, I was in a war" becoming the most common excuse for most merchants today when they ran late: a paraphrazing of Domingo's original quote.
"Hop in the back; I haven't touched anything back there. Got a few souveniers back there, they're kind of a no-touch thing. But since you're a veteran..." He scratched his chin in thought. "For 500 caps I'll rent you out Frederick Thomas' Desert Eagle for the rest of the week."
[b]Timeskip one hour...[/b]
Domingo rolled to a stop at the elevator to Bailey's Crossroads. It'd been a week since he had last showed up at the domicile of the infamous pit fighter and her psychic protege. Just in case Stef was still sore about Dutch and in one of her infamous "bad moods", he checked the action on his SAA and made sure it was in the ready position before he announced his arrival over the intercom and rode down the elevator, dragging Weston the whole way.
When the elevator arrived at the bottom, Domingo loudly announced his arrival with a boistrous, "HOLA, SENORITA MCRAE!" And a huge smile.
"Yo!"
Weston shouted as he popped out from behind Domingo. Stepping inside the place, he was greeted by a Repaired Jeeves.
"Hey, you! Get down, now!"
"What?" Weston said quizzly, heack cocked to the side.
"What are you, somekind of funny man?"
"I guess so..."
Weston said as he stepped back to behind Domingo. Exthusging his Cigarette, Weston looked at Jeeves before noticing Stef and Riley.
"Hey guys, whats up?"
Weston said, embracing both in a hug. He had'nt really seen anybody for about 3 weeks. Scavving trips were taking longer and longer these days. Less stuff to go around in D.C... at least, the good stuff. You can still find some stuff. Like, Scrap Metel. But, you eventually run out of uses for that. However, you never ever run out of uses for Achoal, which he now had a crate in his hand, taken from Domingos trailer. Well, he did'nt really have a crate. Just a bottle. And in Domingos hand was several caps. Greedy bastard. Weston thought.
"Jacob," A voice shouted. 
Jacob knew that voice. The peace, the calm that had recently come over him evaporated into nothingness. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles popped. His hands shook as he ground his teeth and snarled. Tenkage. The little rat bastard ran up in front of Jacob, stopping no more than six feet away. He'd gone full-Ghoul. Made no difference.
"Jacob, we used to be friends, but I know we can never go back to that. I know you don't agree with what I've done, in Baltimore, in New York, and here, in DC, my home. But you have to understand that I meant no harm. I took Maria in because she had nowhere else to go. And I don't care about people's pasts. I care about their future. I see what they can be, not what they were." Bren said.
"You don't get it Tenkage. A person's actions don't build character, they reveal it. If you think harbouring a Raider, slaving in Baltimore, and running from DC makes you a good person because your heart was in the right place, then you're just as twisted as they were." Jacob retorted, in what was possibly the longest sentence he had spoken since Fairfax.
"As who?" Bren said, a little confused at that statement.
"The Crusade. Your own views blinded you to everyone else. You still think you're right, don't you?" Jacob said, getting angrier with every word. He should be tearing Bren limb from bloody limb by now!
"Then one of us has to go." Bren sighed mournfully. Jacob merely nodded.
Bren reached for a hunting rifle he had slung over his back. Sadly, it wasn't his usual Deathclaw Bane. That would have made a brilliant trophy. Before he could pull the gun, Jacob had lashed out, energy he never knew he had burning to the surface as he faced a sworn enemy. His kick caught Bren high in the chest, launching him backwards. Jacob drew a Desert Eagle, pointing it squarely at Bren's heart. Bren pushed the gun aside with his hunting rifle, which he had managed to draw as he scrambled along the ground to get away from Jacob's steel-reinforced boots. Jacob knocked Bren's gun aside in response, a shot that would have otherwise pierced his chest firing off harmlessly into the dimming light as the sun set.
Bren rolled aside as Jacob drew his Okatana and lunged it at him. Bren jumped to his feet, using his rifle like a quarterstaff to fend off Jacob's savage, measured attacks. Each strike cut chunks out of the wooden stock of the rifle, and scratched the barrel. Another strike hit with such force it cut off the trigger-guard and set off the rifle. The recoil pulled the gun from Bren's hands and the young Ghoul jumped back to evade a swipe that should have disemboweled him. The swing became a thrust, and Bren had to dodge again, desperate to put some space between him and Jacob. Which he managed by slipping and rolling down the hill.
Jacob followed him down the hill, whirling his blade menacingly as he went. The sound of the steel whipping through the air played havoc on Bren's concentration. It was like a blunt razor blade scratching on glass. It was unnerving, to say the least. With a little afterthought, Jacob grounded his sword and drew his Ka-Bar. Jacob stepped back as Bren lunged to his feet, thrusting his knife at the massive vigilante. For someone so large, Jacob moved like quicksilver. Every time Bren made a slash or lunge at him, he either parried with his blade or knocked Bren's attack aside with a carefully placed block. Then, as Bren made a last-ditch thrust, Jacob had left himself exposed. Bren's knife dragged along Jacob's cheek, leaving a bleeding cut from his cheekbone to his sideburn. Jacob stepped back. Had Bren just landed a cut on him? Incredulously, Jacob looked at the blood on his hand.
"Not invincible, then." Bren said, limping in a circle as he and Jacob stepped forward, ready to continue the fight. That would have been the time for Bren to strike, but instead, he had talked. Wasting time and valuable air.
As Bren and Jacob clashed knives again, Bren was doing most of the attacking, until Jacob shifted his focus from blocking to dodging. Evading Bren's attacks, Jacob shifted the balance of the duel, forcing Bren on the defensive as he started his own attack run. Jacob's speed, technique and the sheer power of his attacks had Bren tripping over himself to get away. Then he made a mistake. Bren lunged at Jacob blindly, and Jacob took the opening gladly. With a grab, a twist and a flick of his hand, Jacob disarmed Bren, sending his knife spinning off into the air. Jacob landed a vicious punch on Bren, breaking what was left of his nose, sending him reeling. Jacob followed up with a headbutt and a knee-kick, sending Bren sprawling to the ground. As Bren lay there, he looked Jacob in the eyes.
"I hope you find happiness some day, Jacob," Bren said. "I found mine."
"Happiness is not for the likes of you. You don't deserve it, you conceited, wretched, self-serving little rat. You chased your own dreams, and shattered the dreams of everyone around you. You held their hearts, and you betrayed them. Bren Tenkage, you are a traitor and a coward. The world will sleep easier at your passing." Jacob replied, pulling his Okatana from the ground again. Bren looked like he was about to say something else, but was cut off by a wide swing of Jacob's sword. His head rolled to a gentle stop at Jacob's feet.
Jacob snarled as he crouched and cut Bren's mechanical leg from his slumped body. Good riddance Jacob thought as he finished the grisly job of taking his trophy and stood up. He turned away and strode off towards Dave and Silas, picking up Bren's head as he went. Two trophies. His war with the Claws was over.
"Jacob..." Silas said, then stopped. This was a little too much. He'd just seen the boy who Silas thought of as a prodigal son beheaded before his very eyes. "Jacob," Silas began again, swallowing hard. This was harder than he thought. Silas thought he'd buried his grief in the smoking ruins of his home and in the abandoned warehouse that served as his sister's grave. A single tear rolled down his cheek and nestled itself in his beard. Silas tried a final time. "Jacob..." he swallowed through the sadness he felt building in his throat and blinking back more tears. "You've...you've...you've slain the boy. He's deader'n a stone. An', an' you killed him. Why, Jacob? He'd made mistakes before, but, but, he coulda been brought straight. An' now he don't have the chance. Jacob, that boy was 'bout as close as I've had to a son, ev'n if he made stupid mistakes. An' now he's dead." Silas bowed his head, folded his hands around the silver cross that he kept around his neck and whispered a brief but mournful prayer for God to look down mercifully upon Bren Tenkage's soul.
Strauss squinted off into the distance at the sight of a small hut and three figures standing near it. He pulled his helmet back on and flipped down his eyescope to get a closer look. It was Dutch's grave. He sighed wistfully. He hadn't visited the grave since they'd buried him. It also looked like Silas and Jacob were there, along with Dutch's kid. Silas! He's always cool! He acknowledged mentally as he picked up his pace. It looked like Jacob had something in his hands... one in each, in fact. At this range, though, he couldn't get a clear look at them. When he'd finally cleared enough distance between him and them, he wasn't sure he wanted to in the first place. Motioning for Worth and Frank to stay put with the dumpster, he broke off into a sprint towards them, removing his helmet and calling out a few times as he ran. "Hey! Hey, guys!"
As he got into clear view of the headless, one-legged body, he came to a gradual halt. "Bren..." He whispered, clamping a hand over his mouth and forcing himself to swallow what was attempting to exit through his throat when he caught sight of Jacob's handiwork. Bren... The guy was a certified ass by the standards of most, but he'd always meant well. Always did. Although he may have went the wrong way about achieving them, his goals were always pure of heart. Why did he deserve this? What did he do? And why did Jacob do it here, at his friend's grave, at all places?
"J-Jacob..." He managed to sputter out, "what the fuck did you do?!"
Stefanie hugged Weston back and gave Domingo a hug as well. They hadn't been by in about a week. Stefanie had plenty of food and whatnot but her impromptu roomie was not the only company she needed. She was happy to be in touch with everyone. Plus, it was usually a party when Domingo stopped by. "Jeeves, get us some food, please, Mirelurk Cakes for supper," Stefanie said. The Mr. Handy hovered and turned before going into the kitchen, letting go his usurped signiture goodbye. "I'll be back." Soon he was busy at work preparing a meal. The others went and sat down in Stefanie's converted lounge, the former storage closet was now adorned with scavenged radios and the shelves were full of rare liquors and wines and lamps. Along the walls were trophies of the wastes. One peculiar lamp had a BRA helmet over the light, illuminating the eyes. She had several scavenged couches, which she'd cleaned and several chairs of the same. She reached up and pulled down a bottle of Midleton and poured herself and Weston a shot, before replacing the bottle on the shelf. She then pulled down a bottle of Don Julio tequila for Domingo and poured him a shot before replacing the bottle. She switched on Galaxy News Radio and sat down on a stool she'd made from an old bar cushion and a Crusade T-45d helmet. Riley was in his workshop, still tinkering with the new Bio-Cannon toy she'd found him earlier deep in the ruins of (the now cleared out) Vault 87.
"So boys, how's the tradin' goin'?" she said with a grin, sipping her shot. "Making a ton of capso ff the Horde, selling Crusade weapons and armor," Domingo said excitedly. "Stef, I gotta ask," Weston started, "what the hell happened to Jeeves?" Stefanie chuckled and took another sip of whiskey. "Oh Riley was being his usual comedic self. Jeeves' brain got wrecked by the Alien Rifle, so Riley found this other brain when we were out in the Hubris Comics. It was of some action hero-turned Governor of California. Apparently the guy was some sort of body builder and the brain was programmed to act like him. Sometimes it's pretty funny, but sometimes he causes trouble. He still does all his work perfectly though." Weston nodded as Jeeves hovered back into the room, carrying three heaping plates of perfectly seasoned, perfectly prepared, and perfectly cooked Mirelurk Cakes. "I hope you leave enough room for my fist because I'm going to ram it into your stomach!" Jeeves said as each person took a plate. "Yeah yeah," Stefanie said to Jeeves, "and break our goddamn spines. I've heard that one before." Domingo and Weston laughed. "You son of a bitch." Jeeves muttered before hovering down the hallway, presumably to get Riley his supper. "You guys are welcome to stay as long as you want," Stefanie said, beginning to eat her supper.
Domingo gratefully accepted the Don Julio from Stefanie as he pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it into the palm of his opposite hand, and took a swig. The lovely burn of tequila filled his mouth and throat for a brief few seconds before it faded. He pocketed the cork and lifted his massive, booted feet onto an ottoman made from a stuffed BRA suit. "Hmm." The merchant intoned. "The new programming seems a bit... Eccentric. You sure you don't have something in mind as a replacement?" Domingo mildly suggested as he took another swig of the Don Julio. 
"Speaking of eccentricities," He continued, "how have you two been? I've been out for a while scavving. You'd be surprised how far Crusade technology has spread, now that their base in the area has been blown to Hell. And I haven't seen you guys in forever because of that. You know how things get."
The tingling began. First at his neck, but then it went back to his spine. It was time.
"Yo, Stef. You got a bathroom?"
"Yeah, sure. Down the hall and too a right."
"Thanks" Weston responded quickly, getting up. Rubbing the back of neck, he quickly found it. Dodging the snake that was'nt there, Weston sat down on the toliet and opnened a small bag. Taking out a sryinge and wrapping some cloth around his upper arm, Weston injected the subastance into his Wrist. Leaning back and letting out a small sigh of relif, he waited for a few mintues before exiting. Grabbing the Steak that was really a Mirelurk cake from Jeeves plate, Weston sat down.
"So, Stef. You and Reily hooked up yet or you two still friends?"
Weston said, half through taking some gulps of the achoal she ahd given him and shoveling down the food.
Jacob shook with the magnitude of what he had just done. He felt utterly sick with himself. The twisted vindication he had felt as he severed Bren's mortal coil. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry about it. And as he heard Silas and Strauss ask him why, as if he had one something wrong, his fists clenched.
"I did what any of you would have done if you'd had the backbone." Jacob growled as he looked around, his face twisted into a raging snarl. None of them, not even Silas, could hold his stare. He continued, waving his hand towards the group every time he mentioned them as he began shouting, "I did what was right. Chaos always follows in his wake. I spared your children the misery of living in the shadow of his selfishness. He started a war. And he ran when the fire he started got out of control. And the Wasteland suffered for it. You all know in your heart of hearts that if he had challenged you, you would have done the same. Condemn me if you want. But know that if you do you condemn yourself. I did what none of you were brave enough to do. Dutch died because of Bren's stupid war. I did this for him. I did this for every Wastelander and their children. And I'd do it again. Because no one else will. I am what I am and I do what I do because someone has to."
Jacob had finished at an almost deafening roar, scattering the crows that had begun to gather overhead. Everyone stared at their feet. They knew he was right. But all the same, there was something not quite right about the whole thing.
Domingo looked over at Weston as he excused himself. He coughed and looked back to his mirelurk cakes. Still as good as the last time, if not a bit gritty. Apparently Jeeves had attempted to introduce some "roughage" into their diets by adding cornmeal to it. When weston came back, he looked over. He noted something on his wrist.
"Err, Weston..." Domingo cleared his throat. "Uhm, your wrist is bleeding a bit..."
"Huh?"
Weston looked down at his wrist. It was bleeding. Come on Weston, think fast...come con, think...gotr it. 
"Oh, had a scab from a little cut i got two days ago. Musta have scracthed it off by mistake. Kinda itched, i guess."
Weston leaned back in his chair and looked at Domingo, who was now eatin his mirelurk caker with a spoon held in between 3 of his fingers. Shaking it off mentlly, Weston reached for his cup of beer and propped his feet up on another ottoman.
"It's nothing man.":
Silas was feeling just as verbose as Jacob today. The grief had already passed. Why was that? What kind of animal was Silas becoming, that he'd stop mourning for his "son" just a minute after his death? "Jacob," he said, his fists shaking, "yer wrong when ya say that I would do the same. Regardless of what ya think, I would have given the damn boy a little bit of what I call "fergiveness". Lord knows he deserved it. I thought the boy was a goddamn nutcase when I first met him, but by-and-by I discovered that he weren't so bad. An' now ya gone and killed him." Silas swore and punched a nearby wall of rusted corrugated steel. He sat for a second blinking, exhaling heavily, and contorting his face into various expressions of disappointment and anger. 
He was about to speak again when he suddenly began hacking. It was that time again. Silas' vision swam and his limbs grew clumsy and withdrawal took its toll. He thought that he'd be able to kick the habit for sure this time. Silas fumbled in his med pouch and pulled out a bottle of Rad-X. He clumsily rolled a few pills onto his palm and popped them into his mouth, then took a swig of whiskey to wash them down. His throat and vision cleared, and Silas glared at Jacob again. "This is why we ain't the same people, Jacob," he said. "Ya don't seem to have the traits of mercy and empathy that others've got, and it's kinda worrying. Ya better watch yerself 'afore it gets the best a'ya."
Stefanie turned from Weston back to Domingo. She wasn't about to embarass Weston, but she knew what he was doing. Quite frankly, she didn't care. She'd been an addict for a long time. She casually popped a Buffout into her mouth and swollowed it with some Midleton whiskey. "Riley and I won't be hooking up in that way," she started, "he's to smart and light-hearted. He'll always be one of my best friends, but I'd sully him too much with my lifestyle, not to mention break him in half in bed." She chuckled for a second. "Hopefully the Horde can do somethin' to run them Last Legion guys out of Jerusalem. Then I can get back to Zanadu and check in on my stuff. I left right after an AWA raid on the place and haven't been back in almost two years. Can't get there with all the war. When it's all clear I can bounce back and forth. Riley's a perminent resident here though. He'll take care of the place while I'm gone. I just gotta get out of the spotlight for a while. Got a couple bounties on me." Domingo cocked his head. "I haven't heard of any, senora," he said, "for what?" Stefanie grinned. "Well the first is 2,500 caps from Eulogy Jones. I mugged a group of slavers and set their meat free. They scampered off into the hills while I destroyed the slavers." Domingo nodded. "The second," Stefanie continued, "is from Mr. Allistair Tenpenny." Domingo recoiled a little, "Tenpenny? For what?" "Well, I went in there lookin' for a drink," she started, "when they found out who I was, Tenpenny came down and told me he wanted me out. I told him to kiss my ass." Domingo nodded, "so he put a bounty on you." Stefanie shook her head. "Not exactly,," she continued, "he grabbed my shoulder and I twisted his arm around. Then I put his head on my barstool and sat on it until he actually did kiss my ass." Domingo laughed. "How long did that take?" Stefanie was laughing more now, "bout ten minutes of grovelin'. After he kissed it, I sat on his head for fun. Guards were there and everythin'. I humiliated the pompous prick." Domingo had a slight look of uncertainty. "Security didn't jump you why?" Stefanie looked at him crookedly, "I told them Jacob Vaughton was right outside. Tenpenny was so embarassed after I walked away pattin' my ass, that he put a 5,000 cap bounty on me. Had them Talon dogs nippin' at me ever since." 
The three continued to drink and catch up as the night went on. It was only early evening, and Stefanie had plenty more rare liquor around. Stefanie leaned out the door to see Riley talking with that Alexis guy. She didn't know him that well, and Riley must've let him in. Oh well, as long as Riley kept an eye on him, and his suspicious looking friend. Stefanie looked back at Domingo and Weston, who were enjoying their meals and drinks. Stefanie remembered the last 'house party' she had. She looked around again to make sure Jeeves was safely out of harm's way, though he just was hovering around through the other rooms cleaning and asking nobody in particular "Who is your daddy and what does he do?"
"Silas, I thought you might have a little conviction. You're just the depression to my anger. The same thing, but no conviction. No will to be what it was meant to be. You're not my judge. Say what you want. I could have let him live. I could have told him to leave DC and never come back. But that's not what I should have done. You're damn right we aren't the same man. You don't have the strength." Jacob said, leaning in really close, venting every bit of spite he had for Bren on Silas. Jacob hated himself for doing it. It wasn't right to let all this out on him. He stood up as he finished, looking at Silas as he popped his Rad-X.
"Its a filthy habit Silas. Never took you for an addict." Jacob said solemnly.
Then, to everyone's amazement, Jacob took a shovel from its position, leaning on the side of Dave's shack and walked down the hill. Conor half expected Jacob to beat Bren's broken body to pieces with it, but instead, Jacob started digging. Bren Tenkage. His high-horse morals and all. Double fucking standards. Jacob straightened up, ready to verbally rip into Sials again.
"You know what he wanted when he founded the Claws? A merc group who fought for the good of all Americans. For the good of all mankind. Then you know what he did? He left for Baltimore. He started Slaving, tracking with low-life Raiders. The same people he wouldn't look at straight down here in DC. He started a war he must have known he couldn't win, let so many people go to their deaths. He was a traitor, a coward, and a hypocrite. And what was worse, he refused to see that. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he didn't deserve the admiration he got from people. He refused to understand that he was nothing more than a selfish child using the Wastelands as his playpen, and its people as his toys. No one deserves to die Silas, but sometimes, thats the only way to stop them from making others suffer. Call me a monster for being the only one to take matters into my own hands, but understand that I'm a monster because no one else wants to be." Jacob said, and then, without waiting for Silas to respond, he returned to digging Bren's grave.
It galled him to bury such scum so close to Dutch, but Jacob wasn't going to leave Bren to the carrion birds. Bren's heart had always been in the right place, even if his head had always been in the clouds. He didn't deserve to rot on the ground, and be eaten by crows.
Dave wasn't even shocked by Jacob's actions, having been raised by his dad, one of Jacob's "brothers." Dave could never understand what Bren had done, but he knew it concerned his father, the Crusade, and some group of free-willies named the Claws. As he watched Silas and Jacob trade habits of morality, Dave sat down on the ground against the wall of his shack, downing whiskey at an alarming rate. "So set me straight here." Dave said, throwing aside his flask. "The Claws decide to fight a war against the Crusade, but they get their assess whupped and all the wasters get killed or forced into submission correct? So the man with his head missing runs off to Cali, while you and Pops go and kill all those Crusading assholes?" Dave said. Unslinging his M24 and loading a cartridge, Dave noted and sighted with mockery a collection of wasters, armed with all weapons of sorts, from G36Cs to kitchen knives, approached the shack. The first made a hand to stop at distance, and approached Dave. "Is this the blind man's grave?" He said. "Yeah. What's it to ya?" Dave said. Relaxing his grip on the sniper rifle. "We're the Horde. We heard about a blind man with shades and another of his kind and their actions with a band of wasters inside those walls." The leader said, pointing towards ruined Jerusalem. "We also heard that he had a son." The waster said, growing nervous, knowing Jacob's face but not his name. He turned towards Jacob. "We may not know his, your, or that blind man's names, but on behalf of the Horde, we'd like to thank you." The man said, noting the dead corpse at Jacob's feet and growing nervous even more. "If you ever need anything after this is over," the man continued, tugging at his brahmin shirt, "the Horde will help you." He said, backing away quickly.
Silas looked at Jacob. He coughed and stood up to his full height. "Jacob," he said, "the only reason I'm addicted to this damn shit is because them Brotherhood assholes down there in the Citadul used shitloads of it to forcibly remove all them fuckin' rads from that damn bomb the Crusaders dropped on Liberty Prime. I been tryin' to kick the damn habit ever since I found out 'bout the addiction, but nothin's workin'. The damn doctors can't even fix me. Sure, I been addicted to the whiskey. Who ain't? Ya can't really blame me. Took it up when I was 22, still dealin' with my family's death, and by-and-by it got inta me."
He looked at Dave. "That's what happened, sonny. Yer dad, Jacob, and a shitload of Enclave super-soldiers infiltrated Jerus'lem while me'n some others, like Jackal, made a diversion. I might add, by the way, that yer dad interrupted my grand plan to turn the Enclave against the Crusade. O' course, it's all water under the fuckin' bridge now, especially since Shades went and crossed the damn river."
"Jacob," Silas continued, "don't yew dare try'n tell me that I ain't got no strength. Jus' like I can't judge yew, neither then can yew judge me. Yeah, yew probubly got some sorrowful past and shitloads of problems. But yew ain't the only one. That girly from Jerus'lem was a fuckin' slave in Zanadu. I been there, and it ain't pretty what they do to them. Now, I ain't makin' light of yer problems, but at the same time, don't try and make light of mine. I went out huntin' one day, 'xpectin' everything to be fine, an' I come home to see my parents' mutilated bodies in an' around the ruins of the house that I grew up in, an' my dear liddle sister's body not there." 
Silas breathed in a slow, rattling intake of air filled with emotion that he never talked about, almost ever, then kept talking. "Sure, I was upset. Hell, even cried myself to death almost. But I had the strength to carry on. At seventeen years of age, I followed my parents' killers and slew them all, all of them grown men and hardened murderers. Then, I had to hold my sister's hand as she bled herself to death in front of me, an' I could do nothin'. Do you have any inklin' of how horrible that was? I don't talk 'bout it fer a reason. An' then I discovered that almost everyone else wuz just like them raiders. An' yer gonna sit here an' tell me that I ain't got the strength like you do, to kill a young, stupid boy who is much weaker'n you? Here's a newsflash fer ya, Jacob. Not all've us are as strong'r as deadly as yew. We ain't got the same skill or strength as yew do. I have no doubt that you could kill me where I stand, but I have the strength to stand here, after all I seen and done, and tell yew 'bout it. Don't yew dare try'n tell me otherwise. I am Silas Webb, and I am a man, goddammit! And nobody, nobody, is going to tell me that I ain't a man 'cause my moral compass points in a different direction than theirs."
Aaron stood slouched against a wall as he listened to alexis and riely talk about medical stuff.Aaron had never been much a conversationist but he enjoyed a drink as much as the next man and with that in mind he went into the next room."I don't supose you have any drink to spare do you?"he asked.
----
Alexis was standing across from riely,He hadn't made many friend's during his time with the group but he enjoyed rielys company and if nothing else he was a good medic."So riely how are you finding living with steffanie"Seeing that riely wasn't going to answer he decided to ask about a diferent subject."So have you seen the others scince the attack on jeruselum?"
"Oh, I've seen terrible things. I watched my squad, fine men and women, get cut down by raiders, because they were deemed "expendable". I watched 'em bleed out in front of me, while all I could do was lay there with a spear in my gut. So I dragged my broken, sorry ass back home, to find the house I built with my own two hands burned to the ground. My wife, my son, a toddler, and my daughter, a fucking babe in arms, mauled by Talon Company guard dogs. I killed those bastards that did it. I killed them, and their friends. I found the bastard that ordered it and fed him to his own dogs. I moved on from that, because killing them wasn't enough. I kill when I do to save others from what I suffered. I've been to Zanadu. They probably still have my picture in the Slaver Hut. I saw what they do. And they died for it. Don't claim that your problems are bigger or better or more impressive than mine until you've sat crying in the ruins of your home, cradling what's left of your wife, your toddler son and your baby daughter." Jacob said, taking a quick break from digging Bren's grave at the bottom of the hill to resume his verbal battle with Silas.
"Weaker though Bren was and stupid though he was, he was a glory seeker. Stupidity and delusions of grandeur don't mix well, Silas. That's why I killed him. Because he'd do it again. He'd lead any who would follow to their death. And without a thought for their suffering, because he'd be sitting down, patting himself on the back and justifying their deaths with his stupid good fight. So don't bitch to me about moral compases, when you can't see how much harm that weak, stupid boy has done and would keep doing if I didn't step in. Don't bitch to me about your abject morality when there is no such thing. And don't claim that you believe in the good of the human soul. Don't claim that I'm wrong from preventing another war. Because that fool, that ignorant, self-righteous little bastard, that motherfucking, self-obsessed, delusional, bull-headed worthless, low-life scum rat bastard, would do it all again, if it meant making himself look good, to make himself look righteous. He never fought his war for anything other than his own self-image and his own inflated ego." Jacob shouted.
"Really Jacob?" Silas yelled back. "Where's yer proof? Yew have no idea whether or not what the boy was fighting fer! Were you inside his mind? Did you think his thoughts? Clearly not, if yew fuckin' killed him! I didn't suggest that the boy weren't doin' no harm! I was a victim here too! I almost fuckin' died because of his actions! Yew ferget that I was gone fer two weeks after that battle! And do yew no why? I weren't takin' no vacation, Jacob! I was in the goddamn Citadul while them power-armored assholes pumped me fulla meds! And then I get up and went and fought, 'cause nobody else would! Who was it who came up with the plan? I did! While you were busy makin' that leg that yer holdin' in yer hands now and listenin' to that bullshitter from that goddamn hippy guild or whatever the fuck they were, I was the one who made a plan! I would've done somethin'! An' I never said that I was any better'n yew 'cause I've had fuckin' problems too! But yew gotta remember that the world ain't 'bout yew! Sure, right now yer on everybody's lips 'cause 'yew brought down the Crusade.' Yer here tellin' me that I shouldn't be claimin' 'bout how bad my problems are, and then yew go an' do the same thing! I was a child, Jacob! A fuckin' child! Seventeen years old, an' the only death I'd seen in my life 'till then was killin' animals fer food, which I had to do! Yew have no idea how much I loved my family! They were perhaps the best people yew could hope to meet in the wastes, and raiders killed them fer fun!"
Silas' voice began to break. "Do you know what my sister was doin' just b'fore I left? She was drawing in the sand, Jacob! She wanted to be an artist! She was so sweet, and innocent! She was the most precious thing in my life! When I was learning from my father, she was in her own little world, full of happiness that I, nor nobody else, would ever be able to experience! And my father! Did you know how much I loved my father? He was the one who taught me almost everything I know! He was a pillar of strength in my life! A guidin' force! He told me stories 'bout his time in the Regulaters 'afore we went out to train, and I would always listen! And then he died! And goddammit, the Regulaters weren't like what he said! They were cold, heartless bastards who killed everyone who didn't measure up to their goddamn standard! An' yew know what, Jacob? Yew've jus' done the same thing! Yew condemned them fer doin' it, and yet here yew are, doin' the same thing!"
"I'm no hero, Silas. I hate that people think I am. I'm a goddamn paradox! I've no place in this world because I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty, doing unto Raiders as they do unto everyone else. Like the dogma? My life is a fucking mess! I never knew my real father, I never had that nurturing influence. I had to learn under the yoke of Ivan fucking Raikov! I had to fight and kill other children, just to survive, from the day I could fucking walk! I had to grow by myself, and you know what? I grew crooked. I'm just as twisted as any other animal you'll find out here, and I hate that. I condemn the whole human race, including, no, especially my fucking self. The fact that I kill people because they're raiders makes no difference. It's still blood on my hands. No amount of justifying my cause will bring them back, nothing I say about it will give someone back their son, daughter, sister, brother or father or mother or whatever! No amount of righteousnesss or penance on my part stops it haunting me. I don't remember names or places, but I remember the faces, because I see them every time I close my eyes. You want to know what my daughter was doing when I last saw her alive? Trying to sit up. My son was just about managing to say Dad. My wife had just fixed my fucking lunch! That was the last thing I saw my family do. I have no idea how much you loved your family, but I had eyes for no one but mine." Jacob schouted, his shoulders shaking as he talked to Silas, screamed at Silas, about his family.
Silas took a long steadying breath. He slowly drew his hand down his face, wiping away the tears that had formed there. Jacob was right. He was pretty bad off. But Silas wasn't willing to agree with him. By now, Silas was firmly entrenched in his beliefs, and that's where he'd stay. Jacob Vaughton may have had his problems, but Silas Webb has had his too. "Alright, Jacob," Silas said, his voice much calmer and quieter now. Arguing had never really suited Silas. "Alright. Alright." Silas was at a loss for words. How could he end this? "Jacob Vaughton, I apol'gize. I didn't mean to make yew angry, and I'm sorry. But I got my problems too, and they've really been eatin' on me as of late. So I'm sorry. Yew didn't need to know 'bout my family, yew didn't need to know 'bout my problems, and yew most certainly didn't need to be the vent fer my anger. Issat alright? I'm sorry 'bout your family. I really didn't know, and I'm sorry that yew had to bring it up. I'll keep it in the back've my head not to talk to yew 'bout 'em."
"Apologies don't change what was said and heard, Silas. But for what I said, I can say I'm as sorry as I can be." Jacob said. He looked at the two halves of the shovel, he had broken it sometime in the middle of his rant. Sheared clean through the handle. He swallowed hard at the thought of what he might have done had anyone been near him at the time. Jacob exhaled slowly. It was all he could do right now. Usually he broke things after such an outlet of emotion, but the only things nearby to break were his friends, Dave's house, and Bren's carcass. And Jacob wasn't going to mangle anything on that list.
"Well, I'm headed for Bailey's crossroads. You all coming or what?" Jacob said, before sliding Bren's body into the grave he had dug for him. Not very deep, but it would do. Once Jacob had buried the scum, he didn't much care if a Yao Guai came along and dug up the body for a quick snack. He began shovelling earth back over Bren's broken body, quietly muttering a prayer for the dead. The generic one Jackal had used. Not the prayer for the dead Jackal and himself had recited at Dutch's de facto funeral, Bren didn't deserve that. Silas stepped slowly down the hill and began pushing earth back into the hole with his feet, while Strauss joined in with Impact.
 (Wow, didn't think many Character cared about Bren, wel ldeserved end from both partys, great job)
Sasuke was watching, he saw Bren face a monster in human's skin and he didn't beg formercy, he told thta monster to find happyness,. "Who was he?" HE thought so he decided to ask Jack, he seemed a little upset but he wasn't morning him.
"Hey Jack, who was this Bren fellow, and the Claws I keep hearing" Sasuke asks "I would ask Jacob but I'm afraid he could kill me with one look" HE adds and Jack grins a bit from the humor that the ninja Ghoul had
Dave stared at both Silas and Jacob, who had just finished muttering a quiet prayer before throwing down the shovel on Bren's grave.. "If your both done with being drama queens," Dave said, unslinging his M24 Sniper Rifle, "maybe we can get a move on to the girly's haven?" Dave finished, looking towards the pair. "He even talks likes his old man." Jacob said, interrupting the arguing with chuckling from both older men. Rolling his eyes, Dave placed his sunglasses on, checked to make sure the shotgun trap at his shack was still set and and ready to go, and then returned to the pair, rifle in hand.
Jack continued on looking at the grave. "Don't worry about it Sasuke, a few horde members have the story down at the meeting point. On a holotape and everything." Jack unslung his AK-103 and started walking toward the Horde base. "Talk to me later, we got to go."
(I know thats why I mentioned that)
Sasuke nodded and draw his sword, JAck covers Long range and Sasuke takes them up close
"Point them out and they are dead" Sasuke says grinning, he turned invisible with his Recon stealth suit and followed Jack silghtley, JAck almost lost track of Sasuke a few time too.
Four Evolved Sweepers came rushing towards Jerusalem. They were hungry. They would sweep the battlefield for bodies to devour. They were attracted to battle. One of the Evolved Sweepers had a giant bio-soldier blade sticking out of its nail. Disgusting, but that is what the Enclave get for throwing a bio-soldier and god-only-knows-what into a blender. They were moving at high speeds when they caught a stench of the dead. A dead ghoul. Half a click west of them. They sprinted towards it. They seen a small shack and a few people in front. Prey.
Silas' skin at the base of his neck stood up. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He looked out of the pit into the wastes and was greeted with the sight of four large monsters making their way towards the shack. They didn't look too friendly. In fact, Silas was relatively sure that nothing could quite compared to how mean these massive monsters looked. He yelled to Jacob, "Jacob, what the fuck'r them things there?" Without waiting for a response, he rolled the Divider into his hand, sighted through the scope, and began opening fire. His shots weren't too bad, but they didn't seem to be having any effect. Silas swore. The rifle bursts could punch through the bone plate on an Anterk's forehead, and yet these creatures were just shrugging these shots off.
"Sasuke, I think we're in for some trouble." Jack muttered drawing his grenade launcher. Two shots. Shouldn't of wasted it on those death claws earlier. "Come on you fucking Bakapor!" Swears in Russian always seemed more insulting to animals. Well, that was what Boris told Jack. Loading it, he waited for the damn things to get a few yards closer.
Unfortunately for Jack, one of the Sweepers was smarter then that. It went behind the shack, knowing Jack wouldn't shoot that. When Jack turned to something else, the Sweeper pounced and knocked him to the ground, sending his grenade launcher into the air and a few feet away. Out of distance of Jack atleast. The Sweeper readied its blade arm and stabbed a few times and missed. Jack rolled to his grenade launcher but again the Sweeper sent it sliding, this time too far for anybody. The Sweeper pounced again and landed on Jack, who struggled under the weight of the beast, and began ripping his chest armor (I assume you have protection?) off. The Sweeper then got ready for the killing blow.
Silas leaped to Jack's side. An ally was in danger. "Oh no yew don't!" Silas swore. "I'm the only one that can give this asshole shit!" With that, Silas drew his magnum and fired. The first shot struck the creature in the side. It turned to face this new threat, just in time to get a second shot to the face by Silas. The mutant hissed, it's attention focused on this strange man with the gun. Silas fired again, hitting it a third time. That one hurt it. The Sweeper got off Jack, roared, and moved rapidly at Silas. Jack, however, was already up and hitting the creature in the rear with his .50 rounds. There was certainly something to be said for trained assassins. Silas' magnum clicked as Silas fired off the last round. The Sweeper was almost dead, but not yet. Silas dove to the side as it snapped at him. Then, quick as he could, Silas snatched out his Bowie knife and stabbed the creature in the neck, then moved the knife across as he slit its throat. Not invincible, then.
Jacob readied Mother's Woe, slipping a fresh clip of HEIAP bullets into place. He had a surplus of those things since raiding Jerusalem during the whole Hennard ordeal. He sighed and altered the fire selector to fully automatic and disengaged the safety. Holding the rifle steahy at his shoulder, Jacob opened fire. A three round burst ripped into the Sweeper's chest, its hardened hide no match for bullets designed for Anti-Materiel, EOD and Anti-Armor use. It screeched and fell away from him as Jacob continued firing, rending great holes in its chest with controlled bursts of fire. Jacob didn't see the other Sweeper coming. It hit him like a freight train, launching him backwards. He landed with a heavy thud, laying still for a second to take stock of whether or not he'd been badly injured. Nothing too serious. The thing relied on concussive force, and hadn't been going fast enough to do serious harm. 
His legs still felt a little shaky as he stood up though. He fired directly down that one's throat as the Sweeper came at him again. A nice little four-shot burst into its mouth, through and into its brain. It skidded to a dramatic halt at his feet and let out a final groan before going silent. Until it lashed out with the last of its strength and launched Jacob into the air again. This time, it had hurt him. He landed in a heap, rolled onto his back and lay there, waiting for the concussion to fade. Hopefully the others had preoccupied the other two Sweepers.
The fifth Sweeper lost track of its brethren. It was the dumbest out of them. But the biggest. 2x the size of a normal Evolved Sweeper (THAT IS FUCKING BIG). He seen them. Fighting some wastelanders. He was going to kill them SO MUCH.
Dave sighted the last sweeper. "Damn that thing is big!" Dave said, and set up behind some rocks, loading a .338 Lapua cartridge into his M24. "Bloody fucking snake." Dave said, and looked through the scope, compensating for the drop, the distance and the sweeper's speed as necessary. "That mother fucker is fast in sack." Dave muttered, trying to keep up with the sweeper's head, aiming for it's eye, but struggling to keep aim with the pace of the sweeper. Almost got it. Almost... almost... almost. It was just too damn fast. And it was heading straight for Jacob, too, who was lying straight on his back, dazed and confused. It no longer mattered if Dave got the killing shot now. He needed to attract it's attention. Firing off two round in quick succession, each round slammed into the base of the neck, causing it to bellow in pain and turn it's massive head towards Dave, who stared blankly through his shades. "Oooooohh shit." Dave said, scrambling to get on his feet and sprint.
"Lying down on the job now, are we?" Came a familiar voice from somewhere nearby. The sound of a shotgun firing could be heard overJacob's head, some short distance away. The third Sweeper bucket and roared as the hot buckshot penetrated its hide and burrowed deep into the soft flesh beneath. The beast leapt over the prone Jacob and then, surprisingly, was launched back over his head. It landed in a heap a few yards away, with an apparently broken jaw and neck. Its left paw was bent at an odd angle.
Unseen hands lifted the Warrior Weapon to his feet; one feeling warm and rough, the other cold and metallic. There came a familiar face in front of the warrior weapon next, goofy smile, shining eyes- one with some blinking red dots in it- brown hair, backwards baseball cap. 
"Miss me, Jake?" Roland said nonchalantly as he dusted Jake's shoulder off. "Looks like you're in one hell of a mess out here, then. Time to help you out." And then Roland turned, drew his SCM .357 Auto-revolver and started firing one controlled shot after the next towards the lsat remaining Sweeper. He laughed wickedly as the final Sweeper gave chase to Dave. "Look who it is!" He shouted. "The son of the finest damn dead guy in this little portion of the wasteland!" The merchant continued shouting various other one-liners and jibes as he emptied a few more bullets into the Sweeper, whic eventually turned its attention on the merchant.
"Ahem."
Weston said as he jumped out the back of the trailer, Assualt Rifle roaring. The Swepper...well, the Red Sweeper, was charging towards him. Luckily, the Hallocations stopped a while ago. Rolling out of the way right before the Sweeper hit him, Weston unloaded the rest of his clip upon the Sweepers back. Still, the Sweeper just came on coming. Pulling the pin of a sticky greande, he threw it onto the Sweepers head. Starting dumfonded at it, and trying to rip it off, the bomb expoldoded, leaving nothing but a smoking husk where it's head once was.
"The Cavlary came and save yo guy's asses! Whats up guys! Hav'ent seen you guys since...Jersuaml!"
Weston panted out, still hyped on on te adlerinare fropm killing the massive thing.
Jacob swayed gently as the concussion screamed protests at him moving. Rolandwas here? What was Roland doing here? He had left for something called Oktoberfest. Jacob tried to ask, but his brain, addled by concussion and adrenaline, didn't quite manage the full, coherent sentence.
"But Roland, you Oktoberfested. Singing. Went . . . that way!" Jacob said, waving his hand wildly. He swallowed hard. He was blanking on the past five minutes. He rapidly tried to regain his composure, running his hand through his hair and trying to walk straight. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. There! Thats it! You have it now! Jacob thought to himself as his clouded senses gradually returned to him. 
He raised his gun again and began firing at one of the last two Sweepers. It shrieked as the HEIAP bullets detonated inside it, frazzling its innards as they ignited. Then, out of nowhere, Conor swung Impact around in a large circle, arcing the immense hammer upwards into the Sweeper's jaw, ramming its teeth upwards through the roof of its mouth, and breaking its neck with a satisfying crunch as Impact discharged its deadly kinetic charge into the unfortunate Sweeper. Strauss stepped back, deeply impressed with his handiwork. It made up for him being stood, rooted to the spot when the other one punted Jacob like a soccer ball a minute ago.
Approaching the group, Dave dusted his jacket off, brushing off the irradiated dirt. "I don't share my genes, unfortunately." Dave said, then aimed and fired his M24 into the brain of the sweeper, just to be sure. It may have been a waste of ammunition, but the thing had nearly ran him down. Reloading, Dave took a big breather. Being a standard waster did have disadvantages as compared to being an enclave super-ninja. His hands on his knees, Dave extended a hand to Roland, who promptly shook it. "Thanks for the distraction. But I think I had it covered." Dave said, joking around as the five men chuckled. "Y'all coming to Bailey's with us?" Dave asked, slinging the M24 over his shoulder and checking to make sure his father's katana was still secured on his side.
"Already been there. Stef sends her regards. But, she said to go gwet you baffons. I came along for the ride."
Weston said as he dropped some caps into Domingos hand and went into a box named ammo and brought out several clips of Assualt Rifle ammop. =Slamming one home, he oulled back the reciver and slung his assualt rifle over his shoulder, looking at El Oso.
"Hey, Dave. You ridden in El Oso yet?:"
Weston lit another Cigaerrte and sat down on a nearby Rock, who now had Sweeper bvlood on it. Sitting down on it, then qwuickly going back up, he rubbed his rear end.
"Werid...thing fucking stung..."
"Actually," Domingo said from the cockpit of El Oso, "We kind of came to you. Weston has this danger sense, and he dragged us all over here..." He shook his head a bit. "You know how it is."
Roland chuckled a bit, looking Jacob over before handing him a flask of some kind of liquid. "For the record," Roland said bluntly, "I did go to Oktoberfest." He cleared his throat. "However, the raiders in the area came too... That was a wild Saturday night, that's for sure. Take the drink, it's a souvenier." The merchant stated calmly. It was almost like it was another day in the Wastes for him; like hadn't just fought Sweepers after making a harrowing ocean journey back to the Capital Wasteland from some wild beer-drinking party somewhere six hundred odd miles away. He quickly looked over at Weston, perched on the bloody rock. "Ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you..." Weston cocked his head in roland's direction. "What do you mean?" Roland cleared his throat a bit before continuing: "Err... Sweeper blood is more than a little acidic... That situation could become very painful in a few seconds if you don't move."
Chuckling, he turned back to Jacob. "I dealt with a few Sweepers while I was in Austin. Things damn near ruined my jacket."
Sasuke was walking to the group, his left shoulder was showing as a Sweeper raipped at him, too bad Sasuke had Shining Death on his side
"God damn it, what the fuck where those things" HE asked, he never seena Sweeper before and for a moment he thought they were POkoni (Japanese Demons, they look iit don't they)
Silas looked over his saviors. A few of these people, he knew. After exchanging belated greetings with Conor, Silas moved towards the newcomers. He nodded to Weston and clapped the boy on the back, careful not to touch the acid blood stains on Weston's clothing. As an afterthought, Silas wiped the blade of his Bowie on the ground. Then, he approached Roland and began talking to him and Domingo collectively. "Well, looks like I meet someb'dy new every day when I'm in th' area. Name's Silas Webb, wasteland wanderer by trade. I don't think I've ever met yer acquaintance before." Silas looked at Sasuke as well. "Well, sonny, they weren't no demons, 'cause they could be killed, that's fer damn sure."
"I know that now" Sasuke said, he then removed his Helmet in a way to be polite "Sasuke Kagemaru at your survcice" He added "So whats the next part of the plan, because I rather get my paycheck and help some Wastelanders, I have no beef with the US just the Enclave you tricked them" HE said looking down, but he went back up and smiled "So anyone got a plan" Sasuke was ready to take down these enemies
Weston nodded back to Slias, and went back to taking some puiffs from his cigarette. Slias was something like a brother to him. A Rad-X addicted brother who had a little twang and belived in a higher power ( No offense to both non-belivers and belivers, i'm a beliver myself). Taking off his Jacket, he carefully laid it down on the ground,. Red Blood Stains were everywhere, and they were sizzling a little. 
"Great, just great. Oh wait...SHIT, EVERYBODY RUN!" 
Weston yelled and took off away from the jacket. Everbody looked at him for a second, and it looked like Dave was about to say something before all the 10MM clips inside his Jacket began to cook off and bullets flew around thjem. Luckily, no one was hurt and Weston returned to his tattered Jacket.
"Hey, Domingo...got a spare jacket that holds SMG Clips in little hoslter things?"
Weston said, slightly dejected.
"And new ghoul guy...Shut up!"
(Mythbusters tested that one, you can't cook bullets, now if they were i nthe gun then yeah they could go off i nthe barrell"
Sasuke shut his mouth and a bullet almost got him in the shoulder
(I g2g, sorry for the short post)
"High Explosive Incendiary Armor Piercing rounds come in handy for that." Jacob said. His head was clearing. He clapped Weston on the back, nearly separating his shoulder blades with the force of the friendly gesture. Jacob really needed to sort that out. Still didn't know his own strength. He steadied himself as he suffered a head-rush from the concussion.
"What happened in Austin anyway? Did Jay find his folks or what?" Jacob asked, a tone of genuine concern in his voice as he spoke of his old friends. And definitely some of his fondest friends. He smiled at the memory of Fairfax, routing the Crusade forces under the banner of the Outcasts, leading the charge with Sam, Jackson, Ranik, Roland and Jay. Ever since that day, he had made it his mission to honour their memory and fight the Crusade at every turn. He had also considered doing a Tenkage anr running off to California and visiting them. Then he remembered Sasuke asking about Bren.
"Hey, ninja, you asked about Bren Tenkage earlier. He's a coward, and a traitor. If someone says something good about him, they're not from around here. You heard of the DC Riots? Yeah, Brenny boy started them by deciding to take on the Crusade, trained soldiers, with a bunch of normal Wastelanders. He got them all killed." Jacob snapped. The fact that this Sasuke had asked about Bren as if he liked the bastard was reason enough for Jacob to dislike him. Hell, the only reason Silas liked him was because he was high on meds when Bren made his big fuck-ups, and wasn't able to decide.
"Roland rockfort," Roland said, "Wasteland Merchant and Ultimate Survivor." He shifted a thumb towards Jacob. "I was with Jake over there when Jerusalem came tumbling down. We killed his huge fuckin' monster-guy called Hemmingway or something, and then I just kind of fell into a rut. There was a pretty large dip in revenue because of the Crusade's fall and the death of half of the Horde. So I pulled up stakes and went on a two-week vacation in Germany, rdank some beer, met some women and came back when my sources told me the market had recovered." He sighed, checking the Auto-Revolver in his chest holster. He had apparently picked up a replacement for his trademark grease gun while in Germany- after all, the modified SMG was now six feet under with Dutch. He had a double-barreled hunting shotgun slung over his back, and at his waist was something that looked like a gun straight out of the story books. 
It was black, angular and looked completely different from most of the guns in the wasteland. It had writing on the side, in white stencils, that said...
... 13mm RPA?
Roland had found a fucking gyrojet pistol scavenged away somewhere in the wasteland? At second glance, most of his technology looked fairly new. Aside from his gyrojet pistol, at a second glance the shotgun was actually a Neostead NS-2000 double barrelled riot gun, and somewhere on his person was a Gyrojet rifle as well. The gyrojet weapons looked to be in a lot better shape than the Neostead, which was also marked with an institute 'I', although it looked to be in worse condition than his Grease Gun, also marked with the 'I' of the Commonwealth's infamous conditioning and experimentation facility. 
Domingo, meanwhile, pulled a leather jacket out of his trailer. It looked a lot like Rolands' except it was in much rougher shape and had a lot of makeshift holsters machined into it. "Right here. Sixty-five caps." Domingo said bluntly. "I'll waive the fee if you pay me back later."
Roland moved past Domingo and hopped into the trailer. "I'll regale you with that specific tale along the way, Jake," The merchant shouted. "But for now, we have a really serious pit fighter to catch up with. Let's ride."
Silas nodded and jumped into the trailer at the back of El Oso. He was starting to like these people already. He'd noticed the nice firepower on that Roland fellow, and Silas liked how genuine these people were. Lord knows Silas could take as much as he could get of straight-shooters like these guys, both literally and figuratively. Silas stepped into the trailer and looked around. Well, it was certainly better than what Silas expected. His mouth dropped as he saw radio equipment set up and ready. He hadn't seen anything like that since the last time he'd been in an AWA base. He looked at Roland. "Shit man, this is a nice set-up. Can I make a broadcast?"
Roland nodded at Silas, told him the basic instructions as to what to say and how to work the device, then sat down to watch. The others piled into the tank and trailer and they set off. Silas tuned the radio and began to talk.
"Howdy, wasteland! This 's Claws Mobile Radio, and this is yer DJ, Silas. Yer regular host, Roland, is lettin' me broadcast here 'cause he's a great guy, an' so I'm givin' my broadcast. Here goes. Alright, so things've been busy in the Cap'tal Wasteland recently. The Crusade assholes've been taken out to make room fer these other assholes callin' 'emselves the 'Last Legion'. Don't they sound scary? Anyway, stay away from these guys. Lots of death 'round 'em, 'specially those poor guys in The Horde who died in that first attack. My condolences to their families. Since the Crusade's been taken down a peg, their shit's been all over the market. It's a good time to buy or sell weapons, people. There's lots of firearms t' go 'round, and The Horde's always lookin' to buy. If yer lookin' to protect yerself or yer family, now's the time. Me'n my buds jus' got back from visitin' the grave of a hero who died fightin' the Crusade, and now we're headed to meet some combat veterans. It's nice to keep up with yer pals, even in these kinda times. Alright, since it's been so hectic and troublesome recently, I'm gonna calm you down with a nice song by the one an' only Johnny Cash. Here's "Personal Jesus". Hope y'all 'njoy 't. Silas, signing off."
The Next Day, Bailey's Crossroads
Silas got out of the trailer and stretched his legs while the others got out as well. It was about time they got here. Now, time for some good Baltimore-style food.
After the group had gotten in, Karen Alan revealed herself, and got onto the now empty elevator, signaling for her Torchy robot to stay up here. She followed Jacob. The Enclaves treaty was no more with him, according to her commander, he killed Dutch Holmes himself and needed to be exterminated or retrieved. Lucky for her, she brought her Anti-WW bullets. That'd knock him out. He knew there was at least three other people with him, but they would be easy. She clicked the button on the elevator and went down, and armed a fireball.
Jacob looked around the room. 
Did that bitch just throw a fucking fireball at me? I think she threw a fucking fireball at me. Jacob thought to himself. What was this bitch? A fucking living flamethrower? Another fireball shot over Jacob's cover, igniting it. His tough luck for picking a sofa.
"Hey, stop with the fucking pyrotechnics show!" Jacob shouted. He jumped over cover, his duster billowing dramatically behind him as he went. He fired his D'Eagle as he went, the hollow-point rounds streking through the air, forcing her to dive for cover. She rolled under the table, overturning it to provide a little cover while she readied her secret weapon. A few bullets, salvaged from Project Rehabilitation. She loaded a clip of the bullets into her pistol and got ready to fire.
But Jacob had already covered the distance between them by now. He lunged over the table and landed a vicious punch on her. Her head swam. Her vision blurred. He was strong. Really strong. He lifted her up, and she threw a nerve-cluster strike at the base of his ribcage, he deflected the attack and headbutted her. She staggered backwards, and he punched her in the face again. She fought to retain consciousness. She raised her hands to defend herself as he readied a Torque Punch. Then she saw the gun in her hands. She smiled inside her helmet and fired at that gap at the base of his combat armor plating. The shot punched into Jacob.
Jacob twitched. Then he spasmed and dropped to the floor. He tried to reach for the gun on his hip, but his hand went the wrong way. So he tried to move his hand the wrong way. Instead, he flipped the pyromaniac bitch the bird. So he tried his right arm. It was above his head, raised to land that lethal punch. He went to grab a gun with that hand. Instead, he wound up running it through his hair. He tried to look around, to see what Pyrobitch was at, but he just turned his head the wrong way. It was like his nervous system had gone on vacation! He lost the feeling in his hands and feet. Then the rest of his arms and legs. He blacked out.
Karen walked over to Jacob's prone, unconscious form. She raised her hand, generating a fireball.
"Time to pay the piper, Vaughton." Karen sneered.
"Hey bitch." A voice behind Karen snapped. Karen extinguished the fireball and turned to see Stefanie standing there, hands on her hips. Stefanie continued, "Don't ever fuck with my home or my friends again, ya hear me?"
"Or what?" Karen sneered. This slave bitch didn't scare her.
"This." Stefanie answered. Before Karen could react, Stefanie had immitated Jacob's Torque Punch, with her Power-Fisted hand. Karen's head smashed to pieces and splattered all over the floor and walls. Stefanie spat on the headless body. "Fuckin bitch, coming in here, fuckin my shit up like that."
Riley then walked into the room. "Hey, I programmed Jeeves to make 'tea' or whatev.. HOLY SHIT!"
signing off, just wanted to kill Karen ;D
Silas stood there, opening and shutting his mouth. He was at a loss for words. He looked at Karen's body, then at Stefanie, then back at Karen's body, then at Stefanie again. He finally could force words out. "I uh," he stammered, "I uh, wanted to know if y'all had any'a that Baltimore cookin'. Is now a bad time. I mean, damn, girl! Where'd yew learn that? Besides Jacob, I ain't never seen someone do that before! I learned some stuff from readin' and from my father, but holy shit! I ain't never done stuff like that before! Yew don't mind teachin' me some shit some day, do ya?"
Sitting in a typical Dutch Holmes manner, Dave smoked a cigarette while Stefanie had smashed apart the other girly. Puffing the smoke out, Dave dropped his shades down for a minute to look at the corpse. "You think I had a shot with her? Dave said, joking around about the late enclave women. Stefanie and Domingo chuckled a little bit. Kicking his legs up on a table, Dave jerked in surprise as Silas threw the dead corpse on his lap, nearly sending his shades flying. Caressing the dead woman's stumped neck, he whispered to her gently in a mock motion, causing laughter about the room. "She's a real doll." Dave said again, laying the corpse on the side of the chair and wiping the blood off of his jacket. "A real firebrand, if you ask me." Dave said, smirking at the little pun.
Stefanie winked at Silas. "You act like a champion of the Zanadu pit bars wouldn't know how to smack a bitch's head off!" she said, chuckling at the fun being made of the now dead Karen. "If you want, I can show you some tips and tricks. I picked up hundreds of 'em in the fight pits," she smiled again, "'f we wrastle though, you better not be embarassed by gettin' beat by a girl." Silas chuckled. "You boys want some supper?" She called Jeeves in, who immediately noted the dead body with a catchphrase, "You've just been erased." Stefanie shook her head again. She thought Riley had fixed him. Guess not. "Jeeves, cook us up some more Mirelurk Cakes, would ya? But this time use your old recipe," she said. Jeeves went and made himself busy, saying something along the lines of "Put da cookie down!" She couldn't quite make it out, but he was still talking like an Austrian body builder. She led the group back into her good lounge again. "Anyone for a drink? Have what you want and we'll figure out what's goin' on topside," she grinned again, "I just gotta stay away from Tenpenny Tower, bounty and all." Stefanie pulled up her stool again and took a seat. "Enjoy my humble abode, but no Alien guns and no fireballs. This bitch already got the lesson for fuckin' up my house," she said, "sorry for breaking your new girlfriend, Davie," she said with another wink.
"Oh fuck." Roland stood up and quickly moved over to Jacob, lifting up as his limbs flailed wildly and pinning him on the couch. "Can someone get me some kind of sedative here?" Roland shouted unintentionally? "We've got a 200-pound Warrior Weapon who could gut me like a fish flailing around like he's posessed over here!"
"It's ok. We were gonna break up anyway." Dave said, smiling. "Me and her never really got into the dating process." He turned towards Roland. "Just keep his head from getting hurt. Better to let him flail around and go through the process. If we tie him down and give him a sedative, he could have an allergic reaction. Since he's a super ninja like Pops, he'll probably have a super reaction to it." Dave said to Roland, who nodded. Taking his feet off the table for a moment, Dave noted how the blood was all over his seat, then grabbed the corpse by the shoulders, pulling it off the side of the chair. Tossing the corpse over his shoulder, he noted with annoyance the blood running down his jacket. "Honey, you should try to be more of a people person next time." Dave said, joking to the corpse as he tossed it near the elevator for when they would head upstairs. "What was you saying about alien guns and fireballs?" Dave asked Stefanie, sitting back down in his chair and kicking his feet up.
"Well, Davie boy," she started, "certain people, present company included, thought one day, a few months back, that it'd be pretty awesome to shoot an alien rifle off in my house here." Riley leaned over to Dave, "It was all your pops." Dave smirked a little. Stefanie paused. "You helped him Riley," she chuckled, before continuing, "anyway, these two knuckleheads decided it'd be a great idea to fire this gun, so they did, wrecked a bunch of my shit, and wrecked Jeeves. So I finally got it all cleaned up and Jeeves, well, he got a new brain." Riley cocked his head. "Ahem, AI," he said matter-of-factly. "That's not even a word! Why do you keep spelling it?" Stefanie said. Riley shook his head. "Nevermind," he said. Stefanie continued. "The fireball rule is instituted today, by our GF out there," she smiled, "bitch can't just come in here and torch my stuff." Stefanie heard a commotion out in the entry way. It sounded like Jeeves saying, "you're fired." She went to investigate and came across Jeeves using his flamer on the dead body of Karen. The air stunk of burning hair and flesh. "What the hell Jeeves?" Stefanie yelled. Jeeves spun around to face her, "please don't disturb my friend, he's dead tired." Stefanie shook her head. "Get that carcass out of here!" she yelled. Jeeves picked it up and activated the lift.
----
Jeeves dropped the smouldering body topside but was alerted to another presence. "Are you ready to die for your country you commie son of a bitch!" he heard Torchy yell before being sprayed with a gout of flames. Jeeves hovered backwards behind cover as a fireball whizzed by. "Searching," was Torchy's only remark. He rolled over to the body of his former owner. A sequence clicked into Jeeves' AI. "Come on Bennett, let the girl go. It's me you want. I've got one arm, you can beat me." Jeeves hovered from behind cover. "Put the gun down. Put a knife in me!" he said, brandishing his laser saw, "look into my eyes. See what's going on in dare as you turn it. Come on, Bennett. Let's party!" Torchy spun back to his flamer as Jeeves hovered forward, slicing the fuel lines to Torchy's weapon with his laser saw and cutting deep into his propulsion system. The striken robot fell to the ground, the fumes of his fuel igniting and burning his circuitry. Soon he was a smouldering pile of rubble next to his former owner. "Let off some steam, Bennett." Jeeves said as he hovered back to the elevator.
"Oh, well, a few months ago there was a little.. 'incident', involving your father and a robot." Riley said, "The Alien Rifle you retrieved from your fathers corpse is what messed up Jeeves over there," he pointed at Jeeves, who heard and came yelling "Prepare to be terminated". Ofcourse, Jeeves wasn't going to do that. Jeeves went over to Karens corpse and said, "You appear to be injured, are you ok?" Jeeves then began a medical examination. "Anyway, that robot almost got killed by Dutch!" he then pointed to the Alien Rifle, "That rifle is very valuble, don't aim it at us, k?" Then Jeeves came back, "My mission has failed, she's dead."
"Fuckin hell. Not one message left for me when I get to Rivet City, and my boys have disappeared!" Jackal muttered as he walked towards the lift. Yes, lift. He was Irish. To him, it was a lift. Not a fucking Elevator. Anyway, he walked towards the lift, stopping to look at the mangled heap of what he could only assume was the bastard child of a Sentry Bot and a gas cooker. It was a little burned, and its circuitry was quite melted. Jackal could only assume that the Sentry Bot and the gas cooker were closely related for their child to wind up that messed up. Jackal shrugged and pulled out a cigar, picked from Domingo's pocket last time the two had met, and lit it off a still-burning part of the BFR's flamethrower apparatus. He walked over to the lift door, where he saw what was left of an Enclave soldier in that Stealth Armor that bitch back in Rivet City had worn. He stopped dead. That couldn't be her. Could it? He noticed the same markings on the shoulders, but without a head, he couldn't tell. He stepped into the lift, more than a little perplexed.
"What the hell happened here? I'm gone less than a week and the place goes to shit!" Jackal said as he stepped in the door. Then he spotted Jacob in a heap on the ground, twitching and rolling over every so often, the seisure having died down before Jackal arrived. "Jeezis, whatcha slip in his drink to knock him out like that? Deathclaw tranquilizers?"
Jackal walked over to his familiar spot at the couch and sat down without looking. He immediately jumped up as he dropped himself down on the springs, the upholstery having burned away.
"What the hell happened here? Jacob's in a tizzy, the couch is burned, there's a headless body up at the lift, and the bastard spawn of a Sentry Bot and a Gas Oven lying in a heap next to said body! What the hell did I miss?" Jackal said, his voice gradually becoming more and more high-pitched as he went on.
"That's where my cigars went!" Domingo exclaimed as he noticed Jackal smoking one of his prized cancer sticks.
"Ah." Dave said, cracking up. "This thing?" Dave asked, pulling out the weapon with no regard as to how he was holding it. "Now, I've always thought this was a peculiar weapon." Dave said, uncarefully aiming the weapon at Stefanie, then Jacob, and then Roland. "Dave!" Roland yelled. "It's always seemed alien-like to me, ya know?" Dave said, smiling as he acted like he was going to shoot. spinning around and doing fancy maneuvers. "Dave!" Domingo yelled. "It's seemed like an archaic design." Dave said, stroking his beard stubble, all the while acting like some old T.V. gunslinger. Apparently, Riley thought it was too dangerous. Then Jeeves floated by just as Riley tackled Dave, who hadn't even been paying attention. The rifle flew from Dave's hands as they collided on the floor, firing as the trigger flew back as it hit the ground. "Hit the deck!" Roland shouted, diving for cover as the weapon fired, whizzing past Jeeves and stabbing into the wall, before melting away. "Threat level detected." Jeeves said. Dave pushed Riley off of him as the crowd slowly poked their heads back up. "Nice job, small fry." Dave said, brushing off his jacket. "Small fry? Who you calling small fry, sonny?" Riley said. "Why I outta flog both of you!" Stefanie shouted. "Nice job, numnuts." Dave said. "Well I wasn't flashing off my fancy gun!" Riley retorted. "Well maybe you shouldn't of tackled me!" Dave said.
"I'm OK!" Jackal shouted from under the remains of the couch. Apparently, no one had noticed him enter or heard his questions. But he'd recognized that gun. And when Dave had dropped it, well, seeing discretion as the better part of valour, Jackal had jumped over the couch and rolled it over him in a makeshift fort. He crawled out from under it before resetting it back the right way up. 
He walked over to Dave and Riley, and remembering how his da dealt with him and his brother doing stupid things that broke up stuff in the house, he took off his boot and clouted them both around the backside, then the head with it. Repeatedly. Then he remembered his da had used flip-flops. He put his boots back on and scratched his head embarrassedly as he looked down at Riley and Dave, who were lying in a semi-conscious heap at his feet. Everyone else was staring at him. Stefanie and Weston looked like they were struggling not to laugh, but Silas looked openly horrified at this act of seemingly random violence.
"That should teach you two not to fuck around and break other people's shit!" Jackal said authoritatively as Riley and Dave sat up, checking to see if their heads were on straight.
"Oh no you d'int!" Riley heard Stefanie say, while laughing her head off. Cat, who had been hiding the whole time, came in a knocked over the ghoul. Riley got up, he was fine now, and looked at the old ghoul laying on the floor, with a dog licking his flaky face. He kneeled down and whispered into his ear, "Oh don't make me tell them your real name! Liam." before going back into the small workshop where he had been before Karen came.
Jackal sat up, pushing Cat away and shrugged. He honestly didn't care if people knew his real name, he just used Jackal because he liked it. If he'd wanted to, he could have called himself Michael Swims-With-The-Dolphins-On-Thursdays. Jackal just evoked a certain sense of primal fear in the Crusade members in New York. In fact, his name had become synonymous with death to the New York Crusade. They used him as some kind of boogeyman.
Jackal then stood up, dusted himself off and returned the cigars he hadn't smoked to Domingo. He'd really only taken them to see if Domingo would notice. Then, a flash of mischief appeared in his eyes. He grabbed a pen from the table, and crouched next to Jacob. He scratched his chin, Pirate, or cat? Cat. Jackal went to work. There wasn't a straight face in the room.
Fireman0504
"Jackal!" Stefanie yelled. The ghoul looked up in slight confusion. "No smoking on the furniture!" she said. Jackal slowly looked down at the huge burn holes in the couch, then back at Stefanie. "You're kidding right?" he said. Stefanie winked. "Yup," she said, "only kidding. Smoke, drink, eat, have fun. Just don't break shit," she said smiling. "I know your rules," he laughed. Stefanie threw a new cushion on the couch and plopped down by Jackal. "How's your Anterk? Good stuff? Heard's still a few miles outta town, wanna go on a nother hunt soon? We're havin' Mirelurk Cakes tonight, want some?" Before he could answer she'd already sent Jeeves to make more. He left grumbling something illegible. She poured Jackal a shot of Midleton and he stood up. She liked Jackal a lot. His venerable nature made him a sort of father figure. The sort of twisted father figure only a girl like Stefanie could appreciate. He always had her back and was teaching her tricks and things. She'd even gotten good at wielding a machete. Stefanie was always so excited when Jackal livened the party. "Do that trick you did outside The 7th Circle when I came to visit you in Underworld a few weeks back. The balancing with the five shots."she said excited, "you gotta show all these wannabe drunks up!" "Don't you know it girly!" he said back. 
Stefanie was a little nervous because she looked over and Davie was tinkering with that Alien Rifle again. "No no no," she said. Dave looked up with a mischievious grin. Domingo was lighting cigars everywhere. Stefanie swore she saw smoke coming out of his ear. Roland and Weston were discussing somethin. It was obviously hilarious because Roland made a goofy gesture with his hands and Weston was practically rolling. Jacob sat on a recligning chair with his feet up and head tilted back, recovering from his seizure, allowing himself a very rare moment of rest. He seemed to be becoming mre personalbe to her. Not that he wasn't still a hardened cold-blooded killer, just tat he was starting to look at the group as friends, rather than people he just doesn't kill. Silas and Conor came back into the lounge, each with a mouthful of Mirelurk cakes. "Hey Stef," Silas said loudly as Mirelurk crumbs fell into his beard, "we raided yer fridge. Got us some chow." Stefanie smiled. "Me casa es su casa," she said, trying to find the right pronunciation as Domingo looked at her crookedly. She'd heard him say it once. No matter what happened she was gonna enjoy tonight, because the morning would bring not only a probable hangover, as Jackal balanced a shot of Midleton whiskey on his nose and one on each elbow, while downing the first shot standing on one foot on the back rest of a chair and balanccing a fourth shot on the other foot, but the grim realization that there was still the Last Legion to worry about.
"Huh? What'd she say? Something 'bout Cassandra? Who's Cassandra?" Strauss managed to get out between mouthfuls of Mirelurk Cakes and hefty swigs of vodka, inadvertedly allowing a flurry of crumbs to escape his mouth and onto his face. Silas couldn't help but laugh. Strauss responded by glaring at him, taking another gulp of vodka before putting it down and wiping his face with his left arm. He was dismayed to find metal and a sheet of glass scraping across his mouth. He swore and then got to work cleaning his Pip-Boy's screen - while apparently drunk and still eating a Mirelurk Cake.
Silas sat down and munched some more on the cakes. They were pretty good. The others would probably be wondering what that weird taste in them was, but both Silas and Stefanie knew, like all Maryland natives, that the only way to eat Mirelurk was steamed or broiled, with a large healthy dusting of fireweed or, if you were lucky or wealthy, pre-War Old Bay Seasoning. (Old Bay survives the warm, bitches!)
Silas took a bit, a swig of his whisky, and grunted something untelligible around the food in his mouth. Stefanie looked at him quizzically. Silas held up a finger, finished his mouthful, and spoke again. "Nice job there, puttin' the Old Bay in with the cakes. I didn't even think yew'd be able to get any 'round here. These guys won't know what hit 'em."
Alexis was smoking his own pack of cigeretes.JAcob was still unconsious but it was only a bullet shot.It shouldn't have nocked him out for that long."Does anyone know if the bullet that bitch shot jacob with was poisned?".Extinquishing the smoke he then bent down and set to work on jacob.There was nothing wrong with him acording to his sensors but he was still unconsious.God damm he muttered.He took a swig of vodka and set back to work.
----
Aaron wasn't a social person so he was just sitting at the back of the room.He knew who that bitch had been,There had been freaks like her inducted into the guardians but this freak must have been an upgrade.
"Old basy, who said something about old bay?"
Weston said, suddleny looking up at Strauus from the floor. He was responded with a qauick toss and a plate full of 'Lurk meat. Grinning eargely, Weston sat down at a table. Dumping some old bay on a area next to his small plate, Weston scopped up some meat and placed it in there before eating it. 
"Man...have'nt had Old Bay in forever..."
Weston said, before kicking his feet up, with his boots off, of course, and lighting a cigarette.
"You know, i wanna play some cards. Like, Blackjack. Last time i played it was a few weeks ago, right before Jeruslam, or at least the events leading up to it. Won myself a preety pile of caps, yessir. Then blew it all one booze, beans and...well...bitchs. At least before i found my girlfriend."
Weston smilied at the last part. He invetned a little game. Bassicly, he would mention it, and everybody would try to guess her name. So far, no body guessed it. Even a little bet poll has sprung up on it. At last count, it was around 75 Caps, 2 Bottles of Whiskey, and a scigar, couterty of Domingo.
Jacob didn't gamble. He had woken up, and, still feeling groggy from whatever that bullet had done to him, had sat down with a large container full of a mix of whiskey, bourbon and other spirits. On closer inspection, one would have discovered he was drinking from a small paint-pot, steam-cleaned by Stefanie or the Outcasts at some point. He stared into his drink for a second, looking at his reflection in the swirling booze. He saw why people kept looking at him and smiling, and why everyone had gone quiet when he came to. Some smart-ass had drawn a cat nose and whiskers on his face. He looked around, as people started laughing as his face went from confused to irritated. Jackal nearly fell off his chair. It was him! That fucking Ghoul! Too tired to shout or appreciate the humour of the situation, Jacob threw a nearby plunger at Jackal's head, knocking the venerable Ghoul from his chair. Before Jackal had got back to his chair, struggling somewhat due to extreme drunkeness, Jacob reached across the table, grabbed Jackal's plate and dumped the contents onto his own plate.
Roland had Weston on the floor laughing at this point, and he swore at any second the merchant's gut would burst. But he kept on going with his story. 
"... So I keep aiming this laser pistol at him, and I say, "WHAT'S MY NAME?!' The dude can't see my face behind my visor, because I'm wearing that scientist outfit. So he kind of stutters and says 'R-Roland Rockfort?' I kind of cocked my eyebrow, and then I yelled 'WRONG, I'M FUCKIN' BUCK RODGERS!' and snapped him a good one right in the face. It was the most fun I've ever had on a scavenging run, bar none." Domingo, meanwhile, continued to vent smoke through the various orifices on his face. There were indeed trails of smoke snaking out from his ears, as well as his mouth and nose. His face was hazed in a ring of bluish smoke that obscured his head from view like he was producing a fog machine. He breathed in quickly through his nose, the smoke dissappeared, and went back through his ears. The group was chuckling now as Domingo rolled his eyes and smiled deviantly as he continued circulating the smoke in this manner.
Alexis laughed if jacob was doing that he was back to his normal self.He stood up and hauled up weston."Im in.What ya wana play?".Alexis pulled up a crate and grabbed a mirelurk cake.It was a unique experience in the fact that it tasted better than most things in the wastes.Domingo was being his usual friendly self and alexis decided it might pay to listen.It would cheer him up anyway
Jack sat down in a chair next to Weston. "I may not be the best at cards, but I'll play. So, what exactly are we going to do here?" Jack grabbed some near bye vodka, and took a swig. "If your lucky, I'll win early."
Riley sat down, and received odd stares from the others at the table. "So, what are we playing? I bet you any money I'll win."
Silas looked at Weston. "Naw, son, I gave up the card playin' 'round 'bout the time I got some religion. I tellya what, though. I'll watch an' supply yew fellers with whatever yew need, whether it be food or drink or whatever." Silas sat back and relaxed. It felt so good to relax every now and again. Idly, Silas wondered when was the last time he'd cleaned and maintained his weapons. Better get on that. 
Silas took out his bowie, ran it through the sharpener and fixed its edge, then moved on to his rifle and pistol. Silas cleaned out the barrels, firing mechanisms, chambers, and whatever else needed fixing, whistling a tune the whole time as he went about his work. Occasionally, he had to open one of the crates that Stefanie kept lying around full of weapons and parts and got something to fix a worn or broken part, but for the most part he was okay. Suddenly, Silas stopped. That pill he'd taken earlier had been one of his last ones. How many were left? Silas got up and made his way to the medicine cabinet. Luckily, Stefanie kept the place well stocked. Silas grabbed some pills of Rad-X and made his way back into the main room. No one had even noticed that he was gone. Silas took a slug of whiskey and sat down again.
"No way riely that takes the fun out of it.Weston,Jack should we play poker?".Alexis took out is deck of cards."Shall i deal"
"Nah, what takes the fun out of it is that that deck you just shuffled.. well, you put the four aces on top." Riley snatched the deck from him to prove it. Weston then smacked Alexis on the side of the head, followed by everybody else at the table doing so.
Ahh shit that hurt he thought.Riely was a complete dick at times,"Who deals then?",He asked.He took out his own bag and put some caps on the table."Starting a 50 caps"
Weston looked at Alxis and shaked his head no.
"Don't got that much,. I say...well...5 caps?"
Weston said, as he passed the cards to Riely, and then quickly took them back. Last time he ever, ever played a Card fgame with him, he cheated. He problay will still cheat, but, at least now he has a semi-even chance.
"And were playing blackjack."
Weston said as he delt out the cards. Still smoking, he found a ashtray laying on the floor and placed it on the table. Themn, setting the cigarrette in the ashtray, Weston picked up his cards and waited. He had a King and a 4. 14.
Jack didn't bother to look at his cards. Riley would just mind probe his ass or something. Anyway, he took another drink of Vodka. Realizing that other people were staring at the bottle, he began to pass it around. He then started to laugh, before punching Riley in the face. Flooring the psychic. Then looked at his cards. "What? The bastard would of probed my mind or some shit!"
Weston simply just shrugged and put the Cigarette back in his mouth. Smokling it a little, he set it back down on the ashtray. Looking at Celberal and shrugging, Weston took a quick glance at Reileys cards. 
"GHey, someone turn on GNR or something...kinda bored..."
Weston said over the noise of the talking and stuff.Someone did turn on GNR, and the sound of Butcher Pete played across the room. Shaking a little to the song, Weston waited for the reast to either match his bet or raise it. Karens head, or, as Stef called her, rolled across the floor. At least thats what Weston thoiught. It was going to happen soon...he was going to need another shot of Med-X. And soon...problay within the next hour or so.
Riley got up and seen Weston running away from his cards.. "Hey asswhip! Nice King four there!" he called out to Weston, who was looking rather shocked. "Eh I quit, if I'm going to get punched everytime somebody suspects I know their cards, then this ain't fun." he then looked over at Jack, "peripheral, you can still see it in the corner of your eye, your gonna win Jack.. with those aces and all."
Roland smirked. His hand was better than the others' hands; he had a full houseand everyone else seemed like they were going to fold. It was down between him and Riley, and Riley's fancy mind-reading mojo was going to be trumped because Roland had metal in his head. One of many times the Institute's tinkering had actually paid off. 
"You sure?" Roland said, quickly hiding his smirk with that same stoic mask he had. "I've got a real shit hand here, anyways." He took his tumbler of whiskey and downed another gulp, staring across the table at the young Psyker.
Dave woke up woozily, having bore the brunt of Jackal's suprise attack. "What happened?" Dave said, rubbing his head to the pulse of a throbbing pain. "Jackal beat the hell out of you with a steel-toed boot." Stefanie said, downing some beer. "That scoundrel!" Dave said, recovering both his Alien Rifle and his pistols (got me that snazzy new revolver). Dropping himself into a chair as some of the crew played cards, Dave found himself rather bored, twirling his revolver and USP9 in either hand in a cowboy gunslinger fashion. He turned towards Rileys innocent looking dog, Cat. "You think I can get away with it again?" Dave said, asking the dog. It's reply was to walk away. "Arrogant little rat." Dave said, and continued to twirl his weapons.
Weston did'nt really run away friom the cards. More like...fast walking. Weston fast walked to the kitchen, and moved to one iof the areas ofd the kitchen in which he was out of sight. The floor itself was awash by empty shell casing. He needed the Med-x NOW. Wrapping a small peice of cloth, well, really a bandada, across his upper forearm, he took out the small sryinge of Med-X. Quickly, Weston thought, e shell casing on the floor began to form shapes. Like, Dutch Homles. Ramming the needle into his wrist, he slowly pushed all the Med-X into his system. Sighing quietly, the shekll casings went away. Putting away everything needed, he saw a towel and wrapped his wrist. Grabbing a plate of food, he went back into the room.
"Found some food. Anybody want some?"
Weston said has he sat down in a chair and watched Dave twirl his guns around. Weston placed the Brahimin Steaks on the table right next to him, where the card game was still going on. Of course, he took back his cigarette and smoked it a little.
Jacob looked at Weston, walking quickly out of the room, fumbling for something in his jacket. And Weston had come back into the room, speaking unnecessarily loudly, with a towel wrapped around his wrist. Didn't take a genius to work that out. Jacob had seen junkies before, in New York and Zanadu. Weston wasn't nearly as strung out as they were, so it probably wasn't Jet or Psycho. Buffout, maybe? No. It had to be an injected drug to warrant the towel. Med-X, probably. Jacob looked over to Jackal, who, in spite of being utterly shitfaced as he drank another small bottle of whiskey, followed by a beer, nodded solemnly. He'd seen junkies too. And before the War. Moore street on a Sunday morning was not a pretty sight. Nor was most of Tallaght or Ballyfermot. Poor Weston. He was just a kid, compared to Jacob and Jackal.
Weston looked over at Jacob. And he gluped slienty. A Shiver ran up his spine. Hge knew, and consdierng the faxct that Jackal was looking at Jacob then at him, they both knew. But, the real question was this...what to do next?Acting as natrually he could, Weston xconuinted to eat his Brahimin Steak and took a sip from a Nuka-Cola that was laying out and around. Looking around, everybody was off doing there own things. Rubbing his arm, and seeing a baseball fly across the room, he waved it off as a halloucation. Rubbing the back of his neck, Weston went back to eating. Even cat joined him, Licking his hands and trying to get his food.
Gabriel looked around wearily, he had been watching the place three days and there was no rigid structure as to who came in or out, or when. He'd just seen a robot leave so he guess now was as good as any to break in. He approached slowly, crouching untill he found a lift. He climbed down the shaft as quietly as he good before dropping the last few feet and darting for some nearby shadows. He saw blood splattered all over the walls, he was shocked for a second, letting out a tiny gasp. As an instinct he flatenned himself against the wall on held his breath, waiting for a guard to burst out guns blazing but it did't happan. He saw more blood and something that looked like chunks of meat. Am in a raider joint? He thought while sliding out a .32 pistol, he poked his head around the corner and saw a rable of heavily armed people staggering around drunkenly and playing cards. He dashed towards another room, keeping to the shadows, he arrived in what looked like a kitchen. He squeezed himself into another corner as he heard a rustling approaching his location, he watched a man inject a shot of med-x and then leave looking relieved. Only the did Gabriel let out another breath, he'd been told by his contracter to grab the loot then go, leave the residents unharmed, but he couldn't stand for these people who were obviously (to him) a bunch of basdard raiders. Little did he know that the contracter didn't really care whether the people inside lived or died he just knew his employee (Gabriel) probably wouldn't survive. Gabriel on the other was blissfully unaware of that so he pocketed the spices he'd been told to steal then burst out of the kitchen shouting "Time to die raider scum!" through a thick french accent and firing a few hopeful shots at this biggest meanest looking one of them. (Jacob)
"What the fuck?" Jacob said, calmly drawing a D'Eagle and taking aim. Shit, this thing's heavier than I rememberJacob thought. Still suffering whatever that bullet did then.
Jacob fired twice, but the collective recoil of two .44 Magnum slugs exiting the chamber jarred his wrist and elbow. Shit! I'm gettin old! Jacob thought. Not good! He had missed by quite a lage margin too. Luckily, this Canadian had missed him too. Jacob dived off to the side as everyone else had done the same the second they heard the words "Time to die". Jacob looked around, people were staring at him, shocked that hee had missed. Silas was one of the only ones who wasn't. He just looked vehemently pissed that someone would call him a Raider.
Jackal was trying to aim. This is why control of a firearm while intoxicated got you sent to prison before thewar, you flaky skinned gobshite! Jackal thought to himself. He fired, knocking the Frenchman's gun from his hand.
"Good shot!" Jacob called to him.
"I was aimin for his head!" Jackal shouted back.
"Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" Gabriel shouted ducking back behind cover as his gun was blasted out of his hand. At most I can probably take out one these scum bags He though fishing out another pistol and firing blindly out of the Kitchen. He peeked out of the door frame to see he'd only manage to put some holes in a wall behind the group. "Merde" He shout slipping back into French in his frustration. At first he'd thought that only some of them would be able to fight but now it seemed that every single one of them had pulled a gun and was firing on his position. He grabbed a jar and through it out to the group and watched in horror as it shot out of the air. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance if he fought fair so he grabbed another jar and activated a stealth boy. He stepped out with the jar in his hand and while the group were figuring out why the jar was floating he threw it across the room and watched a trail of bullets follow it. He took the chance and sprinted back towards the lift but he couldn't help himself. He flicked out a butterfly knife and stabbed it into the Irish ghoul's thigh. He hated the Irish.
Roland was immediately on his feet. Stefanie's house always seemed like a magnet for trouble nowadays, and it was probably somehow inadvertently his fault. As Gabriel stabbed Jackal's thigh, Roland took advantage of the "assassin"'s un-necessary side-trip and tackled him to the ground. Hard. 
Like, Mack Truck into a rabbit, hard. 
"Wondering how I saw you through that stealth-boy, Baguette?" Roland shouted as he lifted the invisible spy up with his biological arm and drew back for a punch with his =cybernetic one. "Thermal vision. I could kick your ass even if you were completely invisible to start with." And then he landed a vicious gut punch, launching Gabriel into a nearby wall and jarring a few small trinkets off of a shelf. Roland quickly caught the items and placed them back on the shelf before he picked Gabriel up again and launched him into the foyer, at Jackal's feet. 
"Have at him, my Irish friend." He said in passing as he nonchalantly went back to the table, retrieved his discarded hand and waited for everyone else to do likewise.
"Son of a hairy whore!" Jackal shouted, kicking out on instinct. 
He heard a yelp and a thump as the kick connected with some part of the attacker. Jackal hoped it had been the Stealthboyed fucker's groin. He jumped at where he thought the attacker was. He thought right. He wrapped his legs around the attacker's waist and pummeled the poor unfortunate's head. Everyone else was falling around laughing at the sight of a floating Ghoul punching the air, as the Frenchie had somehow remained standing. Until Jacob slide-tackled him, sending both Jackal and the Canadian to the ground.
"Freeze motherfucker!" Jacob shouted as he wrenched the Stealthboy from the Canadian's hand and pulled a gun on him. Jackal had pulled his Dadao, and had that nutty look in his eyes that generally preceded an act of violence or murder on his part. Jacob subtly put himself between Jackal and the Canadian.
"Pour le saké de Dieux pourquoi va-t-il toujours des mésanges en haut pour moi?" He was lashing out wildly as he rambled on in French. "You Raider basdards going to eat me to?" Strugling wildly under Jacobs grip. "Back in my day your king would be shot et écorché et ensuite suspendu avec votre propre peau basdard pendant que petits enfants ont dansé dans votre sang!" (and skinned and then hung with your own basdard skin while little children danced in your blood!)"More and more strings of French verbal assaults were hurled at the group and there mothers respectively. This continued for a while untill a hand was forced down onto his mouth, which he preceeded to bite vicously.
"Raiders?" Roland chuckled, putting down his hand of cards again. "The fuck are you thinking?! Do we look like Raiders to you?!" He hauled Gabriel off the ground, brushed him off and punched him lightly in the chest. "I don't see any corpses strung from the cieling around here. Just that Enclave Black-Ops that tried to kill us earlier, and she had it coming." The merchant produced a bottle of whiskey and one of the tumblers of whiskey from the table, pouring one for the Canadian. 
"Frenchie, we're not Raiders." Roland said lightly as he handed the tumbler towards Gabe. "If anything we're the exact opposites. We're the people who liberated fucking Jerusalem."
"Im a fucking historian asehole"Alexis muttered.He put down his cards again and swaped them for his magnum."Also fool.I can sppeak french and i don't take kindly beiong told that i should be skinned and then hung with your own basdard skin while little children danced in your blood!".He took out his magnum again "Why don't you tell us why we should let you live?"
Roland turned and systematically backhanded Alexis in the face, laying the historian out backwards on the coffee table with his head in a bowl of salsa. That was definitely going to burn his eyes if they weren't shut when he landed. "Because I haven't killed him yet, you little shit." Roland said out loud, although he meant it to be a bit quieter. 
He hesitated for a moment. "You shouldn't kill me becacause... Because... You'll never know where the gold is?" He said meekly which earned him some less than amused looks. " You shouldn't kill me because of my dashing French charm?" If it was possible the faces became even more unamused. Gabriel's eyes lit up a little " You shouldn't kill me because your not raiders and your the saviours of Jerusalem?" 
Jeeves floated into the room at that point, noting Alexis facedown in salsa screaming at the top of his lungs while Roland snickered lightly. "SOCK IT AHP, YOU VEEMP!" He shouted in his heavy Austrian accent.
"Yeah, we didsave Jeruslam. And Alexis, shut the hell up!" 
Weston said, pweering behind cover and watches Alexis being hit by Roland. He had forgot about the little creepy moment with Jackal and Jacob. He looked the so called "Frenchie". He had never seen a "Frenchie" befiore, but it was a funny word to say.
"Whats a Frenchie anyway?"
Weston said, still looking at there newe captive. The guy had a nice knfie...Weston leaned over to pick it up, but, Roland shaked his head no. Placing the knife back, Weston pulled out his SMG and watched the new guy/ new captive to make a move. If he did, the new captive would problay be dead before he could do anything. Looking into the 'Frenchies' eyes, he could almost see something like worms crawling around in there. Damn Halloucations. Weston wondered if the massive amount of hair was halloucations to. After all, not mnay people have that much arm hair.
Alexis quickly closed his eyes as he ended face down into the bowl of salsa."Stop bloody doing that roland".He pulled himself up and wiped the salsa off his face."He did try to kill us though" alexis pointed out.Cat came bounding up to him and started liking the source of his face."some one get this god damm dog off me that tickles"
"To be fair I tried to kill dirty Irish man and the really big scary Débauché. Oh and you, Mr.SMG A Frenchie is someone from France, the greatest country in the world!" He started absently spinning the knife in his hand. "So ehm... I live?" He queried hopefully. Jesus Christ that big guy looks like his going to kill me. He thought, his eyes darting suspiciously around the room.
Weston cocked his head tat the word "Frence". He had never heard of such a place. Sure, Westons read books, but, nothing about this "France" place.
"And where would France be?"
Weston said catuisoly. He wanted to know, but, he was'nt about to turn his backs aon those he trusts. Whjich is why he had a SMG, and the other guy did'nt.
"And you get to live if i can have your knife."
Weston said, half-hoping the Frencie would give that knife to him. It was a nice knfie...too bad it had hair all over it...
Jack the whole time the man was attacked and captured, went to making some thing. He realized the man who attacked the group was french,(He saw him enter, but was too drunk to care) and remembered some thing he read in a book. Shoving a sharp blade into the door, he attached a rope to it. Grabbing a basket, he put it next to the slab of wood under the door frame. "Bring me the captive! Hey, you wouldn't be related to any royalty, would you?"
"France is a dead country weston,It was wiped out in the resource wars and no one knows what hapend after that"Alexis grinned at jack.The guilitene was a briliant method of execution."JAck good luck with that"
"Although I appreciate the thought of your actions, Jack," Roland said calmly, "We won't be going Louis the 14th on our friend here." He nonchalantly reached out and took the blade from the oorframe, placing it on the floor.
"As for you, Frenchman," Roland said calmly, "I suggest you don't try to kill either the Irishman or the huge guy here, because either one of them could gut you like a fish without a second thought."
Dave, still twirling his ornate revolver, watched through his shades as the french man pleaded his case. "I hate french men." Dave said, catching the revolver by the handle as he whirled it in his hand. "Look, greaser, shut up." The thief said in his stupid accent. "Who you calling greaser, frenchy?" Dave said, revolver in hand. "Ya know, my dad was a friend of that guy. They were both super ninjas, ya know. Me? I'm the super ninja's son. I'm no stupid greaser." Dave said, cocking his revolver and firing a round into the tied man's foot. He growled and heaved in pain. "More handy with a gun than you are, bud." Dave said. "As far as I'm concerned, you should've been shot the moment we saw you." Dave said, gaining the approval of Alexis, Jack, and several others.
"Woulda been if I hadn't had an accident with a bullet earlier." Jacob added. It was weird, how he'd suddenly become dramatically weaker after that. Toxic bullets? Probably. He kept his aim steady on little Frenchie, though. Just as Jackal did. Except Jacob had a Desert Eagle in his hand, pointed at the French Ghoul's chest, while Jackal had a Dadao, a flamin' great Chinese sword, angled towards the unfortunate Frenchie's neck. And now Dave had gone and shot hi in the foot.
"Yeah, as Dave said, I'm a friggin' Super Ninja. A little off-colour as of about two hours ago, but still a Super Ninja." Jacob said.
"Me, I'm just a pissed off Irishman lookin down at a little French-fry who stabbed me. Now I got this big-ass knife here in my hand, and I owe you one stabbing. Well, its not actually a knife, its a Dadao, but I owe you a stabbing, and this is the nearest blade to hand." Jackal said to the Frenchie, leering at him as he said it.
Alexis was mentaly translating Jacob,Jackal's and dave's statements in to french.As the french man was still silent he turned to dave."Mabey he would understand better if it was in french" turning to the frenchman he said "	
Ya le savez, mon père était un ami de ce type. Ils étaient tous les deux super ninjas, ya know. Me? Je suis le fils de super ninja. Je ne suis pas stupide graisseur,En ce qui me concerne, vous avez été tiré sur le moment, nous avons vu que vous
and this is what jackal said Moi, je suis juste un pissed off lookin Irlandais lors d'une petite française qui avait poignardé alevins moi. Maintenant, j'ai eu ce gros cul ici couteau dans ma main, et je vous dois un couteau. Eh bien, ce n'est pas vraiment un couteau, c'est un Dadao, mais je dois vous un poignard, et c'est le plus proche de la lame à la main. or mabey you would prefer german!".He picked up his hammer and swang it at the frenchman "NOW TELL US WHY YOU SHOULD LIVE. or if you want it in french DITES-NOUS EN DIRECT POURQUOI VOUS DEVRIEZ!"
Weston looked at Alexis, then back to the french guy. Turning back to Alexis, Weston slammed a right hook into the small historians face, sending him reeling to the floor, right before the hammer could strike.
"Alexis! SHUT THE HELL UP! YOU ARENT HELPING!"
Weston shouted as the dog-faced Alxeis turned and panted its tounge before looking away. Fucking Halloucations... Weston thought. Crouching down and looking at this so called 'Frenchie', Weston looked him hard in the eyes.
"Now, your going to listen to me, and your going to listen good. There is only two things i want to know about you. One, how the hell you get in here? ASnd two, can i have yourr knife?"
Weston then cassualy lit a cigarette, and was super carefull not to blow smoke in the guys face. After all, he was trying to win hearts, minds and a knife.
Silas grunted. He had no idea what was happening with this group. If someone had just randomly jumped out of nowhere and started shooting at everybody, Silas would have filled him full of lead or stabbed him with the Bowie. The fact that that wasn't happening was probably due to the massive amounts of alcohol and, in Weston's case, Med-X that had been used. It was addling everybody's brain.
Silas walked up to the "Frenchie" and began to talk. "Now, sonny, I think that that liddle episode there was tot'lly unnecessary. I mean, do we look like the kind of people that'd go'n harass people like them raiders do, 'n do we look like the kinda people that ya oughta piss off? Now, if ya jus' 'pologize for callin' me a "raider", then I think that I'd be willin' to let ya go. Now, if ya don't want to, we can always introduce ya to the fine lady of the house, if ya git my drift."
The events of the past few minutes had passed through Strauss' mind like a blur. Too much vodka, he acknowledged. What he'd managed to gather was that Lex and some new guy were talking in gibberish to eachother, Lex was being floored repeatedly (and Strauss was laughing every time) and now Silas was lecturing the strange intruder on something. Without a word, Strauss pulled on his helmet and shuffled behind Silas, holding one of his SCM Officer Swords at the ready to emphasise the notion that Silas meant business. Serious business.
Fireman0504
Stefanie stepped forward, one hand on her hip, the other flexing the fingers one her Shocker Power Fist. "I'd be the lady of the house," she said bluntly, a few of the group parting to allow her to confront the intruder. "You have some explainin' to do," she said. "I ah," the Frenchman stuttered. "You," she started, "came into my home, shot one of my friends, stabbed another of my friends, stole from me, and called us Raiders," she said gripping the man's throat with her Shocker Power Fist and squeezing slightly. "If you," she pointed at Roland, "so much as touch me, I will stomp your tradin' ears off. I'm too fuckin' tired of troublemakers comin' in here when we're relaxin' and wreckin' my shit." Roland backed up a little and raised his hands. Stefanie meant business now. She turned her attention back to Gabriel. "Now," she said again, "you have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself, 'fore I choke the life out of you. The less convincing your story is, the more I choke, got it?" she said. The man gagged as she squeezed. "Thirty seconds," she said, "go."
Dave continued twirling his revolver as the French man told his explanation to Stefanie. Without turning his head, he talked to Weston. “She sure is a firebrand, eh?” Dave asked. “Amen to that.” Weston said, his voice slurred slightly. Of course, the all-hearing Stefanie didn’t take it too kindly. Whirling, she took his power fist, and sucker punched Dave in the balls, dropping him to his knees. “Son of a bitch…” Dave struggled to say as he dropped to one knee, the eyes behind his shades bulging. Weston pulled on the collar of Dave’s jacket, hoisting him up from the ground. “I suppose some things are better left unsaid when crazy women have power fists.” Weston said, mocking Dave. Stefanie heard that one too, and gave another smack, this one to Weston’s face, sending him spinning. “She is ‘’pissed.’’” Jackal muttered, downing some whiskey.
Jack was walking toward what ever Stephanie called a house. Looked more like a bunker to him, as he continued walking. Then he looked east. "Is that a giant fucking deer?" Drawing his magnum, he continued walking. Staring at the beast.
"I thought I heard something outside. I'll be back in a minute." Dave said, thinking he heard something outside. Stepping into the elevator, he motioned for Jeeves to follow him, who floated along his merry way and took a spot next to him. Whistling as the elevator slowly glided upwards, Dave took the time to check out his revolver, twirling it and sliding it into the holster on his jeans. Fixing his shades and jacket, in case of a prospective woman, Dave stepped into the morning sunshine, in it's irridiated morning glory. However, there was no women or raiders to be seen. Instead, there was a pack of giant... deer? Giant fucking deer? "Jeeves," Dave said, not turning his head as he watched the deer from only a dozen yards away, "go get the others. Now." The robot complied, taking the elevator back down. 
The biggest of the beasts was more mutated than the others. It had six sets of smaller antlers, rather than fewer pairs of larger ones, it had a dirtied, blood-caked mane, and canine teeth grew from it's mouth in an unorthodox manner, elbowing each other for room in it's mouth. "You are one ugly mother fucking deer." Dave muttered. his grip on his revolver tightening extremely. The deer, if it could be called that, cocked it's head sideways towards Dave in a blood-thirty, maliciously intended way, spit drooling from it's mouth. "Shit."
Silas groggily got up. It was the next day. Fortunately, he hadn't been drinking nearly as much as the others, and he could practice moderation. He had no idea what happened to the Frenchman, and he didn't know where everybody was. He rolled to get up and fell three feet before thudding into the floor. Apparently, he had been sleeping on one of the shelves. He had no idea why he was up there either.
Silas got up to get some food from the fridge. He was halfway through the door, stepping over unidentifiable bodies as he did so, when he suddenly had another attack. The Rad-X was getting to him. All that work on the body from eating, drinking and fighting must be screwing up his ability to resist the craving for the little brown pills. Silas' vision turned lased with an ugly, rotten brown color as he hacked out a thick viscous stream of a dark brown liquid. This one was bad. Silas rummaged around and came up with another pill. He fumbled it out and popped it into his mouth around the disgusting streams of saliva and waste, then quickly downed it with a nearby bottle of water, seeing as whiskey wasn't the best thing to drink first thing in the morning.
Silas turned and saw Jeeves. The robot's voicebox began to move as it said, in its strange European accent. "Mister Addict! The giant deer, they are outsider!" Silas rolled his eyes. Now, not only did the robot know he was on drugs, but Anterks were outside. He'd seen a skull in the house, but the damn things weren't to be taken lightly. Silas began nudged bodies from sleep into a groggy awakening while saying to them variations on "Alright, people, we got Anterks outside! Let's git to it!"
Jackal woke up, having been shaken quite aggressively by Silas. Jackal looked around groggily, and realised he was upside-down on the couch, with a tie around his head.. He grunted and rolled off the couch, landing heavily on top of something large and vaguely man-shaped. It roared something unintelligible and rolled over. Turned out to be Jacob, who had fallen asleep on the floor not long after everyone else had passed out. He had fallen over, and hadn't been arsed to get back up.
"Anterks, as in the giant-ass fucking deer?" Jackal said. Well, this was not a good time to be hung over with giant, flesh-eating deer outside the door.
"What? Deer? Dear who?" Jacob grunted as he got shakily to his feet. Apparently, his hangover was at the stage where he struggled to form coherent sentences. He blinked a few times, and Silas was struggling not to laugh at the cat nose and whiskers Jackal had drawn on him. It was still largely intact, too. "What?"
Jackal stoood up, taking the drum out of his shotgun and pulling another from that inexplicably full bag he always carried over his back. He slammed a fresh drum into place and smirked.
"Slugs, Silas. Recommended for hunting large animals. See, I'm more than just a pretty face." Jackal said, and with a smile he added, "If even that."
"Nice deer..." Dave said, backing up. He had already gotten extremely close to the deer when it had begun to show signs of hunger and agression, growling and standing up on it's hind legs, standing at least several feet taller than Dave and much more intimidating. It took a few steps towards Dave, bareing it's teeth, coming face to face with him, breathing spit all over him. Not even attempting to wipe off the slobber, Dave backed up against the wall, his hand on his revolver. However, he dared not shoot. If he killed this one, the others would rip him to shreds. Dave had found another fear; giant fucking deers alongside arachnophobia. As the elevator screeched upwards, Dave looked to the side as the crew drew weapons. Dave, smiling franctically, turned his head forwards again to the animal, his smile dissapparing.
"Fair nuff, Jackal. I'll assume that yew've hunted 'em 'afore. Fer everybody else though, I'll tell 'em how to hunt the things."
The rest of the group gradually gathered around Jackal and Silas. Silas looked everybody over before speaking. They'd probably do fine. "Alright, people. Fer those've yew who don't know or who ain't been to lovely Ballamer city before, they got a creature called an Anterk there. An Anterk is a massive, ugly, meat-eatin' creature with horns that is descended from a pre-war creature called a 'deer'. That's th' background infermation. What yew need to know is that they're big, mean, aggressive, and outside. Watch out. They'll try'n go fer yew with their teeth'r horns. They gotta a big bone plate on their head, too. Go fer their ribs'n neck, and, if yer really good, their eyes. Yew got it?"
"Mmmmmmmph. Huck hoff" came Strauss' muffled reply. He'd fallen asleep in a suit of Power Armor - an impressive feat - and was face down on the floor, his helmet sitting near him. He hadn't had this bad a hangover since... a couple of days before in Rivet City. That wasn't very fun at all. At least this time he didn't wake up lying on top of another person on the floor in the common room, in a warm pool of either individual's vomit. That had definitely sucked. In fact, that was less to do with the hangover and more to do with the circumstances he'd felt it in. These circumstances didn't seem so bad, so he just lied there for a moment.
When Silas mentioned something about Anterks, he shot up reflexively to a kneeling position and grabbed his Paulsen, sliding home three slugs before reaching into his bag, retrieving a Mentat pill and popping it. That oughta get me up and at 'em. Although he'd never encountered one of the things, he'd heard a lot of stories about them - none of them good. Pushing himself to his feet and then pulling on his helmet, he took a deep breath, before expelling it as a heavy sigh. "Jesus. Can't even get one morning's lie in, can I?" He muttered to nobody in particular as he, like most of the group, flocked around Jackal and Silas for advice.
"Yeah, I gotcha," Strauss nodded after hearing Silas out, absorbing knowledge freely despite his headache as the Mentats took effect. With that, he made his way towards the elevator.
Fireman0504
Stefanie cocked the lever on her repeating rifle. This was the weapon she usd to hunt Anterks from a distance In Zanadu, she was forced to wrestle them, but that was usually one, sometimes two. She'd made a signature move out of snapping an Anterk's neck by gripping it with her thighs and wrenching it's horns to the side. She'd fought two only twice but was out of action for a while after each fight. Out here they were in herds. She needed a gun here. The .44 rounds would do a number on Anterk, and she knew how to hunt them. The lift stopped in the morning light as the first lowered it's head to gore Davie. Stefanie fired one shot at it and watched it thrash around for a second bleeding from the hole in it's neck, as Davie, who'd've avoided the attack anyway, rolled clear. She cocked the lever again, forcefully and raised theweapon once more. The beast bled out and Stefanie grinned as the other Anterk's turned and her friends began opening fire. Another night of partying? You gotta with an Anterk feast!
Westons eyes darted from person to person. He usally takes the Med-X in the moringings...and Slias woke up before he could. Moving into the evalror, he brought a clip into his 10MM SMG and chambered in a round. After listeing to Slias and Jackal, who, respticley, weaas something akin to a brothere and a uncle or cousion, he took a spot in the corner. This way, he had a Super-Ninja, Powe Armour, a Ghoul and a really pissed off woman in front of him. Cowardly? Maybe. Smart? Yes. Of course, with this disreptction, Westons mind with wild.
What if there all like...pus covered or something like that?! What if when i shoot them, they go all...like...a-spoldey or something....Chirst...
Looking over Jackal, Weston thought he saw a penicl tucked in what was left of a ear, but, it really was'nt there. Seeing the evalor stop and the doors opened, Weston took a q quick peek at them. Nothing this group could'nt happen. Firing half-blind, half aimed, iof that was even possible, he sprayed a entire clip. some where near the beast he was aiming at. Thats when a halloucation came in. nothing major, just enough to make Weston stop for a second. He coulda swore he was a small child looking at him, with the body of the beast. His halloucations was getting evwen more fuckwed up.
Dave dodged to the side as the largest of the Anterks, angry that it's dead comrade had been killed, rushed Dave, it's massive antlers pointed towards Dave as it rushed him in a hurried manner. "Oh shit!" Dave shouted, almost slipping as he spinned around and made a bee-line for a building, the anterk right behind him. However, his path was cut off as another of the animals came up in front of him, having been chasing a radscorpion for food. Dave immediately slammed to a halt as two of his greatest fears rushed past him. However, he turned sharply to the left as he tried to switch directions. Again, the anterk adjusted it's direction, easily keeping pace and catching up with Dave, flinging him upwards with it's antlers in an attempt to spike him as it came down. "Fuck!" Dave shouted again as he was launched into the air. His prayers were answered however as bullets slammed into the anterk, sending it reeling. Then Dave realized he was in the air still. Adjusting himselfso that he wouldn't impale his katana and sheath through his chest, Dave landed with a thud on top of another dead anterk, slamming into it's leathery hide with a heavy thud. Nearly blacking out, he shook his head as a figure came running towards him. lifting him up and pulling Dave's arm over it's shoulder to pull him away.
Jacob and Jackal were sprinting towards Dave when that Anterk had tossed him. Unwilling to watch another friend be killed by a mutant freak abomination thing, Jacob fired a quick burst into its chest with Mother's Woe. Sadly, at this range, armor penetrating bulletts weren't exactly suited to shooting at squishy organic targets and two overpenetrated. The third detonated inside the big one's skull while Dave had still been in mid-air. The thing had launched Dave so high he'd been able to twist in mid-air to prevent his dad's sword impaling him on landing. Jacob lifted Dave up, slinging the younger man's arm over his shoulder and dragging him along.
Jackal fired a slug into the next Anterk to come rushing at them. The solid, and more importantly, twelve-gauge lead slug entered the Anterk's lowered head between its eyes, and made its exit through the base of its skull, severing its spine as well as destroying an ungodly amount of its brain. It crashed into the ground and skidded to a gentle halt at Jackal's feet. Oh yeah, MAN I'm good! Jackal thought to himself. He considered dancing a quick jig or reel over his fallen foe, but there was more killing to be done. And nothing helped the pain of a bad hangover like passing that pain on to another living creature.
"Lets go, we're out hangin in the wind here, Jackal." Jacob shouted over the noise of gunfire.
"Fine, fine, we can gather the bodies later and cook 'em then." Jackal grumbled as he loped along after Jacob and the semi-conscious Dave.
Alexis had emerged from the elevator to see Dave being thrown in the air by a Giant fucking deer.Rushing over to the semi-consious dave he grabbed his med's and ran towards where jacob was pulling dave along."Jacob put him down as soon as we get somewhere safe i need to check if he's suffered any permant damage"
"What the fuck?" Roland shouted as he heard Alexis' comment. He crouched down next to the elevator door, drew his gyrojet rifle and aimed at the first Anterk. He fired a few rounds into its flank, which did little more than anger it. "You think he won't have internal damage after being thrown ten feet into the air and being knocked the fuck out?!" He rolled to his left as the Anterk charged hm, took out his hatchet and lopped off one of the Anterk's antlers in a powerful strike.
River Cheung rarely, if ever, left Megaton. She liked it there. Folks were decent enough, she had plenty to do... so why the fuck was she wandering about the wastes like this?!
Honestly, River wasn't sure. Sometimes she left town for a few hours to shoot at molerats and the like, but she usually never went this far, especially not alone. She had just... well, felt like it. And that was strange. River wasn't the type to leave a place she--HOOOOOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LOT OF DEER.
It was a herd. It was a fucking herd of anterks. She couldn't help but stare from her perch on the hilltop. River had taken down a few of the beasts in her travels, but they had all been old and sick. River would have run right there if she hadn't noticed a group of people fighting the animals.
Shit, they're probably raiders, too. The girl sighed as she slung her combat shotgun off of her back and aimed. She was gonna regret this...
River fired at one of the animals, shooting it in the back of the leg. It tumbled to the ground, making it easy for her to shoot it in the neck. The other people were doing a great job of fighting off the rest of the herd.
They don't need help, so turn around and go home! Said the little voice in River's head that she liked to call "reason". As usual, she didn't listen to it as she fired at another one of the animals.
Silas ducked and rolled past a rock, dodging an Anterk as it rushed him. Damn thing was so stupid. Silas aimed and fired the Divider, blowing a large hole in the Anterk's abdomen. The creature grunted and tried to prepare for another rush. Unfortunately for the Anterk, Silas had already racked another round into the chamber and was already pulling the trigger. The Divider hurled the 5.56 bullet forward at incredible speeds. The lead round punched a massive hole in the Anterk's bone-plated forehead. Silas could tell already that it was dead. The Divider had that effect on its targets.
Silas rolled towards Jackal. The ghoul didn't see the second Anterk rushing him from behind. Silas fired and caught the Anterk in the ribs, then switched to his magnum and fired twice more, hitting it in the armpit and neck. It never hurt to be too careful when Anterks were involved. Silas closed the distance with Jackal. "Hey, Jackal!" he yelled over the noise of gunfire and cracking bones. "There's some girly over that way! Now, I don't know what the hell she's doin' here, but I'd keep an eye on her 'case she turns out like the Frenchie!"
"What happened again?" Dave said woozily as he was laid on the concrete by the massive figure, another smaller one appearing beside him and injecting Med-X to prevent pain. "You got thrown several dozen feet in the air by a giant deer." The figure said, removing Dave's jacket and undershirt and injecting a stimpak into his chest. "A giant deer?" Dave said, his voice wandering in every direction and not bothering to take a coherent shape. "Yes, a giant deer," said the figure who had carried him away from something massive and propped him on the ground. "Wow! That's amazing!" Dave said, his voice shaky like a first time drunkard. The figure directly next to him applied whiskey to his lips, replaced his shirt and jacket, and slapped him across the face. His vision still not 20/20, Dave fumbled with his shades, trying to make out a shape in the distance, firing some kind of shotgun. "Hey figure A, do ya see figure C in the distance over there?" Dave said, leaning against a wall as he pointed towards the distant person. Although his vision was horrible right now, he thought he made out the slender face of a woman. "Hey figure A, it's a chick!" Dave said, his drunkeness returning to him.
Jacob looked up as he heard the bellow of anAnterk and the thunder of its hooves. A fairly large one, not quite the size of the stag he'd blasted a second ago, but huge nonetheless, was hurtling towards him, ignoring anyone else it thundered past. The Alpha-female. Fuck. Then Jacob stood up, and did something that anyone who didn't know him would consider suicide. He pulled one of his Tomahawks from his belt. He whirled it through his fingers and threw it as hard as he could. The sort of force had split people's heads like apples before, and been able to do the same to the person standing behind them. The Anterk lowered its head, just in time for the Tomahawk to embed itself in the Anterk's skull. It gave a mournful bray, stumbled and collapsed, its momentum skidding it to a halt at Jacob's feet. Jacob planted a heavy boot on its head and wrenched his tomahawk free.
"And that, my large carnivorous friend, is why no living creature gets to fuck with me more than once." Jacob grunted to the corpse.
"BOOM! Headshot!" Strauss rather loudly informed the rest of the group (before pulling the trigger) as he aimed his triple-barrel at an Anterk's forehead and fired. It did nothing. Wait, what? I'm fairly certain I loaded some slugs into... FUCK! The shot hadn't grazed that big bone plate on its head! Strauss would have stopped to facepalm if the beast wasn't hurtling towards him, evidently quite pissed. He started to backpedal and struggled to maintain his aim while doing so, eventually managing to squeeze off another shot for the creature's eye... and it missed its mark, again. Hopelessly, he aimed and fired the final slug in its general direction and managed to hit it in the chin. It stopped and started shaking its head frantically, making pained whining noises for a moment - before settling its eyes on its Power Armored adversary and continuing forwards.
Strauss threw his shotgun down and stepped over it, walking towards the Anterk as it charged towards him while he reached for his hammer. He managed to get a decent hold on it and shuffled into a combat stance while walking. The beast was moving incredibly fast. Five metres. Four. Three... one?
With an exerted creak of a hydraulic mechanism, he swung Impact towards the bone plate between the sets of horns on its head. "THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS!" He declared in a rage for no reason in particular. "Because some of us have natural armour! It's not FAIR! IT'S NOT!" As he shouted, he landed several more strikes for the beast's skull, indiscriminately swinging towards it. "YOU TRY FIGHTING WITH A HANGOVER! JACKASS!" He poured his anger into each attack, which came with blinding speed for somebody using such equipment. "Those slugs I used on your head cost me MONEY! AND YOU'RE NOT DEAD! ARE YOU?! ARE YOU?!"
"Master," Worthington, who'd been hovering at his side for some time, chimed in, "It would appear that the creature is indeed dead." Strauss blinked and looked down. It certainly was dead. Its corpse was quite mangled. He didn't know how long he'd been hitting it but damn it felt good. He sighed heavily as he dropped his Super Sledge and looked around. Another of the mutated deer was simply staring at him now, as though he had ninety-six wheels and headlights on his helmet. Strauss pulled out his grenade pistol in his left hand and an SCM Officer's Sword in his right, and began striding towards it.
"Yeah? You want some too, huh? Well try me, big guy! Try me! I'mma fuck you up!"
Stefanie put her hands on her hips as the figure approached. There was blood flowing all over the ground. Anterks layed everywhere. She turned to Jackal. "Nothin' like killin' Anterks from the comforts of home right?" she said. Jackal grinned and went about his business field dressing one. She pulled out her Stabhappy knife and went to her own and began dressing it. Gonna be eating good for a while. She looked back over at Davie, who was oogling the new girl. Better go introduce myself she thought, and headed that way.
River rubbed her eyes and stared at the carnage. Well, that was a rush... She sighed, turning the safety back on for her gun and slinging it over he shoulders. One of the people, a woman, it looked like, was heading her way. She didn't seem to be attacking, which was a nice plus. River walked up to meet her.
"You folks gonna try an' kill me? Always have to make sure out here, I guess." River laughed nervously. She wasn't good with people.
Jacob rammed his bayonet into the throat of the last Anterk. The thing had managed to survive a HEIAP bullet detonating in its abdomen, in spite of falling over when its guts spilled out and got tangled around its legs. It bellowed sadly as Jacob had to stab again and again. The thing had so much bloody muscle on its neck it was almost impossible to find its fucking arteries. So instead, Jacob settled on a quick stab of his Ka-Bar into the base of its skull, severing its spine at the top of the neck. He pulled out a Tomahawk and began field dressing the slain beast, careful not to damage the skin any more than he already had. The salvageable bits would make a mint down here, this far from usual Anterk territory. Then, just as he was about to slide the blade along its body, he remembered that a stranger had showed up and gunned down one of the Anterks.
Jacob looked around, trying to pick her out. She was over talking to Stefanie. He recognized her! The girl from the Megaton clinic. The one who said she'd kill him with a shoe if he ever stabbed Jericho again. He'd laughed at her then, but that was before he'd seen someone half his size kill a grown man with a set of spurs and brass knuckles. Stefanie had opened his eyes to the power of a pissed off woman. Jacob stood up, dragging the half-skinned carcass along with him by the antlers. He was going to greet this girl. He had a feeling she didn't like Jericho. A dislike for raiders was always a good start.
"We won't kill you without good reason." Jacob said, extending his hand, which, he realised, still had a tomahawk in it.
Domingo tripped over a corpse as he made his way out of the elevator, still clutching his tequila. The bottle was half-drained of its contents, and a visibly inebriated Domingo continued over even as he fell. He made it another five steps before planting himself face-down in the mud and snoring once, quite loudly. 
Roland sighed loudly, hauling Domingo out o fthe pool of mud, dragging the large spaniard back to the elevator and sending him back into the base before he turned to address the newcomer.
"Well," He said nonchalantly as he put away his Gyrojet rifle, "I'm guessing we're not raiders, weeing as we haven't attempted to shoot you, rape you and hang your corpse from the remains of this little base's entrance on some meat hooks." He approached River and held out a hand. "Roland Rockfort, merchant." He pointed over at the rest of the group, naming them off one by one. 
"The fellow with the tomahawk's Jacob Vaughton, the Ghoul is Jackal, the fellow with Power Armor is Conor Strauss, the bearded guy is Silas Webb, the woman is Stefanie McRae, the kid who's currently on his ass is Dave Holmes,.the crazy looking one's Weston Foster, and the fellow I just dumped in the elevator is Domingo Velasquez."
Why does he allways forget me alexis thought."And im alexis Ashton historyian medic and sometime scientist.Nice to meet you".Alexis sat back down neer dave.Checking daves eyesight and memory alexis concluded there would be no long term damage.Some internal bleeding but there was no point freting about what you couldn't control.Grabing his stuff he set about trying to skin an Giant dear
"Why, you forget me Mr. Roland!" The sound of a ripper ceased, and Jack got back up. He had sawed off a Anterks head with his ripper, and had stuck it on a make shift plaque. "Let me introduce my self. I am the night wind that blows howling across the seas and river of this earth, the legend that all men who ply these seas speak of in fear or admiration. He is the undisputed king of the Seven Seas, Sea faring Merchant ass hole man!" Jack then tossed the plaque to Riley. "Home coming present".
"As Roland said, I'm Jacob Vaughton. I'm guessing you remember me as the guy who stabbed Jericho and nearly killed him a while back." Jacob said. The stranger looked amused, but a little peeved at the same time. Probably some form of community identity. If it was sympathy for Raiders, Jacob might have to take one of her thumbs.
"Jackal, had another name, don't use it any more. Mad Irish Ghoul, at current moment in time. Jacob might not say much, but he's a handy guy to have around." Jackal said. The strange girl gave him an Is that so? look. So Jackal continued, "Well, ya see, grass is yellow, the sky is blue, birds fly, and Jacob, he hurts people. And when he doesn't hurt 'em, he kills 'em. I reckon he can kill us all 35 different ways without leaving that spot there."
Jackal shut up rapidly as he realised he was waffling on. He rocked back and forth on his heels and put his hands behind his back, waiting for someone to fill the awkward silence that had descended.
==Act 2==
"Nice ax." She said, glancing at the tomahawk in one of the man's hands... Hey! She knew him! He was the guy who was always hurting Jericho! She liked him! Was scared all kinds of shitless by him, but she liked him!
"Well, nice to meet you all." River shook the hands she was offered. They were a strange bunch, but that could be said of anyone who was willingly wandering the Capital Wasteland. "And I've seen some of the things Mr. Jacob can do. He keeps hurting one of the resident assholes in Megaton, which, while irritating, is on occasion hilarious." She glanced over at the man the medic/historian/whatever was examining, they'd called him Dave.
"He okay? I've got a couple stimpacks to spare if you need 'em."
"He got punted by one of our friendly neighbourhood deer here, and landed quite awkwardly." Jackal said, looking concernedly at Dave. Dave was something akin to a grandson to him, and it was worrying to see him sitting against a wall, covered in scrapes and bruises with a medic stooped next to him. Jacob scratched his chin, and looked somewhere between worried and angry.
Jacob surreptitiously put his tomahawk away, and crouched next to Dave, snapping his fingers in front of the young man's eyes. Dave immediately grabbed Jacob's hand and pushed it away from his face.
"Jacob, I know I'm hurt, and that you're supposed to be the epitome of mass murderers out here, but if you don't stop snappin your fingers at me, I'm gonna have to cut you open and hang your kidneys around your neck like fuzzy dice." Dave said matter-of-factly. Jacob blinked. Probably shouldn't have snapped his fingers at a hung-over twenty-something year-old. After all, the first thing Jacob himself had shouted when he heard gunfire this morning was "Fuck off".
"And who is your fine lady friend?" Dave said, downing whiskey. It was apparent he was drunk. "He's, hic, got a girlfriend, eh?" Dave said, nudging Jack as he woozily walked along, not on a straight path. Alexis hurried after him, trying to get a stimpak in his arm. Dave was going to continue when Jacob came up behind him, grabbing him around the neck and putting him in a chokehold. "Don't, hic, touch, hic hic, the hair, brosef. You may, hic, find, hic, yourself sleeping with the hic, hipppotamus'ss's's's's's tomorrow, you dutch bastard." Dave said, still in a chokehold. Jacob looked towards the woman. "He's family." Jacob said, releasing Dave and taking away his whiskey. "Self-righteous, hic arrogant dutch, hic, bastard." Dave shouted, leaning against a wall.
Weston was leaning agiasnt a conveitlantly placed runied wall-corner, before he heard his name called, with the word 'Crazy' attached before. Getting up, Weston slandered on over to the new chick.
"Hello....my name is Foster, Weston Foster....HEY WAIT! YOUR THAT ONE CHICK IN MEGATON! H-OLY SHIT"
Weston said, at first sounding sauve then going in a very-exticted, fast paced talking before regaining himself.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, where was i...Oh Yes! My name is Foster...Weston Foster. DC Wanderer. And i roll with Mr. Vaughton."
Weston said, this time sounding like a pre-war movie annoucer. Extending a hand, and trying to light a cigaertte with another, Weston grinned. Maybe this woman would'nt try and kill him the first time they met. Well, Stef did'nt. Its just that she'll problay rip his balls off if they ever, and he meant ever, went to bed together.
Stefanie glanced around. Apparently, if you'd been to the Megaton Clinic, you'd know this girl. Unfortunately, Stefanie had only been to Moira Brown's and Moriarty's. Never the Clinic. "Good ta meet ya!" she said with a wink, "I'm Stefanie McRae. Champion Pit Fighter of Zanadu, scavenger, sometimes-mercenary." "And dynamite in the sack!" Weston blurted out. Stefanie slapped him upside the head, chuckling. "Not that you know," she said with a grin. The new girl chuckled a little too. "This is my yard. Anterks don't usually wander this far into the city. That lift leads down to my home. We're gonna go in and get some breakfast. You can come but you need to follow one rule. Anybody?" she said. "Don't wreck shit," the group said, in a mumbling unison. "We are learning!" Stefanie said, laughing. Riley chimed in. "There's some tied up guy downstairs too. He wrecked shit." "Come on in,walking to the lift, " Stefanie said, "Jeeves'll make us up some Anterk steak and eggs!"
"I would know!" Dave shouted, drunkenly raising a hand as the crew began to pull the Anterk corpses from the small surface area. Stefanie slapped Dave on the back side of the head as well. Fist-bumping Weston, Dave moved away from the elevator, helping Jack and Jackal with the biggest of the corpses, the head of the herd. "Sheesh he's a heavy bastard!" Dave said, the trio heaving to pull the massive beast towards the lift. Taking his katana, Dave began to hack away at the legs of the anterk, taking several minutes to slowly and carefully remove the limbs. Both Dave and Weston eyed Stef, who smiled as she and River sat back at the lift, downing beer. "Cocky bastards." Dave said, mumbling in his drunkeness as the women enjoyed the manual laborers slaving away.
Roland grunted, using his cybernetic arm to drag one of the larger Anterks to the lift. Even with the enhanced strength of one badass arm slash mobile toolkit, he had to remember that he was still human. Therefore, massive deer were still as heavy as they always were. And that would be "really heavy". He plopped the carcass down inside the lift and sat, taking in a deep breath and a mouthfull of whiskey before going after another one.
Jacob wasn't entirely sure all of his strength had returned, but he wasn't about to let everyone else do all the work. He stretched his hands out and reached down, gripping the Anterk he'd been skinning earlier. He lifted the head up to shoulder height and pulled the antlers over his shoulders, forming a decent harness, and he dragged the Anterk along that way. When he got to the lift, he just rolled the anterk into place, before taking off his duster and throwing it into the lift after the Anterk. Maybe it was the hangover, but he felt like he was being roasted. H walked back to the Alpha Female's corpse, the second largest, after the Alpha Male. Which Weston, Dave and Jackal had been moving, but presumably either Dave or Weston had dropped it, because they were staanding, staring at their feet while Jackal shouted at them and waved his arms. An image made all the more hilarious because Jackal was possibly the shortest person here, aside from Stefanie and River. And any children Jacob hadn't noticed. (Jackal is 5' 8")
Jacob began hauling the Anterk along, refusing to stop for a rest as his body screamed in protest. He was plain old dragging this one along, as it had one weird shaped antler that would impale him if he tried to do the same as he did with the last one. When he got to the lift, he heaved the carcass in on top of the growing heap of BFD bodies. He pulled out a Chinese Pistol and took aim at a crow that was getting a little too close to the bodies that hadn't been gathered and pulled the trigger. The crow dropped, and the others scattered. Dave, Weston and Jackal hadn't seen Jacob draw the pistol, and so had pulled guns and were crouched behind the dubious cover of the Anterk they still hadn't dragged to the lift.
"What are we gonna do with the extra Anterk meat?" Jacob asked as it dawned on him that there were far too many dead Anterks out here for the group to eat by themselves. "There a working fridge down there or something?" Jacob finished, indicating the subterrainean part of Bailey's Crossroads.
Fireman0504
Stefanie laughed slightly, "of course I have a working fridge!" she said happily. Stefanie was one of the only people in the wasteland, and possibly the world, that could get away with laughing when Jacob Vaughton asked a serious question. "Oh, was that a grin I saw from the mighty Jacob Vaughton?" Stefanie chuckled. She honestly couldn't tell, but probably not. Vaughton didn't grin. Ever. She honestly thought that the Enclave, when they created him, removed all the muscles in his face required to smile. Oh well. He wasn't trying to kill her and that's what mattered. "Jeeves knows how to make jerky out of the stuff too. He can make a bunch and you guys can take as much as you want with you. These are your kills after all," she said. She activated the lift and the first load of Anterks went down. The door opened to Jeeves waiting. "You wanna clean these and put them in the cooler?" she said. "Let's get fired up!" Jeeves said, rotating his flamer into place. His catchphrases were getting more lame by the minute. "No," Stefanie said, "cut and move, no cooking." She activated the lift and went back up to help with the rest.
Weston, helping Jackal finally drag the Anterk to the lift and he said he could lift it all by himself and failed, walked into the lift. Shooing a small child away, and, when that did'nt work thrating him to send the Zombie man after him he earned a punch in the arm from Jackal and a slight smilie that disapperred soon after from Jacob. Thats when Weston realized two things. One, he had'nt taken his Med-X this morning. Secondly, Jackal may or may not know that he is additced to Med-X. Rubvbbing the back of his neck, Weston looked around slighty. Nothing but him, Jackal, this massive deer and 4 walls of steel. 
"Sooo...Jackal. You know how to cook this thing?"
Weston asked, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible.
Dave was about to continue with chopping up Anterk limbs when gunfire outside the courtyard alerted im to possibly more action. Having regained his sense somewhat, Dave motioned he would check it out, smiling as the other guys grunted at having to do the heavy lifting of the mutated corpses. Entering through the decaying ruins of a school office thingy, Dave pulled out his revolver, his other hand resting on the butt of his katana's handle, the sword sheathed yet again. Suddenly, he was face to face with an orange-eyed tango, who was just as startled as Dave was. Both jumped back a little, as the Last Legionnaire and his comrades drew weapons, Dave doing the same. Great. Another urban shootout. Poking his head around the side of a broken column, Dave drew it back quickly as G36C gunfire rattled his cover, shredding and chipping away at the irridiated concrete. Revolver in hand, Dave stepped from cover, firing a .50 round straight into a Legionnaire's face, nearly taking the rebreather and face off all together. Blood exploded everywhere in a mix of brains and bone, and the corpse fell from it's cover lifeless, it's rifle going off as it hit the ground and sending rounds to kick up dirt. Immediatly, however, Dave didn't have time to observe as the others, which looked to be an entire platoon of twenty, were spreading out to neutralize and capture their prospective enemy. Dave could already hear the sounds of a .30 caliber LMG being set up. I truly am screwed. Dave thought, trying to squeeze in even closer behind his scant cover. Why the hell did I volunteer to go check out the ruins again?
Jackal and Weston had had a little "talk" on the way down the lift. Mostly it consisted of Jackal pinning Weston to the wall, with a machete to his throat, and threatening to cut off various parts of Weston's anatomy with it if Weston's little habit ever led to anyone getting hurt, and that Jacob would likely do something quite similar. He also mentioned that Weston would be lucky if Jacob got to him first. Jackal was now cutting bits of Anterk up with his machete, making sure Weston had a great view of how the keen-edged blade sheared through flesh and bone alike. Weston's face had long since drained of colour when the mad Irish Ghoul had split the Anterk corpse open right down the middle of its underside, from its throat to its hind legs with a single two-handed swing of the long-bladed Latin Machete.
"You okay Weston, you look a little off-colour." Jackal asked with a menacing skull-like smile. Weston gulped in response. His throat had gone dry some time ago.
Jacob snapped to attention as he heard more gunfire up above. And this wasn't the budda-budda of a G36C. This was the aggressive pop-pop-pop of a larger weapon. Either Dave was in trouble, or, well, Dave was in trouble. Jacob stood up slowly, his hangover-addled mind screaming in protest. His sense of responsibility towards Dutch's son, however, overrode the need for rest and recuperation. In spite of the nerve-jarring sounds of gunfire in his hung-over state. He lumbered towards the lift, looking tired. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was starting to get old. The others could see it too.
----
The lift door opened and Jacob stepped out into the annoyingly bright sunlight. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he pinpointed the sounds of gunfire, coming from a nearby building. That gunfire was the sound of an SCM .30 cal. Just like the one on El Oso. Jacob grumbled something about fate being stupid as he realised he had left Mother's Woe back downstairs. Along with his duster and the various pistols stocked inside. He was down to a Bowie Knife, his Ka-Bar, an M1911 and a .44 D'Eagle. Suffering from a hangover as he was, he wasn't going to use something as loud as a Desert Eagle under any but the most Dire circumstances. So he wandered over to El Oso, and pulled a decent-looking DKS Sniper Rifle from the trailer. Then he started walking towards a hill near the building with all the commotion coming from it. Lying down in a comfortable spot, Jacob resisted the urge to fall asleep as he searched the area for a target.
He spotted an officer in SCM Ballistic Raid Armor, with defiled Crusade heraldry on his shoulders. With the crack of a rifle, the officer fell, the top half of his head taken off by a .308 Hollow Point. Jacob rapidly worked the bolt to chamber another round, slid back and a little to the right, so that the hill hid all but his head, shoulders and rifle. He fired again, and again, skulling one Last Legionairre, and shooting the other in the heart. Jacob moved again, but a stray shot clipped his bare forearm. With a roar, Jacob dived to the ground.Fuck! Why the fuck did I stand up? I could have been killed! Jacob thought to himself as he searched the area below for targets. Only one had left anything visible from behind cover as they waited for Jacob to strike again. One man broke cover, attempting to draw Jacob's fire. Jacob could still hear the roar of the .30 cal.
"Hang in there Dave. Hang in there" Jacob muttered as he ignored the bait, and shot down another two soldiers as they moved around, revealing nothing more than the tops of their heads. But that had been enough. One dived for the dubious cover of a fridge, but Jacob, with little more than a lucky guess, shot through the fridge, and into the soldier's throat. He gargled and fell.
"Come on you Legion bastards, move the MG to me, suppress the sniper, not the kid." Jacob thought, hoping against hope that his shooting would force them to shift their attention away from Dave.
Strauss had been lying limply on a ruined sofa which struggled to hold up his Power Armored weight for some time now. He'd tried to help cutting up the Anterks for a while but the one's he'd killed personally were either in bits from a grenade blast or beaten to a fine bloody paste from repetitive attacks. On account of the latter, Impact now seemed to be busted. He'd have to fix that up later. Stefanie'd probably have some useful junk around her little abode. But right now, he was focused on wallowing in his own hangover. "I'm never going to drink again," He muttered, but failed to convince himself. Now he was becoming increasingly annoyed at an incessant pop-pop-poping noise, punctuated by infrequent, different sounding noises.
"Master." Worthington interjected as Strauss felt cold metal prodding repeatedly against his face. His eyes snapped open and then narrowed in the direction of the floating robot. "What?!" He snapped, batting the machine's manipulator arm away. "There appears to be an exchange of ballistics on the surface. I believe Dutch's offspring Dafydd or some such like and Jacob are involved." Strauss let out an incoherent series of grumbles as he sat up with a start, plonked on his adjacent helmet and grabbed his Laser Rifle, slamming home a fresh Microfusion Cell and watching momentarily as the small digital gauge on the side filled up once again. With that, he stood up and made his way over to the elevator, punching the button clumsily to recall it and waiting.
----
"Hey! HEY! Some people are trying to frickin' SLEEP!" 
An unsuspecting Last Chancer rifleman was inexplicably cut down by a volley of laserfire from the direction of the elevator. His comrades barely had time to register the random shout before he fell, his BRA A1 suit steaming and the tube on his respirator apparently reduced to runny black goo. Strauss then turned his attention to the machine gunner, flipping his scope down and taking a more careful aim on the soldier while he managed to heft the .30 cal to face in Strauss' direction. One laser scored lucky and struck his A3 helmet, forcing him to pause to quickly detatch his respirator and throw the now-extremely hot piece of armour off before flattening himself down behind the gun. Small arms fire pelted at the Wastelander's armour, forcing him to take cover at risk of it becoming compromised. Soon enough, however, the .30 cal firing resumed, tearing away at the age-old block of concrete Strauss was leaning against. He'd just drawn the gunner's fire. Yeah, smooth fucking move. He knew his cover wouldn't last long so he prepared to make a beeline towards a sturdier-looking piece.
Suddenly though he heard the unmistakeable crack of a DKS-501. The stream of .30 cal bullets came to a stop. He peeked his head out in the direction the infantry were now firing to see Jacob crouching a few metres across from him behind his own cover, sniper rifle in his hands. Strauss gave the vigilante a thumbs-up - not that he'd noticed - and stood up once again, vaulting over the concrete block he once hid behind and speeding towards one closer to the soldiers' current position, blind-firing in their direction as he did. A few shots hit the machinegun, and Strauss could only hope that they'd damaged the barrel and rendered it inoperable. Now was the matter of locating and rescuing Dave.
Jacob jumped cover, following Strauss as he went. The Wastelander was apparently pissed at having to fire weapons while hung over. For reasons beyond him, Jacob was glad Conor was on his side. Jacob dived in through the window of the building, catching a Last Legionairre by surprise as he tried to flank Dave. Before the man could cry for help, Jacob had a hand on the man's neck, crushing his windpipe. Jacob then grabbed a chunk of concrete and caved in the man's facemask, and consequently, his face. Jacob stood up to a relaxed crouch, moving quietly through the gutted building, and spotted another soldier moving up behind dave. Jacob watched in horror as the man raised his Paulsen, pointing it at Dave. With a roar thet Jacob hoped more like a battle-cry than the scream of an extremely tired and irritated man, Jacob launched himself at the Legionnaire.
Rapidly disarming the soldier, Jacob kicked the masked thug backwards.
"You picked the wrong kid to mess with. And you definitely picked the wrong foster uncle to fuck with!" Jacob snarled as his heavy-handed punch broke the man's neck. The body fell to the ground, still. Jacob walked over to Dave, tapping on his shoulder. Dave shifted and indicated that Jacob should get down. But Jacob was already flat on the ground, having spotted another G36C weilding Legionnaire on the far side of the room poke his head out from behind cover.
River had been standing near the lift awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do or say. They didn't seem to need any help with the anterks, and River doubted she could lift one, anyways. She just sort of stood there, listening to them chat and laugh and fight.
Come on, dumbass, think of something to say. River had just opened her mouth when she heard the distant gunfire. Dave-- that's what they'd called him, right?-- was already moving, and River just followed. Hey, at least this meant she'd probably get to shoot things. River was good at shooting things. Shooting things was fun. Not like talking to people, no, that was difficult and confusing and...
River ranted on like this for a while in her head, taking cover behind a block of concrete once the fighting started and poking her head out occasionally to take aim and shoot something.
"One..." Heh... his head went all asploady.
"Two..." River whispered the number to herself each time one of the... raiders? Were they raiders? Nah, too organized. Whatever. She counted as they fell. It was strangely calming.
"WHY IS IT EVERY TIME I TRY TO WORK YOU ASSHOLES TURN UP!".Alexis drew his magnum and shot one of the legionaries.After shooting one of them and watching him fall to the ground he drew his hammer."Take a fucking break dicks!".He wacked one of them on the BRA helmet and looked on in satisfaction at the triangle spike shape hole it left in the mans head,Next he smashed it on the wrist of another man crushing the wrist.
----
Aaron had been his normal silent soul through the antrek hunt.But the Last legion were nothing but a group of jumped up fools and he hated there ass's.He opened up with his R150 and the enhanced rounds cut one of the legionairs open.
THe nearly-silent "Psssst!" of a 13mm Gyrojet stuck a Last Legionnaire right in the forehead, blowing him over backwards. "Yep," Roland said as he shouldered the Gyrojet rifle again for a precision shot, "definitely packs a punch."
A last Legionnaire came up on him fron the right, which (by all accounts) was a bad move. Screaming like a moron with an SCM Officer Sword lifted high above his head, the soldier was brought down by a quick rifle-butt to the face. The merchant jammed the gun's barrel under the Legionnaire's chin, pulled the trigger, and felt the "Psssst!" sound the gun made when it fired... But the Legionnaire kept on standing. A few awkward seconds passed while Roland held the gun vertically beneath the stunned Legionnaire's chin, before a single sound crossed the showdown: Roland shouting "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. He rifle-butted the Legionnaire again, flooring him, before he actually backed up and pulled the trigger again, watching as the offending rocket was ejected from the barrel along with the current round, which spiralled away in a finnicky manner before the rocket ignited and it flew off into a nearby building, completely useless. 
"Fuck me blind!" Roland shouted again, discarding the Gyrojet rifle for his Neostead NS-2000 and shooting the Legionnaire as he moved to get to his knees. A single shot, and the Legionnaire had a new breathing hole the size of a head with his chest.
Fireman0504
Stefanie had seen Jacob go into the building after Davie. She went in another door in hopes to help out a bit. She'd sen muzzle flashes in a window upstairs, and the months she'd spent with such militarily minded individuals told her one thing: sniper. She'd gone quietly up the stairs and peeked in the room he was in. He was firing and concentrating so much on her friends running and gunning outside that he didn't even notice she was there. She'd jumped onto the back of the sniper, who was prone on the second floor overlooking her lift entrance. Pinning his arms down with her knees, she'd locked him in a choke and snapped his neck sideways, smirking at the crunch that would have any "normal" girl her age gagging. Looking down through a hole in the floor, she could see Davie and Jacob prone as another Last Legionnaire fired his G36C at the two, then poked back behind the wall for cover. Think thin Stefanie silently thought as she dropped down from another hole behind the Legionnaire. The man was peeking around the corner. Rushing while she had the opportunity, she bashed his face off the door frame, dropping him to a sitting position. He raised his hands to protect himself as he dropped his weapon and Stefanie landed two heavy knees into his face before quickly dragging her spur across his throat. He gurgled as he squirmed and Stefanie took a slight satisfaction in watching as she rounded the doorway, blood pooling behind her on the floor. Jacob and Davie rose a little. "How many more?" she asked Jacob.
"No idea. I just got in here myself." Jacob said to Stefanie, before firing over her shoulder with a .223 Pistol he forgot he had holstered in the small of his back, ventilating the skull of a soldier in BRA A2 armor. Jacob noticed the blood pooling behind Stefanie, and the slumped body lying against the doorframe "And remind me never to get on your bad side."
"Dave said something about a platoon, and thats twenty men. I killed maybe seven. Maybe eight, between sniping from the hill and diving in here. This place has to be crawlin with them. And speaking about diving in, never, ever, fling yourself through an intact window," Jacob said, indicating the blood dripping from a cut across the exposed parts of his forearm. He shut up immediately as he realized he was rabbitting on in the middle of a skirmish. He scratched his head, as much out of embarrassment at the "word vomit" as to get any slivers of glass out of his hair. He nodded towards the back part of the building, where he heard gunfire, occassionally punctuated by the whoosh of Roland's rocket gun thing.
Jacob and Dave stepped into the room first, some sort of protective instinct overcoming the polite gesture of letting the lady in first. They stepped in, operating in perfect sync, Jacob covering one side of the room, Dave taking the other. They each immediately put a helping of lead in the nearest soldier, lending their firepower to Roland's, who was pinned down at the far side of the room. Dave had emptied his USP, but rather than reaching for a new clip, he decided on a New York Reload, drawing his M9 and continuing the barrage of 9x19 Parabellum. Stefanie stepped in the door, instinctively catching the M1911 Jacob passed to her as she passed the threshold and expertly working the action and flicking the safety off without breaking stride.
"What the fuck is this?" Warren inspected the dead Anterk, his Magnum drawn into a ready position. It had played possum before when he put a .32 in it's brain case, and he wasn't about to take the chances that it would happen a second time. He knocked on its hardened skull, running his fingers over where his .32 had glanced off the bone. Bet that just dazed you didn't it? He unsheathed a serrated knife and began carving into it. "Well big guy, you may not have been a 'guai but let's see if you taste as good" He had barely sawn off the first piece of meat when the wind whistled with gun fire. Stopping, he stood up and looked around, listening intently for clues to the location of gun fire. Satisifed that it was coming from the East, he headed in that direction, leaving the Anterk meat in the dust.
Dave emptied the M9 into the face of the Last Legionnaire, his mask collapsing in a mix of blood and gore and the entire corpse collapsing from cover, the rifle in it's grasp clattering to the floor and going off in several directions, the bullets pinging off of two-hundred yeard old concrete. With both pistols emptied and his revolver needing an individual reload for each bullet, Dave ducked for cover as the .30 cal opened up again, it's gunner having been replaced by another soldier, this one smarter than the last. Instead of concentrating on Dave solely, he spread out his arc of fire while his comrades in arms moved up in a three meter spread from around the complex's first and second floor, having tried to get an advantage by seizing height. Dropping even lower, Dave took a minute while reloading his pistols and revolver to look around him, as Jacob fired a .44 Deagle at a trio of soldiers to the front outside a doorway, taking down one with ease and precision as the slugs slammed into the man's left orange goggle slit. His weapons reloaded, Dave holstered both pistols, drew his revolver, and swerved from cover, firing three times and getting two scores on an officer charging Connor.
Alexis shot one of the legionaires in the head before retreating back into to cover.He noticed a dead body next to him.Taking the dead mans ammo clip a suden thought struck him.I thought jeruselum would be the last time i met these basterds.Yet the execution of inocent wasters hasn't stoped it's got worse.Since i first met the crusade i have killed more people than i can remember,Not mindless mutants charging him but people,People if i had met in difent circumstances might of been friends with.What gives me the right to take there lives,At heart the group of us are no better than them.
Alexis's brooding was cut short when the face of a legionarie apeared in front of him.He shot the man and sat back on the rock.
Slowly pushing his way up from the floor that Jackal sorta just left him there, Weston stumblled out of the lift. Assualt rifle gripped in one hand, Weston made his way to the ruins, where a single Last Legion soldier was running away from. Both were looking the opposite way when they bumbed into one another. Both Weston and the other soldier looked at each other for several seconds, dumbfounded. The masked faxce with the glowing red eyes looking at the dirty, helemted face of Weston. Weston went for his gun first. Trying to pull the SMG out of it's holster, The Last Legion soldier charged him. Or,. more like got up and started to move tgowards him. Weston felt the fist slam down into his face. Then another, then another. Then another. Finally, Weston manged to get a good look. There he was, Jackal. Punching him in his face. Or, at least thats what he thought.
"Mkae 'um stop guys! Make 'um stop!"
Weston shouted. And someone anwesered. Halloucation Jackal crumbkled to the ground as Dave stood near the dead body, M9 in hand. Looking down at Weston, dave had his head cocked to the side.
"What the fuck Weston, just kill the bastard next time."
As for Weston, he was too busy getting up to really pay anntetion to what Dave said. Not that it really mattered, since the halloucation dispppared.
Fireman0504
Stefanie tossed the M1911 back to Jacob. "Thanks," she said casually. She'd taken a couple shots with it, but hadn't hit anything. She was getting good with small arms, but the Last Legionnaires were professionals. She wasn't that good. No matter, they were all pretty much dead now. Stefanie was tired of people running afoul of her home. She wished these Crusade assholes would just give up. Then she could go back to Zanadu for a while. She was actually missing pit fighting. Maybe she'd invite her friends to watch a few matches. Couldn't hurt to ask. First thing was the Last Legion needed to go. She walked over to where some of the group were standing. They were discussing the Last Legion and The Horde. "So whatdaya think guys," she said, "what brings the Last Legion way out here? We're a ways from Jerusalem, what were they up to?" She wanted to be rid of Roarke and his band of psychos just as much as anyone else. It seemed like things were going to be firing up for another trip to Jersualmem. You know what they say. Third time's a charm.
Warren arrived to the scene of what he could only assume was a firefight between two factions, and whoever the second faction was that was laying down the corpses he was finding he couldn't help but be impressed by them. Looks like my search for the cavalry won't take that long His ears pricked at a foot step behind him and he turned quickly and off to the right, drawing his magnum in his usual blur-handed fashion. The Legionnaire readied his R91 as Quick Draw turned, firing at where Quick Draw had once stood. Before the Legionnaire even knew he had missed, three .44s thundered into his skull, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. "Well, guess I know who my friends are in this little throwdown" He turned to the building behind him just as the last shots were fired and made his way towards, slightly eager to meet this obviously skilled faction.
Jacob sidestepped into a small side-room to avoid riding a .30 cal bullet into a premature grave. As he did so, he crashed headlong into another Legionaire. Both men were caught off-guard by the sudden, unexpected impact and they crashed to the ground. They rolled to their feet and locked eyes. The Legionaire had dropped his G36C, while Jacob had kept a firm grip on his .223 Pistol. He raised it, and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked empty. Jacob's eyes widened for a second, then focused on the soldier who was now approaching him in an almost-flawless boxing stance. Jacob eased himself into a calm fighting stance, somewhere between a Kempo fighting stance and a Kung Fu ready stance. His hands were perfectly positioned to make a cocky "Bring it on" gesture, but Jacob instead decided to put on a menacing grin and simply flip the soldier off. Thge Legionaire threw a series of careful, measured, and well-controlled punches, but none of them connected with Jacob as he leaned back out of the soldier's reach, blocking one-handed while kicking the Legioaire's foot back to the ground every time he tried to advance. 
Jacob eventually tired of this game and went on the attack. He blocked an attack, deflecting the soldier's lead hand down to block his back hand, as well as pulling him off balance. Jacob spun right as the Legionaire staggered left. The Legionair stood up straight just in time to receive a spinning hammerfist to the side of his head. The unfortunate man staggered, and Jacob followed up with a solid kick to the Legionaire's lower back, sending him to the floor in an awkward heap. Before the Legionaire could recover, Jacob had stabbed his Ka-Bar into the gap between his collar and helmet, finishing the contest.
Jacob calmly reloaded his .223 Pistol, wiped the blade of his Ka-Bar, and turned back towards the gun-battle inside. He could have sworn he just heard the noise of a .44. He shrugged. The Last Legion used .357 D'Eagles and Auto Revolvers, so it was unlikely to be another enemy. Unless this person was just a wild-card third party. Which would be a shame, because then Jacob would have to kill them.
Roland, on the other hand, would act on his instincts.
"JESUS CHRIST!" The merchant shouted,followed by the rapid paff, paff, paff of him firing off three gyrojet rounds at the newcomer. The first two went extremely wide, the third landing in the rocks somewhere at his feet. He immediately got red in the face and dropped the rifle onto his back again. He drew in a deep breath as he noticed the guy meant no harm, and immediately backpedalled behind a few fallen iron girders.
Noticing how there weren't anymore bullets flying at his head, Dave poked around the corner, sighting the dead Legionnaire, slumped over his machinegun. Casually jogging towards the weapon, he removed it from his hinges, snapping it off the bipod by pressing on a small lever at the side and giving a slight tug to remove the weapon. Cradling it one hand, he holstered his revolver, grabbed the ammunition box, and walked towards Stefanie, where he promptly presented the weapon. "I'm sure Jeeves can put this to good use while we head for Jerusalem." Dave said, laying the weapon against a column of old concrete. His gaze turnd towards the newcomer. Replacing his shades, Dave fixed his jacket and walked cautiously towards the new gunslinger, his hand on his revolver. He didn't have major experience with other wasters besides his little clicke, so Dave extended a black gloved hand to the man, eyeing his revolver. "Nice gun. I got a fancy one myself." Dave said, removing Miriam from it's holster, pushing aside his katana sheath to remove the ornate weapon.
A stream of liquid fire arced through the alley, melting flesh and scorching bone, laying low Legionnaires attempting to join the nearby firefight. Professional soldiers by wasteland standards, these Crusaders, but there isn't much all that training can do when some looney masks his footsteps with yours and the sounds of a gun battle and bathes you in cleansing flame from behind. This, Surtr mused on as he stepped through the smoke. He didn't admire his handiwork. The result was never as entertaining as the act. Besides, there were more important matters at hand. He weaved through the ruined buildings, pondering today's agenda. These Last Legionnaire scum were the latest in a series of shit-brained imperialists over the years that were really throwing a wrench into the mercenary's plans. This time, the god of fire wasn't going to fight the "Good Fight" without any real help. 
"That's what got Baldur and Siggy killed. Damn Enclave," he growled out as his thoughtful little jaunt carried him up a flight of stairs to an excellent vantage point through a broken wall looking over the exchange between the apparent victors and another new arrival like himself. The pyromaniac wasn't stupid, and kept hidden, watching the group from behind the dark visor of his gas mask, the firefighter helmet he wore atop it keeping the sun mercifully out of his field of vision.
Fireman
Stefanie looked around as she smelled a burning smell. Like something was on fire. The wastland constantly had that smell about it, but this was less natural. She gazed down an alleyway from which she could see a trail of smoke billowing into the air. Three Legionnaires laid smouldering in the alley, the thick stench of burning flesh and hair eminating from their conflagerating carcasses. Stefanie shrugged. She wasn't stupid. She knew that none of her friends carried a flamer, and that Crusaders didn't just go around torching their buddies. Someone else was here. Someone aside from the new gunslinger that Davie was talking to. It seemed that everyone was trying to get into the act of slaughtering the Last Legion. With good reason. They were oppressors, plain and simple. Stefanie walked away from the mouth of the alley. No flames had been sprayed at her, so she didn't care. She flexed the fingers on her Power Fist, feeling the servos move smoothly. She looked around confidently. That was just the air about her. She walked over to Davie and the new guy. "Hey Davie," she said, gently brushing a hand on his shoulder. Davie was only about twhree years younger. He did bear a striking resemblance to his dad. Jacket, shades, dapper style. "Who's your new buddy?" Stefanie said cooly, extending a hand to the newcomer. Davie grinned lopsidedly. "I was just figuring that out, Stef." he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmm..." Domingo grumbled lightly to himself as he looked at the smoke trail. He moved towards the burning corpses, covering his mouth with a length of cloth to keep his lungs clear, as he kicked at them one by one. It wasn't like he was checking for signs of life, he wanted to see what had done that. Looking around, he briefly spotted something red and helmet-shaped in one of the second-floor windows around the area. Quietly, he stepped waay from the group and the corpses and headed for the door of the building.
His footsteps surprisingly mute for a man of his size, Domingo snuck his way up the stairs and slowly moved into the room where he had seen the helmet. Sure enough, there was a guy in there with a flamer and a bright-red helmet and black gas mask. "Hey, bud," he said loudly, immediately holding his hands up as the flamer pointed at him. "Easy, senor, I'm not here to kill you." He said softly, projecting that calming influence that often came from his throat when he spoe in an easy voice.
While Dave and the others dealt with the triviality of introducing themselves to the newcomer, Jacob took to the more important mission of searching the bodies. One of the officers might have orders on him, and if all went well, some of them might even have caps, or better yet, Pre-War dollars on them. Jacob had tried finding hobbies that didn't involve as much violence, but he found very few of the ones he tried to be interesting. He had taken a liking to drawing, but it needed improvement. He had considered coin-collecting, but had always sold the Pre-War money before he could amass any sort of collection. He wondered if anyone would read a book if he wrote one. Writing might be a good hobby. Like a combat guide, or a weapon-maintenance instruction booklet. After all the stuff the Enclave Memory Grafts had embedded in his memory, he was pretty sure he could perform routine maintenance on an M1911 blindfolded. Yeah, writing seemed like a good hobby. And if his drawing skills improved, he could even do his own illustrations. Don't get ahead of yourself Jacob. You can change your routine when you're too old and frail to kill things any more. he thought to himself.
He noticed the smell of burning flesh, and spotted the burned corpses in the alley, and traced the footsteps, covered in a light dusting of greasy ash up the stairs. He swallowed hard. He hated flamethrowers. He couldn't think of a more gruesome, barbaric weapon in the world. And he was someone whose entire life had revolved around killing folks. He quietly made his way up the stairs, hoping to find someone with a flamer across their back, rather than in their hands. He drew his .223 Pistol in his right hand, and his Ka-Bar in his left, supporting his gun-hand with his knife-hand. He spotted a man in a modified gas mask with a Pre-War fireman's helmet on his head with Domingo talking to him. Ironic choice of hat, but Jacob had to appreciate the humour that went into such headgear. Like that Raider he saw wearing a DCPD badge. Jacob moved up alongside, watching his friends from a position not two feet away from the pyromaniac. Who, thankfully, had his Flamer stowed.
"So, what's your name?" Jacob asked nonchalantly. Both Domingo and the pyromaniac nearly jumped out of his skin, but Mr Pyro kept a level enough head to go for his gun. Not an easily scared man then. Jacob had merely taken him by surprise. Jacob raised a cautioning hand as he continued,"Don't worry. You're not a friend of the Legion, and until proven otherwise, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Warren shook Dave's hand briefly and smiled. "Thanks, nothing like the kick of a .44 in your palm eh?" He took a moment to look at the carnage that he had just missed, noting that the corpses all wore a similar uniform to the one who had tried to shoot him outside. Must be the next fucks who think they have a right to rule over the world He bitterly remembered a brief encounter with a couple of Enclave Soldiers a year ago. He turned his attention back to Dave. "Name's Warren, but I prefer Quick Draw" His tone was slightly stiff, as though he was addressing a superior officer.
As for Weston, he had just semi-stumbled in, and semi- walked in twhat was left of a door or some kind of entrance. finding the rest of the group, Weston put himself in distance between Jackal; and Jacob. Namely, several people betqween them. Thats when he thought of something. Stefinae. The only other drug addict he knew. Maybe...noo. Can't ask her for help. Hell, can't ask anyone for help! He just had to bee a weak little wimp, coul'dnt take thwe aGODDAMN PAIN AND JUST GO ON WITH IT. NO! HE HAD TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BETTER WITH DRUGS! HE HAD TO BE REDUCED!. For at leasdt a few moments,. Weston was filled with seething rage. Then, slowly, everything came cleaer, more calm. And the tingling began. Fucking great. Leacing the group, Weston went into a small room. Problay a pre-war office or something. Injecting some Med-X inot his wrist, Weston watched as colors blended and faded. Strechted and disroted before his his vision returned. Sighing softly, Weston looked around said office. Looking into a desk, Weston pulled out what looked like a small stack of money. Shrugging, Weston placed it into his pocket before rejoining the group. No one really noticed he left. No one should have noticed he came back.
The dark visor snapped to attention as Surtr's scouting was intruded upon. The snap of a harness on his back and in a moment his beloved dragon was in his hands again, prepared to turn the thermostat a few hundred degrees above room temperature if necessary. The pilot light at the flamer's business end flicked on in warning. He'd underestimated these people, he realized, and so had the Legion units they'd just destroyed. The Legionnaires never stood a chance with a frontal assault against people so adept at flanking maneuvers.
"Nevermind who I am," came Surtr's muffled, gravel-filled voice from beneath the rebreather to address the two men who'd caught him, "you appear to be exactly who I'm looking for. Capable sorts who aren't fascists, don't like fascists, and tend to kill lots of fascists."
He stood, a tall figure whose dimensions were otherwise difficult to discern, garbed head to toe in his mask and a worn suit of armor. The firestarter hoped these folks were knowledgable enough to recognize his A3 "bra," but level-headed enough to see it wasn't exactly standard issue Legion loyalist gear, being colored a ruddy and dulll red that matched his helmet. That it was worn and dirty enough that it seemed like he wore the heavy suit on a regular basis, if not all the time, should be apparent enough.
"I'd like to see who's in charge, here. Enemy of my enemy, and all that."
".50 Heavys are even better. The name is Holmes. Dave Holmes." Dave said, shaking Quick Draw's hand with a strong grip and chuckling. "Son of one of the Saviors of Jerusalem, if you've heard the news lately from GNR." Dave said, and relaxed his hand on his revolver, showing an extension of his friendliness. "In fact, all of these people are part of or associated with the infiltration. But I'm sure you don't have time for chit chat, eh?" Dave said, smiling, and handed him a beer from his gear backpack, pausing to get one for himself also. He looked towards Jacob and a few others, who were addressing a stout fireman who was wearing an old A3 suit, with part of the 1st Legion's insignia scratched off heavily. Dave patted Warren on the back, and pointed out each of the crew. "That's Stefanie and her robot, Jeeves." Dave said. "The latino with the chip on his shoulder is Domingo, the fellow with the rocket thingy is Roland, the one with the poncho and the toothpick is Clint Eastwood, and the makshift power armored hulk is Connor Strauss. He's got a big ass hammer, so don't piss him off." Dave said, and continued to point other people out. "The irish ghoul over there is Jackal, the really young teenager over there is River, the guy about my age is a techie named Weston, and that," Dave said, pointing towards Jacob, "is my uncle. Him and my dad used to be super ninjas together until my dad..." Dave's voice trailed off quietly. "Anyway, that's the crew. A word about Jacob; he's... pretty dangerous. I'd stray from pissing him off." Dave said, his grin returning to his face.
"Nice to meet you Dave Holmes" Warren smiled a little wider this time and took the beer, listening intently at each name and noting them all down on that invisible notepad in his head. He took a moment to observe Jacob after Dave pointed him out, not doubting for a second that the man was the warrior who Dave described. "I think his reputation precedes him, I heard whispers of his name when I was on the pilgrimage to the North" He looked Jacob up and down, quite sure the man would kill him in a heartbeat if he put even a toe over the line. "I was a bit disbelieving, since the story I heard at the time was that he took down a Talon Company outpost with only a thirty-two pistol and some frag grenades, but now that I look at him" He looked over the others, all relaxed in their post-victory conference. Certainly capable He thought briefly. He patted Dave on the arm in a friendly gesture to get his attention. "So Dave, it's been a long time since I was last in the Capital Wastes, and it's changed a lot in six years, care to fill me in on everything?" He opened his beer and took a drink.
Silas happened to be nearby when Dave introduced everyone. He made a disapproving noise when Dave came to his own introduction. "Pssh. Clint Eastwood indeed. Name's Silas Webb, stranger. Wasteland wanderer. An' this ain't a toothpick, 's a Bowie knife. A toothpick'd be bigger."
Silas shook the man's hand and made the customary introduction. Then he turned to Dave and said, "I'm gonna scavenge around here fer a liddle while. Wanna pick up some more food fer Stefanie, seein' as we ate most've it, and I'ma grab some meds fer some other people in the group." Without waiting for a reply, Silas turned and began to head out away from the house, moving among the rocks and hiking towards a high rise in front of him, where he'd be able to scan the land below him and pick out places to scavenge. The old pharmacy looked to be a good place to start.
Silas slowly cracked open the door and made his way inside. Someone had been here before. That wasn't good for Silas' chances of looting the place, and they could also possibly still be here, so Silas had to be on his toes. The wanderer heard a noise. Radroaches, probably. Damn things were everywhere. Then he heard the sound of a 10mm pistol going off. Silas froze. Someone was in here with him. He slowly peaked around a corner and saw someone that he never wanted to see ever again.
Maria. Bren's raider bitch all the way from fucking New York City, fucking around with Bren and his little clique, corrupting his damnable innocence and naivety, and indirectly fucking up this part of town. Plus, she was in Silas' way for getting food for Stefanie and meds for Weston. She hadn't seen Silas yet, but she would soon probably wish she never had.
The wanderer slowly and silently drew his pistol. The element of surprise would soon be lost, but Silas didn't want to lose it beforehand. He slowly sighted down the barrel, exhaled softly, and pulled the trigger. The magnum roared as it spat out a .44 bullet from its barrel, smashing in the gun in Maria's hand, tearing it from her grasp and breaking it. Silas stepped out and began to move towards her. "Well, well, well. If it ain't Bren's raider bitch. Fancy seein' yew here. Yew know, Bren's dead, honey. He was killed by one pissed off man named Jacob Vaughton. And do yew know why that is? It's 'cause he abandoned the wastes, but more 'mportantly, it's 'cause he allied himself with a raider. Yes, that's right. Yew are the reason why Bren Tenkage is dead. An' I think yew should have to share the same fate that one innocent damnable kid suffered fer yer sake. It's only fair."
Maria lashed out at Silas in a desperate strike. She was scared of him. She knew what he could do if given the right motivation, and, to her mind, revenge was that kind of motivation. Silas grabbed her wrist as she tried to strike and stopped her arm with his iron-hard grasp. He spoke softly to her. "D'yew 'member when I first met ya? I said that, if yew tried to lay a hand on me, I'd rip three've it's dainty liddle fingers off. Well guess what, 'dearie'? Yew just tried to lay a hand on me, and I'm nothin' else if not a man of my word." She went to move again, but, before she could do anything, Silas struck her across the face with a backhanded slap, then floored her with a punch to her jaw, which resonated with a resounding 'THWACK'! Before she could get up to defend herself, Silas was upon her, Bowie drawn. Before he plunged the knife into her stomach, he whispered quietly into her ear, "Gunnight, Maria the Raider. Hopefully, the good Lord'll show yew more mercy than I have, which's more'n yew deserve." Silas stabbed down, and Maria's cry of pain died off as she faded away.
Silas Webb stood up. He didn't feel any better, unsurprisingly. He should, apparently. He avenged a friend and brought down an incorrigible sinner and a waste of human flesh. But he didn't. Vengeance was a dish that never agreed with Silas' stomach, and he was too old to kill for the law. This was why he left the Regulators. The single look of abject terror that she gave him before he buried his knife in her stomach would stick with the wanderer for as long as he lived. He cleaned and sheathed his Bowie knife, then began piling meds and food into a canvas sack. After he finished, Silas headed out of the pharmacy and back towards the others. He left Maria there to lie and rot. Silas may have felt sorry for killing her, but she didn't deserve a burial from him.
Fireman
Stefanie was busy while everyone else was talking. She was examining all the dead Last Legionnaires. Many wore largely intact armor, and all of their weapons were in prime condition. They'd fetch a handsome price inall the settlements across the Capital Wasteland with all the Horde "outposts" springing up. She smile to herself as she thought of completely re-stocking her food and drink shelves. She'd have to meander down to the liquor store later this week. She'd found it in a building to the south, and kept it secret. That's where she'd gotten the fine liquor. She'd have to get more. Speaking of food and drink, her stomach was grumbling. She picked up two G36C's, place a BRA helmet lopsidedly n her head, and slund a BRA Flak Vest over her shoulder. She tucked two D'Eagles into her belt and grabbed one of the SCM Officer swords on the ground. She was stopped by a quizzical look from Domingo. "Finders keepers," she winked. Domingo began jumping on the opportunity too. Stefanie put the stuff on the lift and went back for another load. There were three more wastelanders with them now. River, Quick Draw, and the flaming guy who was being stubborn. Whatever. Stefanie knew that the more people that were in the group, the less shooting there would be coming her way. Which was a good thing. She loved fighting up close and personal.
Stefanie gingerly stepped into the building, making her way up to the sniper she'd killed. He carried an advanced sniper rifle of some kind. Jacob had told her what it was. Something Pre-War, but she couldn't for the life of her remember. She'd have to ask him. She picked it up, as well as his prestinely conditioned BRA armor. She'd snapped his neck, leaving perfect scavenging. She went down to the machine gunners and unhooked the tripod. Hefting the heavy gun with her remaining arm, she looked like a scrawny, overloaded, Last Legion errand girl. Several members of the group chuckled at her. She dumped the stuff on the lift, noting Domingo eyeing the .30 caliber machine gun. Stefanie wondered if he may want to trade something. It would be nice having a machine gun mounted on his trailer, so they weren't just firing regular weapons from it all the time. Stefanie didn't know how to use that thing anyway. She made a mental note to talk to Domingo about it later. She popped a Buffout in her mouth as she continued to go about her business.
Weston glanced over at Stefine for a second. To her, popping drugs are common, and everybody does'nt really care! Weston then slowly looked around the group. Jacob, Jackal, Roland, Domingo, Conor...all of them...friends. But, did he really bvetray them? Would he really let his habbits take over? Would he really hurt his friends. Westons head swirled with crazy thoughts, with everything from sucide to buying the family farm. If he had a family farm in the first place. Putting his hands on his head, and slwoly shaking his head from side to side, Weston knew what he had to do. He had to leave. Now. Right niow, no-one really noticed he was sitting down by the doorway. But, if he left...what then? Would his friends think he left them for personal gain? Of course, that was'nt really the case...i mean, Jackal did make a convining agurement that if his little "problem" hurt anybody, he would prolbyay be killed very slowly for it. 
So, Weston knew what he had to do. Standing up, slowly and quietly, he opened one of the doors that was remianing from the Pre-War era, and walked out the building. He was alone now. Sure, they muiht take him back, but, for now...he was alone. Running as fast and as far as he could from the building, Weston turned back to look. His friends. Conor...the man he would debate with for no reason...Jackal...sortas like a crazy but cool Uncle or something...Jacob....his big-brother, in a way....Slias....like a reaslly cool brother that is around your age.....Stef.....always letting him into her house, even when it might have been his falught if he wrecked it....Dave, Dutchs Son....both friend because he was friends with his father, but, Weston also liked the guy.....Domingo....the crazy tank driver, arms dealer, and friend all rolled into one....and finnaly, REoland....Roland did one thing that he couldn't really repay him for: saving his ass. Turning back, Weston still walked onm, away from the school. He needed to do something. Weston pulled out a small map, and lookedat it for a second...then Weston marked a spot on the map and headed of in that direction. The direction of that was Jeruslam...
“Well, from what I heard, there used to be a really big group of genetical fanatics who kept away from everyone up until the seventies. They were called the Crusade or Crusaders or something like that. Then all of a sudden they started burning settlements and the ‘rape and pillage stuff’, ya know? They wore pretty intimidating armor, just like these guys, but with different insignia and more organized. Professional fighting force in every way; kicked out everybody in Virginia, and everybody in D.C. except for the Enclave and BoS. So Jacob began killing off legions of inept soldiers, starting with Fairfax with the Outcasts, then the D.C. Riots, and then Jerusalem. Short story short, the Crusade’s own guys start to rebel after Jacob, my dad, and some other super ninjas kill off the HighCom. Hence the Last Legion, the new bad guys in town. They kicked out their former comrades and continued with the killing.” Dave said, trying to keep the tale short. “I could explain it in more detail, but it gets kinda gory and stuff, from what I heard.” Dave said, smiling. “Lots of murder and executions during those years. Of course, I spent that time in an Enclave base getting punished for doodling with the General’s daughter.” Dave said, grinning. “Good times. Until I got 40 lashes for it.” Dave said, his grin disappearing.
Alexis looked around,he couldn't see weston anywhere "Uh guys has anyone seen weston recently?".He looked around again but weston wasn't anywhere.That kid would get himself killed he then set to examing his weapons and fixing them.His revolver was fully loaded and his warhammer was scratchless.He was set to follow weston to the ends of the earth if needs be
"Technically, all of us are in charge. We're not as much an organized group as much as a bunch of friends who are very good at killing things. We all defer to each other in a way. People bow a head to my skill, to Jackal's experience, to Stefanie's home and to Roland and Domingo when it comes to trading. Conor is a mechanic of sorts, and he's taking up a little trading too. Riley's an energy weapon wizkid, and Silas is our collective moral compass," Jacob said. As he named each person, he pointed to them, except Jackal, who was still below, hacking the Anterk bodies apart, and Riley was down doing whatever he did.
"Weston, he's like the communal little brother, and Dave was our new kid till you and whoever the guy with all the six-shooters is showed up," Jacob said, looking around alittle to see where the hell Weston had gone,"And the boy cheking through his gear with the fancy hammer is Alexis Ashton. He has a friend around here too, and there's a lad in a poncho around here somewhere goes by the name Jack Damask. Do well to stay on everyone's good side."
Jacob turned to face the general direction of the group. His de facto family. He smiled, he was proud of them. He folded his arms and scratched his chin, then changed over to scratching his head. He ran a hand through his hair.
"We're an odd bunch, but if you're in it against the Legion, you're more'n welcome to join us." Jacob finished
After lowering his weapon, Surtr's ambiguous visor of a gaze followed Jacob's third-party introduction. He nodded approvingly, as if Vaughton had listed an inventory of equipment that sounded satisfactory. The masked mercenary then switched off and "holstered" his flamer against its apparent fuel tank. An observant veteran like Jacob would also notice a shishkebab set in his belt. It was not unlike a katana made of simple salvage except for the long, seemingly pristine and hand-crafted, black, possibly titanium blade in lieu of a lawn mower blade or machete most of these sorts of weapons utilized. The fiery warrioer had other weapons, including a pistol nestled in the hip holster on the right leg of his armor, and he could make out the butt of something pistol-sized but wasn't really quite like a conventional combat firearm in one of three slots over his left side. The other two compartments besides the strange gun appeared to be the tops of unopened Nuka-Cola Quantum bottles.
"Sounds like quite the motley crew. Call me Surtr. If you have to classify me, call me a 'collateral damage technician,'" remarked the pyro, "I think that best describes my one-man operation. So, if you're half the man of action I've heard you are, Jacob Vaughton, what's our next move?"
Fireman
Stefanie wandered whimsically around the "battlefield," which was now, more or less, just her "yard" again where everyone stood around talking. People must've been getting restless in the Capital Wasteland. She'd heard that The Horde was on the move, trying to take Jerusalem, again. The sudden increase in foot traffic in herneck of the woods was testiment. First a platoon of Last Legionnaires, now several random wasters. Barring people she knew, River, Quick Draw, and Surtr were the first non-hostile people wo come through here in a long long time. Raiders had popped their heads in a few times, and Talon mercs looking to collect the bounty on Stefanie had shown up, but that was about it. That just went to show, the wasteland was reverting. Even animals had been drivin into the D.C. ruins, which wasn't typical. She still hadn't seen many Super Mutants. Probably the one good thing that the Crusade did was decimate them. She knew Fawkes, who hung out with the ghouls in Underworld, but other than him, there hadn't been any Super Mutants in D.C. in more than a year. She wondered to herself if that would change if the Last Legion was pushed out. Same with the feral ghoul population. The Crusade had thinned it greatly. Mostly the worrys were raiders, mercs, slavers, the occasional wasteland cannibal, and of course the different critters of the wastes.
Stefanie waved as she heard Jacob mention her name to Surtr. "Don't forget River," Stefanie said, "she's somewhere round here too." Most of the Last Legion equipment was scavenged, with Conor, Roland, Domingo, and Stefanie scooping up objects. Stefanie walked over to Domingo. "So I got this new .30 cal machine gun that I just acquired," she said. Domingo grinned. "Senora, I'm very interested in that item," he said, grinning as his wheeling and dealing side came out. "Well," Stefanie said, "I'm interested in a certain Super Sledge in your posession. Kinda wanna branch out a bit with my trainin, maybe use some melee weapons." Domingo thought for a second. "That is a very unique item you are looking at, nothing like it in the rest of the wastes, maybe the world. I'm going to need more than just a routine machine gun," he said. Stefanie looked at him. "Lets make a deal then," she grinned.
"Alright, a deal it is." Domingo looked over at El Oso, and quickly walked over to it. Throwing open the rear door, he quickly scanned his armory. Sure enough, George and Belton were still in the back, right where they belonged (hung on the wall eneath Frederick Thomas' Golden Desert Eagle, which Domingo had taken to calling the "Duke Nukem Special"). In fact, his business center was practically overflowing with new items. Wait, overflowing? That was it. Picking up the massive sledgehammer once wielded by the Chimera who had ripped Dutch Holmes asunder, Domingo ran back to Stefanie. 
"I'll take the machine gun and raise you one Chimera's Super Sledge. In return, you let me take over one or two of the rooms in Bailey's Crossroads and let me run a small standing armory there. El Oso has gotten a lot of equipment inside its back lately, and I can't fit much more with the radio equipment and the beds in there." Domingo grinned. "We have a deal?" When Stefanie nodded, he took the .30 Machine Gun and handed Belton to the pit fighter.
"Pleasure doing business with you, senora." Domingo said casually as he moved back to El Oso, looking to sort the .30 repeater away with the rest of his heavy weapons.
River, who had been sitting on the block of concrete she had used for cover, perked up when she heard the 'really young teenager' remark from Dave.
"I'm not really young! I'm just... short." She went back to staring at the ground, embarrassed. Such a witty remark! Surely they will know you are a mental force to be reckoned with! River shook her head and stood up, inspecting the bodies for anything interesting that had not been picked up by Stefanie yet. Were these guys really Last Legion? It was silly, but River always thought they'd be bigger. Or harder to kill. Or something, she didn't know. 
Most of them had laser guns, which River wasn't a big fan of-- too "clean".
Well, that sounded psychotic. She sighed, realizing she was thinking about that as she raided dead bodies.
Well, this was a nice surprise. One of them had been carrying an SCM .44 Repeater. Nice gun, much better than the old hunting rifle River had been carrying. The ammo was rare, but not impossible to find, and the poor bastard still ad a couple boxes of bullets on him. River promptly ditched her old gun and slung the new one over her shoulder, and walked back to the group.
Wait a second, Dave Holmes? That... that meant these people were...
River nearly dropped her bag and kind of stared into the distance.
"Huh."
Fireman0504
Stefanie smiled as she moved the massive Super Sledge in a slow arc across her body. She was surprised at how heavy it was, even with the Buffout and the Power Fist's additional strength. No matter, she'd be able to trainhow she needed, and she'd adapt. She'd be all the more lethal with the further knowledge. She looked at Domingo. "Well, it just so happens I have an available room," she said, "Riley's got the cage. You can have the room across from the kitchen. Not much in there right now. Feel free." (If you've played the DLC, it's the empty room with the dead Gary 23 clone in it, across from the junk room, next to the simulator room.) Her home was becoming a kind of settlement, sort of like Underworld. No matter, long as they were friends, they're welcome. It still was her home though. She was very happy to have Domingo in and out more regularly. She planned on setting up a code for the lift. She made a mental note to ask Conor Strauss about it. She also had been meaning to venture over to RobCo and meet up with Tinker Joe. He'd said he was acquiring some new merchandise. A Sentry Bot topside would be a great help. She moved Belton again, finding it easier as she already began to adapt. She smiled as she nearly relished the thought of facing Last Legionnaires armed with this monster of a weapon.
Jacob and Surtr had stood, looking each other up and down, sizing each other up as it were, trying to figure out how to judge each other. Neither had made a particularly telling first impression, other than Jacob being a sneaky bastard and Surtr being a quick draw on that flamer. That'd be a useful skill down in the tunnels of the Jerusalem catacombs. So now you decide you want to go back to Jerusalem. Twice not enough eh, you fucking moron! Jacob thought to himself as he led Surtr back down to the others. For whatever reason, Jackal had come topside, and was standin, bandying a few jokes around with the others. Even Jacob had to smirk at the one about Frederick Thomas and the chicken.
"Next plan of action would be to give the Horde a hand forcing the Legion outta Jerusalem. Much as I hate to go back there, it has to be done. We've lost too much to the Crusade and its remnants to just let them sit there in our back garden wandering around slaughtering all they please. We're going to finish this," Jacob said to Surtr and the others. Some of them stared at him in disbelief. Stefanie nearly dropped Belton. Jackal actually went to pull a gun on him. He thought Dave's eyeballs might explode if they got any wider.
"Well, if it has to be done, might as well admit I signed on for it before now anyways," Jackal said, shifting self-consciously from foot to foot.
"Well, sounds pretty heavy" Warren took his last drink from the bottle and chucked it behind him indifferently. He scratched his chin while he thought. "Well, alright, I guess I can help with these Legionnaires" He stopped as Jackal interrupted his thought process. He had never had much contact with Ghouls, and they always surprised him whenever he seen one. "However, only on the condition that you do a favour for me, which I can call you on at any time, does that sound good?"
Alexis considered what jacob said alexis had lost two of the only people he cared about to the last legion.He was not going to let them continue what the crusade had started.Somethings had to be done regardless of the cost and this was 100% one of them."Im with you jacob somethings have to be done regardless of the cost".Alexis holstered his magnum and hammer and turned to the group.
Out of all the prospective looters, suffice to say, Strauss was probably hauling in the largest quantity of arms. This was down to the fact that he had not one, not two, but three pairs of hands (although one didn't actually have fingers and had a minigun and a missile launcher in their place). The Power Armored Waster himself, Worthington and Frank the scrapheap Sentry Bot were all collecting weaponry, and while Frank himself was having some trouble actually picking anything up, they were still grabbing a lot. As Worthington deposited a G36C in the dumpster Strauss called home, he himself was piling up a BRA suit he'd just stripped off the corpse of a Last Chancer on top of Frank's outstretched arms. The Sentry Bot rolled over to the dumpster whie Strauss picked up his sidearm, grenades and the ammunition he'd carried.
"Well," Strauss said as he deposited the loot into the dumpster. "Guess that's enough. Six bodies, ready to have their valuables sold off like the thieving mercantile bastards we are." He dusted his hands off and gave Frank a very slow, clear command to guard the dumpster while he gestured for Worthington to follow him. He took note of the newcomers and eyed them cautiously. Lots of things seemed to be finding their way to Baileys - random Wastelanders, giant fucking deer and bigots with lots of guns alike.
"Warren, right? Look around you. You can tag along if you want, but I'm not recruiting you. Go to Rivet City if you want that shit. So fuck your favour. Stay here, or go somewhere else if that's how you want things. To be absolutely honest, we don't need your help with the Legion, we've busted Jerusalem twice already. Like I said, tag along if you want, no one is going to make you come along but yourself," Jacob said. 
He hated when people volunteered for things and then expected something in return. He wandered back towards the lift to retrieve his duster and other gear from down below in Stefanie's home, his mind going over many inventive ways to slap the face off that Warren guy for thinking he was doing them a favour. He really liked the idea of using Warren's own severed arms. About five minutes later, he had returned topside with his pistol-laden duster and Assault Rifle, nodding to the assembled crowd.
"Right,, anyone need anything before we get going. And has anyone seen Weston?" Jacob said, as cheerfully as he could manage.
Dave couldn't believe it. A shot at revenge. Sure, his bone was with the Enclave, but if the Crusade hadn't been sitting in their hidey hole near north-north D.C., maybe he'd still have his dad with him. What Dave couldn't believe besides that was the fact that he wasn't just scared; he was scared shitless. Dave didn't enjoy the thought of storming the most secured, almost impregnable fortress. Dave had read some information on that place during training with his dad and Enclave, and had seen the place while living near his father's grave. Some sort of pre-war military base; Adams-AFB looking minus the runways. Large buildings, military bunkers, etc. Except everything above ground except for the major walls and a few buildings had been decimated. Jerusalem had been downsized even more after the war to a smaller perimeter even easier to guard, and the wall height had been shaved universally. Still, it was a very formidable target, even if it supposedly had a hole the size of the General's daughter's ass in the main wall surrounding it. Dave finally spoke up, gulping."I'm down for it. I wasn't planning on going to the same place where my dad got squeezed to death by a hulking motherfucking mutant, but why not. There's always a first time for everything." Dave said, and took up a lawnchair, sitting himself down to inspect his gear. Kicking his feet up on a rotting wooden table, Dave took several minutes inspected each weapon in his arsenal, reassembling and disassembling his M24, cleaning his pistols, and lastly his revolver, Miriam. Lastly, he inspected his supplies in his backpack, made sure he looked good with his shades and jacket, and took a moment to unsheath his father's ornate katana, which hadn't been used since Jacob had killed Hennard. It's blade was gleaming in the sunlight, and the Enclave seal branded on it's blade on the handle stook out to Dave as sickening. Taking his trench knife, Dave scratched away until the seal was hardly identifiable, a tribute the men who had let his father go at it alone with friends who weren't even Enclave. Sheathing the blade again, Dave lade it at his side, watching the group intently.
So someone had finaly noticed that weston had vanished.Hopefully they could find him on the way to jeruselum,Mabey he could stop by his "House" as well to recover that repeater.It was to clumsy for normal use but at time like this having a kick ass .44 repeater came in handy."Weston vanished a while ago jacob and if we have time i need to get some more equipment from my house north of DC?".Without waiting for an answer he stood up and stretched.
"I know a back way in," Domingo said quietly. "I use it all the time to scavenge stuff from the lower catacombs, and I've made it as far as where Frederick Thomas was killed and where we fought Hennard using that entrance." He coughed. All of the cigars were finally catching up to him; his lungs must have been coated in enough tar to pave a small road and every time he coughed, his internal organs came that much closer to being hacked out his throat. He would have to consider quitting some time in the near future if he wanted to continue fighting alongside his comrades, because being brought down on the field in a coughing fit was no way to die. 
"Anyways," Domingo said, "It's around on the south side of Jerusalem, there's a breach in the wall just wide enough to squeeze through in single-file. From there, it's a straight run to a destroyed supply depot. The depot has an emergency access hatch to the catacombs under Jerusalem, and from there we just climb through those and..." Domingo scratched his head a little, and looked at the Warrior Weapon of the group. "Err... What exactly was your plan again?"
Roland scratched his head and looked over at Domingo. "I'm guessing we attack Roarke and his cabal. Cut off the head and all that." The merchant walked over to Jacob and looked him in the eye. "I've survived a lot worse than some manic former Crusaders. I think I can handle the Last Legion after someone dropped a fucking building on me back in Austin, and that still didn't stop me. I'm in."
"I'm in."
Weston said. However, he was not inisde the same builidng the reast of the group was. No, no. He was right outside fucking Jerusluam. Yep. He just voltunreed for the horde. Great Job Weston, Great Fucking Job! This Med-X is really starting to get to you, you lack-jawed peice of shit!.
"Combat Experince?" Thre Horde requtier asked. He was a rather old man, problay in his 50's or something like that. But, he was'nt super old. He looked like he knew a thing or two abouyt combat. 
"Stormed Jeruslam twice, sir. First time was before the Last Legion. Second time was when the Last Legion was attacking, sir. But, other then that, i've been apart iof a few Sweep and Cllears, looking for Raiders."
"Right, sure you Stormed Jeruslam. Name?" tge man asked, half scarsitlly.
"Weston FGoster, sir. "
"Ok, then. Seems that your in the Horde! Welcome aboard. Now, go to the little shack that is marked with a Gun. Go in there, and talk to the quarter master there. He'll give you some armour."
Weston looked down at his body. The guy did have a a point the only armour that Weston really wore was a combat helemtn. Some bits and peices of BRA armour would'nt hurt nobody.....
Leaving the tent, Weston looked around the camp. It was busy, to say the least. Bunch of people rushing around. Looking over in a open tent, Weston saw a game of arm wrestling going on. The next tent over, there was guys hitting up some Rad-Weed. Then, the next tent over from the druggie tent, was a bunch of new, scared youngsters. . Weston crossed into what seemed like a crossroads. Thats when he felt someone push him. Stumbling to the ground, Weston looked up to see this rather large, if somewhat short man standing over him.
"HEY, ASSWIPE!" the man, oblsuily drunk, shoutred.
"Wait, huh?" Weston responded.
"EVER SEEN ANY COMBAT.?!"
"More then what you've seen, problay." Weston responded in a smart-ass tone, while he was getting up from the muddy ground.
For some reason or another, that really pissed the other man off. Not like a pissed off that stayed with you for a few mintues and might lead to a argument, but, like a extermly pissed off type that causes a man to fight. The man started to throwe a punch, and weston raised his arms to block it. Ghat was'nt enough. Weston felt the huge hand pound into his face, knocking him back. So, if this bastard wanted to fight, so be it. The whole peroid of rafge that he had built up, ever since he was wounded, came out in that one moment. Thats when Weston lost sight, hearing, memory recollation for a full mintute. thats not to say he did'nt do anything. It's just that his brain couldnt, or did'nt want to register what he;d done. Next thing he knew,Weston was standing atop the dead body, a small crowd of people gathered around him. The mans head was preety much a bloody pulp, a arm was broken, and the man had two smashed knees. Standiong up, horrifed over what he's done, Weston pushed past the crowd and ran. Weston did'nt stop running for a while, at least until there was a line of trenchs. They were from before. Skidding to a stop. Weston looked around. And over there was the cave...and right there was where Domingos tank crashed into the tank...and...he was wounded here....Westons mind flashed with images from thiose few mintues of his life. A Vertibird, people stnading over him....A dog named cat....a cave...Wait, a cave? Weston looked for it and found it. Same Cave as before. Looking around, Weston entered the cave. Slowly, yes. would it take him a while to reach the spot where Jersualm was? Yes. But, for now, Weston just walked.and walked. and walked.
What?
Fireman
Stefanie leaned on Belton, observing the conversation. "Well," she said, "I just can't let you boys go in there and have all the fun." She grinned and winked. "I'm coming with" she said. The last time they'd gone to fight at Jersualem, she'd been shot and almost killed. This time would be different. She looked at the newcomer Surtr's indifferent face, masked by the visor he wore. Quick Draw had just smarted Jacob. Not a good move. Jacob was right though. We didn't need another gunslinging wastelander tagging along. That's not to say it wouldn't be bad having one. These new additions just needed to watch their mouths and not come in all high and mighty. It'd mucheasier getting along. Stefanie tightened her grip on Belton as she moved the hammer again, before slinging it across her back. She sat down on a boulder near the group, next to Roland, who gave her an elbow and a grin, intently listening in on the ideas they had of getting into Jerusalem. She noted to herself how much she was learning from these gus. Months prior she'd had no military training or experience, no idea how to use most weapons, and only the hand to hand skill taught to her in the pit fighting arenas. Stefanie hoped Weston was ok. She noted having not seen himin a while, even though Alexis, a.k.a. Captain Obvious, had mentioned it two or three times. Eh, he meant well. "So when do you think we'll be moving out?" Stefanie asked, to nobody in particular.
"We can go whenever everyone's ready. I'm not gonna hop off and leave everyone trying to get their shoes on and follow. We can leave at dusk if youw ant a time set on it. Gives a good twenty minutes to get sorted," Jacob said, cringing as he realized he was talking like Jackal. Jackal just sniggered. Irish mannerisms were so easy to pass on, and people used them without even thinking.
Jacob began going over his weapons, all of his concealed knives, and the dozen or so pistols in the various holsters stitched into his duster. Then he started going over Mother's Woe. The modified assault rifle was a strange-looking beast, with a stock looted from a GPMG, a scope looted from a sniper rifle and a bigger caliber barrel, 7.62mm. He checked the clip, which was almost empty after the battle with the Anterks. Thanking whatever powers were at work in the universe that he had remembered, he slid another expanded clip into place. He checked his bayonet lug and the bavonet fixed into it for any looseness. Still fine. Everything seemed in order.
"I'm ready," Jacob said, looking around at the others as they went about their own preparations.
Fireman0504
Stefanie stood up. "Lemme get some provisions and I'm all set," Stefanie said, heading toward the lift. She activated it and disappeared from view. About five minutes later she re-emerged. She had some extra plating around her shoulders and hips, as well as guarding her pelvis. She also had a small satchel. Inside were a few cans of Pork n' Beans, and some Anterk jerky. "I told Riley what was going on, he's tinkerin with some new weapon. No idea, but he said he'd be right up." Domingo peeked into her satchel, then chuckled. "What?" Stefanie laughed, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder, "a girl's gotta eat!" Jackal chuckled too, and Jacob shook his head. "Got anything good in there?" Dave said, approaching Stefanie. She recoiled her bag. "Hey hey, Davie, get your own yum yums," she said. Davie's eyes perked up. "You got devilled eggs?" he said. "No, not those yum yums," she laughed. Quick Draw and Surtr looked confused. They just didn't get the interaction here. Some of the most (in)famous names and most hardened killers in the wasteland, acting like brothers and sisters. Abruptly the laughter quit as "Uncle Jacob" yelled. "CAN WE FOCUS HERE?" he shouted, silencing everyone, but trying not to crack a smile at the same time. Stefanie snorted a slight laugh. Jacob really was proud of them, even going so far as to call them friends. Now was time for business though, and Stefanie and the rest of them knew that when it was time for business, Jacob Vaughton was the most serious businessman in the Capital Wasteland. "Ok," Stefanie said, "one thing before we go, almost ready." She popped a Buffout into her mouth and swallowed it. "I'm ready," she said.
Alexis grabed the last of his gear and holstered his weapons.There was a few things still to go through.He pulled on his boots and flicked the switch that activated the servomotors in his armour.He was set.Around him the rest of the group were doing the same and they looked like they were ready."Im set"
"I've been ready, grandaddio. Let's get a move on before I piss my pants early from being scared shitless." Dave said, shouldering his backpack and standing up from the lawn chair. He was young and cocky, but really just young and trying to live up to his father's name. He had something to prove to Jacob that he wasn't some jumped up waster who had sold a town into slavery and got punted by a giant fucking deer. No, today and tomorrow would define him for the rest of his life, and the people he meet in the years to come would remember him and his father's name, especially if it was their last breath. Dave, trying to get a feel for himself, twirled both of his pistols in either hand, catching both by the handle on the spin of his fingers and sliding them into his holster. His left automatically went back to the holster inside his jacket underneath his arm, where he felt the reassuring grip of his revolver, Miriam. His other hand attached his katana to the belt on his jeans, then grabbed a cigarette and an old lighter, which promptly lit the cigarette. Catching a no look from Jacob, Dave tossed both items to the side, obeying the fuzz without any whining.
Strauss was now working on repairing Impact. Well, a part of Impact. The hammer itself was disassembled in such a way you'd hardly think it was a sturdy weapon by looking at it. It didn't seem to deter Strauss from using it, however. He sat on a chunk of concrete debris, tinkering with the capacitor which was in a similar state of disassembly. As it turned out, the most integral part of Impact had rattled itself to pieces after he hammered an Anterk into mush. He made a mental note never to hit something so many times in rapid succession again. "Hang on, gimme a second." He called out to the rest of the group as he worked, swearing repeatedly over the course of ten or so minutes while he switched from tool to tool to fist (a solid whack can fix anything, after all) to a different tool. It took quite a while, but he eventually managed to fix it, giving a random cry of "EUREKA!" in celebration and then getting to work putting the hammer back together.
"That's wrapped," He muttered as he strapped the hammer to his back, dusting his hands off shortly afterwards. At this point, he began checking through his various bags and bandoliers for ammunition. He had enough - that was alright. He broke open his Paulsen to see it was fully loaded, then did the same with his Grenade Pistol, sliding a 40mm grenade into the vacant slot before holstering it. Aside from the explosives specifically designed to be launched, he had three frags, one pulse and one plasma, along with a bottlecap mine. He drew both his SCM Officer Swords to see that they were adequately sharp (he'd hardly ever used them since he found them as a matter of fact) before sheathing them once again and moving onto his D'Eagle, produced by the same manufacturer. Fully loaded, eight magazines to spare. That equated to a eighty-one rounds. That would be more than enough, and he'd be going up against people who would no doubt carry a lot of the same ammunition, so he wouldn't have to worry. Finally, he checked his Laser Rifle and was dismayed to see that the current cell charge was only 12%. He ejected the current MF cell and replaced it with a fresh one. 
Then Conor went about checking Worthington's storage compartment. He didn't have to look twice - he flipped it open for five seconds, peeked around inside and closed it with a satisfied smirk. Just the right amount of supplies. He then did a quick check over the contents of his dumpster before slamming the top lid shut and locking it, instructing Frank to wheel it over next to the lift and leave it there. He watched as the Sentry Bot carried out its command before rolling back over to Strauss, rattling out a confirmation of completion. He was about to announce that he was done checking his gear when he heard Jacob shout something. Jacob? Shouting? Does not compute. He turned to face the rest of the group to realise that they must have been doing something that irked the vigilante. "Uh... I'm set to go, yeah," Conor said, meeker and quieter than he initially thought he'd say it.
Riley was finished. All that time he was working on multiplying his Tetra-Laser using spare parts and laser rifles. He attempted to saw off the barrel of one of the laser rifles.. but that made it explode about ten seconds later. He had two Tetra-Lasers now. I should sell it or something he thought, while looking at the rifle. He looked in a pre-war dictionary to find a cool word that meant four, and he found Tetra. Good enough. He walked towards the lift and heard some commotion upstairs, so he readied his rifle just incase.
The lift came down, and he got on. He pressed the button, and it went up. To his surprise, nobody was fighting. Good, he thought. "I'm back..." he said, and only Stefanie noticed. More people were here, three more to be exact. I hate introductions. He knew that Strauss might want a new gun, so he went over to him first. "Hey, Conor... do you want a new gun? I'll sell it to ya.. Do you want it for your robot? I'll install it!" he said. He was really acting like a merchant today. Huh.
Warren was a little disappointed. This was not the answer he had wanted, but he wasn't about to leave Sarah, Slug and the others to their fate of protecting that little piss ant town. He had lost some friends to those damn Raiders, and Marie had taken a major wound to her arm, something likely to stay with her till the day she died. Maybe now was a bad time, so he decided to wait until he could truly call on a favour. The Dusters could last a little longer; they were nothing if not adaptable, and by and large these Raiders, though possessing a bit more fire power than your average gang, still were not really master tacticians. Fortunate, really. 
"Alright fine, but keep in mind I won't give up" Warren said, a grim determination set on his face. "If I see the opportunity to use leverage to assist with my little problem, I'll use at the first opportunity" He emptied the three bullets remaining in his gun and pocketed them, reloading the .44 with a fresh batch. "That said, these bastards shot first, and though the DC Wastes have been less than kind, I'm not about to see it shot to hell by high and mighty fucks like these Legionnaires" His little speech over, his eye was drawn to some Pork N' Beans lying near the corpse of a Legionnaire. His eyes flashed and he set on a brisk pace towards it, picking it up. He unsheathed his hunting knife and stabbed into it, opening it in a crude tin opener style before heaving it down his throat, the tomato sauce running down the side of his mouth. "Damn it I love Pork N Beans" He wiped his face and looked into it before throwing it away.
"Use that leverage and we might have to use brute force Warren. Two to the chest and one to the head is my thing, unless it's a dead-on headshot, or my bare hands. Silas there'll blow you the hell away with his rifle or revolver. If Stefanie doesn't beat you to death first. And if she doesn't, Conor would probably break you in two with that hammer. Unless Dave's already shot ya. Riley there can blow out your eyeballs with a thought. Alexis could mess you up with his hammer, and Jackal, well, he'd just plain old hack you to pieces," Jacob said. He rolled his eyes, then continued," We're a dangerous crowd, best not to make threats about leverage, or we'll respond with promises of violence."
To emphasize his point, Jacob chambered a round in Mother's Woe and his .223 Pistol. He looked Warren head to toe, nodded and went back to looking around the others. They all seemed ready, so he made a gesture in Jerusalem's general direction, then nodded to Alexis as he raised an eyebrow at Jacob. They'd be paying a visit to Alexis' place on the way out to Jerusalem. He just hoped Stefanie didn't set her heart on some payback house-trashing.
Leverage was something you didn't have when you were vastly outnumbered by experienced combatants, Surtr thought to himself, shaking his head at the exchange between Warren and Jacob. He was pretty much always prepared, as he tended to use what little he had in such a way as to seem he had an armory at his disposal. Though, he did wish his minigun hadn't been dashed apart by a yao guai a few months back. After a quick check of his weapons and his fuel gauge, the mercenary waited for his newfound 'friends' to make their preparations in silent observation. When the group seemed ready to get under way, he approached the hispanic with the tank and the metric fuckton of weaponry stored away, Domingo if he remebered right.
"Two questions. Cigs or cigars? And, got a gatling in that armored pickup of yours? Might need to mow Jerusaelem's lawn, if it comes to it."
"Let me come too!" River could have slapped herself for saying something so stupid. Why? Why would she ever want to go to Jerusalem ever? Sure, there was the promise of adventure, but River didn't want adventure. She wanted safety, security, quiet...
All of which are damn near impossible while the Legion's about and you live in the wastes.
"Th-that is if you wouldn't mind or anything... I'm not useless in a fight, and it's always good to have a doctor, and Doc Church wouldn't mind, he can handle things on his own, and... I'm gonna shut up now." River examined her shoelaces intently.
"Anyone willing to tag along is welcome to do so. I'm not going to turn another gun and another set of eyes away without good reason. Just keep in mind that we'll be fighting a professional army, on a par with the Crusade, the Brotherhood, and maybe even the EAF. We watch each other's backs. Don't expect us to have your back if you won't have ours. Don't look for a chance to gain leverage, don't go seeking glory, unless of course the opportunity is worth it. By that I mean shooting Roarke in the head if you get a chance. Most importantly, Warren, River, Surtr, welcome aboard. We hope you enjoy your stay among Heroes of Jerusalem," Jacob said, trying to sound cheery. It was kind of scary, seeing him with that grin on his face. It was like seeing a stone wall break out in laughter.
Jackal was standing a little off to the side, quietly utterring the Prayer to Saint Michael. He knew it was out of context, a physical battle and all, but it was soothing. That and Michael was the Patron Saint of warriors. Looking around, Jackal couldn't help but draw a parallel between Jacob and the Archangel. He wouldn't be surprised to find scars on Jacob's back that looked like wings had been shorn from his body at some point. That and if Jacob ever got in a brawl with the Devil, Jackal's money would be on Jacob, all the way.
----
Last Legion Colonel Nathaniel Roarke sat at a heavy oak table, resting his head in his palm. He had gone over the security holotapes of the Enclave attack on Jerusalem. Thirty soldiers caused so much damage. One of them, Jacob Vaughton, a name well-known to every soldier in the Crusade, stuck out above all others. The man in black, the Angel of Death. The man whose steel wings brought doom and slaughter wherever they cast their shadow. Every time Jacob's path crossed with that of the Crusade, the bodycount and collateral damage cost skyrocketted. Most galling of all Jacob's transgressions was, however, the killing of Roarke's three sons. Vengeance would be had when Roarke saw Jacob. He knew the Butcher of Fairfax couldn't stay away from Jerusalem. Ever since aligning himself with the Outcasts, Jacob had forever intertwined his own destiny with that of the DC Crusade. And the knot was about to completely unravel.
"So the Horde plans to attack at dawn. Ready the artillery. Let them cower before the roar of artillery again. Let them know that the God of War calls for their death. Bombardment will commence the second the sky lightens. Show these dogs why we cast them away the first time," Roarke said to an aide standing in the doorway. Roarke himself replayed the holotape, finally pausing at Jacob's face. Well, our time of reckoning is near at hand, Vaughton. I hope you won't disappoint. Roarke muttered to himself as he sank back into his thoughts.
Fireman
Stefanie knew that this was it. Now, just like before a fight in The Cell, all thoughts ceased to exist. No food, no sex, no laughter, no fun, no food, no jokes. Everything ticked into place. If anything was just a hair loose in her brain, it could mean death. The only thoughts in her head were of survival, of her weapons, of her body, of her opponents, and of her teammates. Whn being able to psychologically prepare for a fight, Stefanie transformed into an almost completely different person. Last time they were at Jerusalem, she was already wounded, the time before that she was captured by surprise. This time, she would be ready. Her smile was gone, her face losing much of the warmth, and happiness that her friends had come to know, recognize, and dare to say, even love, about her. Her eyes were intense, cold even. Her nose and mouth formed an almost natural sneer. Her muscles seemed to all tense up at once, and though she didn't look taller, one could swear she looked bigger. This was how it went before every high stakes fight she'd ever been involved in. She was here, so obviously she'd never lost. This was going to be quite probably the highest-stakes fight of all. She flexed her fingers slowly in her Power Fist as she looked around at the group as they began to move away from Bailey Crossroads. Jeeves was staying down in the bunker, watching the place, and the horizon, for their return. Stefanie looked at her surroundings, completely aware of any movement. God save any non-friendly person who tried to cross the group.
Warren frowned. "You're too tightly strung Jacob" He was fast developing a dislike of him, and he supposed that was a good thing, it wasn't good to like the more dangerous killers in the Wasteland. "I'm not making a threat of leverage, just making it known that if I can see an opportunity to assist with my little problem, I'll use it" He shrugged and kicked the can against the wall. "Even if it's just to be repaid for saving someone's life" He scratched his neck quickly, a sign he was getting irritated.
Jacob gave a single derisive grunt. This Warren fellow was starting to get on his nerves. Obsessed with his own problem. Everyone had problems, but this guy was really taking the piss. Trying to get people to help him in the most pretentious overbearing "you owe it to me" way possible. Jacob sighed and settled on ignoring him. Whether or not he saved anyone's life, Jacob was not going to help this prick without a very good reason. They had all started moving along after Stefanie, and much to Jacob's annoyance, Warren was coming with them. Ranik would have shot this idiot by now! Jacob thought to himself, fondly remembering Ranik's clear-cut no-nonsense way of handling annoying people. A 12-gauge injection of lead.
"So what is this little problem? Can't be so little if you want us on it." Jacob said to Warren, his tone daring the Wastelander to snap, goading him into giving Jacob that one reason to lash out. So far, Warren didn't seem to be taking the bait.
Jackal was getting nervous. Jacob was his friend, so he'd have the big vigilante's back any day, and Jackal was fostering a healthy dislike for Warren already. He doubted any of those present would fault him for it. But he was nervous, because any time Jacob was annoyed, or worse, angry, people tended to die in droves. So Jackal had drawn his Dadao and was pretending to sharpen the blade, just for the comforting, reassuring feeling of having a good sturdy weapon in his hand. He really liked this thing. The two-handed Chinese war sword had been in his possession since the fateful attack on Jerusalem where Dutch was killed. Jackal had taken a liking to the weapon the second he saw it, and had even used it to kill his old foe, Frederick Thomas. Yes, this weapon had memories of good times in it already.
Warren looked briefly at Jacob, studying his face. They were both grinding against each other, and he could sense Jacob's itch to kill. "Well, if you must know, I've left my wife, my brother, his wife and the others protecting a town up North from a group of dangerous Raiders" He started to follow the others, trailing behind them, but close enough so that Jacob could hear them. "We'd known one had moved into the area with all the burned out caravans that had been cropping up" He was now full in sway of explaining his story. "About that time, we got a distress message from a nearby town whose caravans weren't coming back and we knew that it had to be the Raiders, so sure enough we did our thing and arranged payment" He paused for a brief moment to take a breath. "The attack came the night we had arrived, and they were packing heavy" He kicked at the ground, causing a puff of dust to rise. "Miniguns, Missile Launchers, Chinese Assault Rifles, pretty powerful tech for Raiders, they must have found an abandoned armory or something" He kicked again. "I lost some friends, and Marie took some shrapnel to her arm, but we repelled them... barely" He sniffed and curled his fists tight. "So, that's basically my little problem, and I came back to this corner of the world to find some backup" He looked at Jacob. "Satisfied?"
Jacob considered what Warren had just said. It was a cause that Jacob would have gladly fought for had anyone but Warren been preaching it. Jacob wondered why Warren hadn't mentioned it sooner. If he'd said that and asked Jacob to come along and help him, rather than saying that they owed him their help if he tagged along to Jerusalem, Jacob would have gladly obliged. Hell, he'd have put it on his to-do list right after storming Jerusalem with the Horde. But Warren had come across all high and mighty, and rightly scuppered his chances of having Jacob by his side.
"Now, if you'd just said that and asked for help, instead of telling me you could call in a favour any time you wanted if you came to Jerusalem, I'd have happilly agreed. But we haven't quite clicked. Look elsewhere for sympathy, you're getting none from me. I'll swing by if I ever find myself headed that way again. I won't make any promises, and I guess you'll just have to deal with that," Jacob said. He thought of every serious battle he'd been involved in, and continued," We've all lost friends and family. You're no different. Don't act like we owe you anything, regardless of what you do."
Weston was now a good 20 feet inside the cave entrance when the opneing clooasped. It wasn't a natural clopase, no no, it was a man-made cloaspse. Somebody rigged it with expolsives. Shielding his face with his arersm ,Weston could feel little bits of rocks fly and imbed themselves within his arm. After several seconds of standing in the middle of what seemed to be a storm of dust, Weston looked at himself. There was problay a inch of dust everywhere that was'nt covered by his clothes, and his clothes itself were just coated with dust. Shaking himself off, and looking t his arms, Weston noticed that he did'nt really feel a whole lot of pain in them. Shurgging and contuined tio move down the tunnel complex, Weston came to a aburt stop. He forgot his weapons back at the Horsde camp.
"FUCK! GOD FUCKING DAMN IT! SHIT!"
Weston yelled, and, a little feral ghoul popped up fdrom the ground, speaking in a stero-typical british accent.
"Now, old cahp, would youplease stop giving such a racket? After all, me and my lads are having a spot o' tea here here. If your that angry over something, give a stiff upper lip and what not. Cheerio~!"
And just klike like that, hallocation ghoul was gone. However, to Weston, e was very, very real. Anybody else qwould prolbay be laughing and rolling on the ground, but, Weston was slient as a mouse. In fact, he even tried not to step on anything that will cause too much noise. And onward he pressed into the darkness, being illumantied by some fglowing mushrooms.
Walking alongside this ragtag bunch he'd just recently joined, Surtr tapped his fingers idley against the leather-wrapped hilt of his shishkebab. His eyes were busy staring at Stefanie's backside, though his mask made this difficult to discern. The girl didn't have his preferred proportions. He liked there to be enough bacon to burn, so to speak, but he had a weakness for strong women who could probably beat him to a pulp in a fair fist fight. It was a vice whose grip he rarely denied.
Warren's latest, and longest, bit of chatter caught the pyro's attention. A tragic tale of a village in peril. Nauseating. He valued each and every settlement, every candle in the darkness, but he didn't like Warren's attitude any more than Jacob did. Perhaps it was best to let Warren's village die if he, such an obnoxious, ungrateful little pup, was the 'best' they had to offer. Still, a job was a job.
"I'm willing to save your podunk little town, kid, but you'll owe me a favor- in caps."
Silas was quiet. He wouldn't help Warren, he knew that already. Silas would have saved the people in the town, there was no question of that. But he wouldn't sign on with Warren so that Warren's little group could do it for the townsfolk. Plus, Silas didn't like Warren's attitude any more than he liked Jacob killing Bren. It just didn't settle right with him. Warren wasn't the only one, though. This River girl seemed alright, if a bit awkward, but Silas didn't like this metal-head with the flamethrower. A little too cold and hard-hearted. That, and, although Silas couldn't tell, he was probably checking Stefanie out. Of course, Silas couldn't really talk on either count, as he wasn't going to sign up with Warren, and he had done the same thing that Helmet-boy was probably doing right now.
Silas sped up his gait slightly. He remembered that he had to talk to Jacob. However, before he got there, he caught up with Stefanie and handed her the sack of meds that he had gotten from scavenging. It was only after he left that he remembered that he could've put them into the trailer, but it was too late now. Silas approached Jacob and gently patted him on the shoulder to get his attention, then spoke quietly. "Jacob, I went an' got some meds on a scavengin' trip. Picked up a shitload fer this journey we're gonna be goin' on. However, I ran into someone else in the buildin': that Raider Maria, from up in New York. Suffice to say, she ain't breathin' no more. I dunno if yew plan on dealin' with the Claws, but that's one less fer yew to worry 'bout. An', before yew ask, no, I didn't feel too great 'bout killin' her, even though she was a murderer and she was the one who corrupted Bren first. The vigilante's life ain't one fer me anymore."
Warren looked at Surtr, and supposed it wouldn't be a bad thing to see those Raiders burn. They'd even done a little themselves. "Caps, always caps" He smirked at his own hypocrisy, his little band of holy fighters weren't exactly a free service. "Alright, how does 1500 sound?" He glanced at the flamer fuel lines on his back. Frowning, he dropped his eye line quickly and scratched absently at his hand. He would make a point of staying far away from this pyro monkey in a fire fight in the unfortunate circumstance that it quite literally became one if a fuel line was severed. "So, what's your name pyro?"
"Silas, feeling remorse isn't weakness. Showing remorse, now that, that's complicated. If that's how you do things, that's how you do things. As far as I'm concerned, my war with the Claws is over. Unless the new boss just turns 'em into another mob of raiders and low-lifes. And before you let Bren off and blame Maria for all his wrongs, I'd like to point out that there has to be that little seed of corruption there in a man already. All she did was let Bren's grow and thrive. You saw how blind he'd become to everything but himself and his conceited vision. He was a danger to us all," Jacob sighed. And yet, that didn't alleviate Maria of the blame. She was a Raider, lower than scum. Jacob blinked slowly and continued, "All the same, he wouldn't have become so twisted without her there to spread those little ideas of glory around him and the Claws. You did a good thing, Silas. Even if it sickens you to your stomach, you spared another victim from one of Maria's psychotic bursts. You saved another Bren from her twisted affections. Reasons be damned, you did the right thing."
Weston was still tip-toeing along the tunnel, one hand on the wall, the other hand was cleanced around a rock that sorta formed into a knife. Dealing with a few more talking ghouls that popped out of the ground and then went back into the ground, Weston soon left the un-devoklped strech and came across the Crusade portion of the base. Funny, how they never seemed to block off that area. Lights were strung up and down the hall waays, the Last Legions soldiers would run up or down them every once in a a while, travling in groups of two or three. Keeping his back to the wall, Weston looked from the side. A lone ssoldier this time was walking towards him. Taking a deep breath, Weston readied the rock knfie. Coming out from behind thwe asll, Weston jammed the improvised stabbing weapon into the Last Legion soldiers neck. It wa sjammed preety far, but, the soldier was'mnt exactly dead yet. Instead, he came back swining. So, the fight sorta went into a fist fight. Throwing a left hook, Weston knocked by the Last Legioniete. Recovering quickly, the soldier went in fior a knee to Westons face. Connecting, Weston was kncoked to the f;oor. Pushing himself up, Weston circled the wounded soldier, before head kciking him. Weston learned that trick from Stefinae, after he met up with her at Rivet Citty and a bar-fight broe out. Of coursre, it took him a while in order to do it without hurting his leg, but, he learned it. The soldier sutmbled back, and Weston went in for the kill. Forming his hand in a arrow, Weston lifted the soldiers neck up and crushed the unkonwon soldiers wind-pipe. Watvching qs the soldier gagged for air, Weston simoply took the Last Legion soldiers gun, a Thomposon, and took the soldier into a supply closet, where, as luck would have it, was a few clips of /45 ammo and a spare uniform. Putting on the uniform, which was a bit large but fit, Weston walked down the hallway. Trying not to gain the notice of any other Last Legion soldiers, Weston went nto a small bathroom area and waited in one of the stalls. He needed to think a little on what to do next. Removing the helemtn ,.Weston light a cgiarette. Checking the pcokets of the new- uniform, Weston found as map of the Jersulam area., inclduing te floor layout. Praying to whoever was listening, Weston stuided the map. He needed to get to the weapons room. Now, just where to find it...
What sounded like a whistle resounded inside Surtr's mask as Warren announced a sum. It might be a lie, he knew, but he could immolate that bridge when he came to it.
"Wealthy little podunk town, I guess. Call me Surtr," he introduced himself, more in the tone of a command than an informative statement.
Fireman
Stefanie looked at the bag of meds as she walked, with an inkling, but uncaring, that someone may be doing a visual study of her backside. She couldn't blame them. She knew Silas had, and she gave him a small grin as he handed her the med bag. He'd even gotten ahold of some Buffout. Perfect. She looked over her shoulder, where the new guys, Surtr and Warren, were making some sort of deal. She then looked ahead to where Silas and Jacob were having a discussion. Jacob, despite his ferocity, seemed reassuring to Silas. Nobody saw that side of him that often. Stefanie's own thoughts drifted to the Last Legion. Her enemies. They'd passed a gathering group of Horde wasters who'd said that the Last Legion was already shelling Horde positions, but that they were determined to displace them. She recalled what she'd seen from afar when the Last Legion fought the remnants of the Crusade. The blood-slicked breach in the walls, the whine of gunfire and artillery, the buzz of rippers and the clashes of steel. All the glowing eyes. Stefanie'd seen much in her short lifetime, and the thought or image of the red light eminating from their eyes didn't bother her. After all, beneath the armor and helmets and masks, they were still men. Men whose blood could still be spilt, whose bones could still be snapped, whose bodies could still be broken. Her friends, were more than men. They were more than flesh, bone, and blood. They had to be. She was taught my her last owner Maxwell, though he was a slaver, he'd taught her well, and refined her skills as a warrior. A man can be beaten. You must be immortal. When you doubt your immortality, and become mortal, you'll fail in a fight. His words echoed in her mind as she looked around at the group. Her friends were immortal, and they would not fail.
Cerebral Jack was ahead of the group, scouting. He didn't say he was scouting, but he thought it would have been obvious. Why else would he run up ahead of a group, lie low for a second, carve out instructions in the ground for the safest path, then start running again when the rest of the group was in eye sight? Well, he thought it was obvious. Anyway, he sighted a small Last Legion out post, three men at the least. Just them next to a small house with a radio in it probably. Un-slinging Sandman (Jack's Lincolns Repeater. Yes, I realize it's a stupid name) he took aim. He had a clear shot on two of them, with one inside the house next to a window. How the hell would he kill all three of them without alerting one that would use the radio to call for support? Thinking, he just took out his grenade launcher and slowly crawled with in range. Then blew them all to pieces. He loved his job.
"Surtr, I don't think Dave introduced you" Warren scratched his chin. "Or if he did I don't remember" Shrugging, he resumed to talking to Surtr rather than at him. "Alright, my name's Warren, but most call me Quick Draw" He would have held out his hand to shake it, but thought it would be awkward. "And I make good on my promises, we're getting 3000 from the job anyway" He knew it was hardly savvy to tell any Wastelander just how much money you had, since they were likely to heckle you, but Warren didn't heckle. He either leaves the deal, or he shoots if the first option is no longer viable. "So do we have a deal, Mr. Surtr?"
Roland walked over to Jacob and Silas and stood there quietly, rubbing his forehead. The gash he had recieved in Austin hadn't healed properly and a nasty scar had broken across his forehead. On top of that, his major concussion had jarred something in his head, and he was now afflicted with chronic migraines. Like right now. As a buzzing behind his eyes erupted and his brain floated in annoyingly hurtful pain, he adjusted his bloodshot eyes in Jacob's direction.
"That Warren guy's becoming a real nuisance," He said in a low voice. "As much as I would regret it afterwards, you want me to shoot him? Got a clear shot from here." The merchant had changed quite a lot from Austin, just not in obvious ways. He was easier to anger. He wasn't as sickened by the sight of blood. And, most jarringly, he was no longer afraid to pull the trigger on his fellow man.
Both hands unoccupied by his weapons, Dave moved along near the front of the group, keeping to himself. What was bothering him was why his dad had gone down here in the first place. From what Dave had learned during school, the Enclave had more than enough artillery to level the surface than the Crusade could muster for a response. Itching where his revolver holster met his arm inside his jacket, Dave scratched slightly as he stepped over an old corpse, noting how it was slumped against a wall with blood spattered over it. His bright orange goggles were still lit, although one eye had blown through with a stray round. His legs stuck out like chop sticks, and his arms were bent at the elbows, the upper arms leaned against the wall in the same slumped position. Dave took a moment to rip off the blood-encrusted Last Legion insignia patch from the man's shoulder pauldron, then pocketed it inside his jeans as a grenade explosion rocked the cavern. His hand immediately went to his revolver, but he decided not to waste the energy as Jack waved his hand that everything was fine. Getting a kick out of the fact that everyone else had done exactly the same thing, Dave relaxed his hands and continued onward, listening in as Roland offered to cap Warren for Jacob.
Jacob blinked, and then blinked again. Had Roland just offered to kill a man for the sake of reducing the aggro levols among the group? Jacob re-ran the last ten second's conversation. Yup, Roland had offered to kill a man for being annoying. Most worrying was the fact that he had offered to do so before Jacob had. That alone was horrifying, to Jacob at least, who saw Roland as an embodiment of the pragmatism he had long since lost. Jacob scratched his chin, considering Roland's offer for a second.
"Nah, better not, who knows how the other newcomers will respond to that," Jacob said, dissappointed that he had turned down an offer to silence Warren permanently. For a second, Jacob considered the fact that this merciful side was part of his mid-life crisis.
What next? Playing basketball with the younger members of the group? Going drinking with them until everyone was in a heap on the floor? A wardrobe refit to make himself seem younger? On that note, Jacob considered how depressing his black duster and combat armor were. Especially set to the background of his dark green cargo pants and grey t-shirt. He decided to pass all of that off as part of a mid-life crisis. Thus, he ignored it.
Jack walked towards the building he blew up not more then thirty seconds ago, whistling "I don't want to set the world on fire" before getting yelled at by Rolan to "shut his god damn trap". Bastard would probably shoot some one for annoying him. Anyway, as he continued walking, he saw a basket ball rolling towards him, fully inflated. Jack picked it up and started bouncing, in relatively good condition too. Looking eastward, he saw a basket ball hoop. It had no net, and was bent slightly in one direction, but Jack really didnt care. Throwing the ball into the net, he watched as it made a satisfying "Swish" sound.
Weston looked at the map that he had taken from the dead Last Legion soldiers pocket. It seemed, from what he could tell, that he was in level 14. He could either go down three levels and get some new weapons and ammo...or....
"Open up! I need to go!"
SHIT! Weston screamed in his mind. Grabbing his gear, Weston opned the door. There was a Last Legion soldier sarting right at him. 
"Hey, your nott Bobbyy..." said the Last Legion soldier.
Shit. Times Two.
Weston felt a massive slug from the mans fist his his face. One, the guy was problay using brass kncukles. That, or he used to bna boxer. Because, either way, they really hurt. By really hurt, i mean almost knocked out hurt. Weston saw and heard the man pop out the bathroom door, yelling for help. A squad of soldiers swarmed around him. There voices grew into a bunch of scarrteed noises, at least to Weston. Then, he felt being lifted up in the air, the uniform he was wearing being ripped off. Then, everything went black.
Staff Sergeant John Adams turned slowly, to see a unit dragging a waster in Ballistic Raid Armor into the interrogation room. He hadn't been expecting a visitor, he just came into this little torture chamber to be by himself to think from time to time. He smiled as he looked at Weston. The waster was young and panicked-looking. He wouldn't take long to break, but Roarke didn't have much problem with people torturing wasters for the hell of it after they ceased to be useful. Roarke himself interrogated people from time to time too, and regularly beat prisoners to death with his bare hands after he had extracted all useful information from them. The soldiers rapidly went about stripping Weston down to his t-shirt and jeans, and tied Weston by the wrists to a railing running across the room as Adams nodded to it. Weston goraned as his toes barely touched the ground. Then they chained Weston's ankles to the floor.
Adams circled Weston, not saying a word as he rolled up the sleeves of his fatigues and began stretching.
"What the hell are you doing?" Weston queried, trying to keep a straight face.
"Stretching, getting limber. Don't wanna pull a muscle when I beat you to death," Adams responded as if he was talking about the weather. Weston's smile disappeared.
"Now, let's start simple. I won't ask questions twice, so please endeavour to remember what I ask. If I have to repeat myself, things can only get worse for you. Adams locked the door and continued., "I'll start with my bare hands, see where that gets me. If that doesn't work, we can move onto tools and such. Hammers, pliers, pipe wrenches. If that doesn't loosen your tongue, I can move on to scalpels, razors, drills. Failing that, we'll have to get inventive. Electricity, partial drowning, extreme heat and cold, all that shit. Once we're done making you talk to us, I'll kill you."
Once he had finished his little speech, Adams punched Weston in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Weston tried to double over, but instead just wrenched his wrists in their chains. He tried to kick, but his feet had been chained to the floor too. So he wrenched his ankles too. Adams smiled and punched Weston's ribs, eliciting a roar as he struck the old wound from the last time Weston had been to Jerusalem.
"Oh, hit a soft spot there, did I?" Adams said, suddenly more interested.
Before Weston could respond, Adams headbutted him and followed up with a kick to the groin. Weston groaned.
"Well, that should take your mind off that pain in your side anyway," Adams said, "Right, you were found in the catacombs. How many more are down there, and what is their intent. We didn't find any bodies, so you must be the only one who got separated from the group."
Without waiting for Weston to answer, Adams punched Weston's right eye, followed by a swift jab to his left eye for the sake of symmetry. He then punched Weston in the gut again, and elbowed him in the face, nearly knocking out several teeth. Although he didn't look it, Adams was strong, freakishly so. Adams stepped back from Weston, letting the Wastelander catch his breath, spit out a little blood and whimper as his nose and eyes began swelling.
"Now answer me. Lets not forget what happens if I have to repeat the questions," Adams snapped.
"Only...one....who....came...."
Weston breathed. Westons head hang limply, before Weston groned and hung limply in his chains. A Mizture iof blood and slavia was dripping out of the left side corner of his mouth. Weston kept only one eye open, his other one preety much closed shut due to the swelling. Coughing, Weston wacthed as a little bit of blood fell on his shirt. Weston the turned his eye back over to his intergooater. This wasn't going to be fun. Not. One. Bit.
"Just Surtr," the mercenary fire enthusiast corrected, "And yeah. We may have a deal, if we make it out of this alive."
He of course intended to survive the battle. His work was too important. Too few people seemed interested in truly enkindling a reborn civilization from the ashes of the one that was destroyed in the nuclear exchange. He didn't really count Moire Brown or the Brotherhood of Steel among them, which meant the number was even less than some might estimate. Moire lacks the will, and the Brotherhood just sits in their clockwork ivory tower, collecting technology for its own sake. Perhaps, he thought, these people he was travelling with might. They might just be fighting for their 'wastelander freedoms,' however. What a sad thing, to fight for something so small in scope.
Warren nodded. "If we make out of this" Warren didn't like the use of the word "may" but he sure as hell didn't want to risk pissing Surtr off as he had Jacob, because he needed the help. Taking time to think more about this, he realised that if something more useful were to cross his path he would disregard his previous actions in a second and work towards getting that "something more useful". He didn't fancy being lumped in with all the other survivors who had lost their families; He didn't want to lose what little he had. He reached up and tugged the Hunting Rifle to stop the bolt poking into his back and looked over his shoulder at it thoughtfully. I need to trade up, maybe for one of those sweet Lever Rifles from Maryland Warren had never been to Maryland, but his group once met a man named Tobar who had been on a boat on the Potomac. They had traded, and Tobar just so happened to be carrying a Lever Rifle at the time. The guy was keeping it for 'Lurk shooting however, and he wasn't looking to trade it, much to Warren's dismay.
Jacob walked with an easy step, relaxing, in spite of the impending battle. He flexed his fingers as he went, moving with his usual crushing force. His boots, cut from trusty T-51b Armor, from the still-twitching carcass of an Airborne Shock Trooper, produced a satisfying crunch as he moved from the grassy wastelands to the gravelly ground surrounding Jerusalem. Gravel laid around by Crusade HighCom to make it harder to sneak up on their patrols. He could see smoke rising from the Horde camp, dozens of camp fires. The sun cracked over the horizon, lighting up the distant hills. Jacob crunched his feet around in the gravel. The last time he'd been here, he'd lost a dear brother in arms and a powerful ally. He looked towards the remains of Jerusalem. This would end soon. It would rain blood tonight.
"One thing I remembered from my time as a regulator. Wounds will heal, scars will fade. But Glory is eternal. We'll be remembered for generations to come," Jacob said to the group, smiling.
"That is some scary profound shit from a hard-case like you, Jacob," Jackal said to Jacob, walking up beside the big vigilante and looking at Jerusalem.
Just as everyone lined up alongside them, they heard the all-too-familiar boom of artillery. Massive shells detonated among the Horde tents, screaming down on the Horde soldiers, raining fiery hell down on the conscripts and volunteers like obscene rain, scattering limbs, blood and timbers among the survivors.
"Well, looks like we got us some guns to silence folks," Jackal said, drawing his Dadao and spinning it in his hand as he moved forwards.
"Stay behind me if you wanna live," Jacob said, unslinging Mother's Woe and following alongside Jackal.
----
Adams circled Weston, throwing the odd punch at the Waster, eliciting a grunt of pain, and the occassional groan. He picked up a bucket of cold water he'd been filling and dumped a cup of salt into it. He dumped it over Weston's head and stepped back, scratching his chin.
"Salt water conducts electricity, lone soldier. You'll give away your friends. Well, I wouldn't call them friends if they're leaving you in here to suffer like this," Adams said as he picked up a cable from the wall and separated it into two lengths, thick sparks jumping between them.
He pressed the cables to Weston's stomach. Weston roared in pain as the current flowed thourgh him.
"That's it, let it out. Pain is all you'll know till you talk you dumb sack of shit," Adams sneered.
Weston could feel two spearte burn marks on his stomach. Then, all he felt is pain. Elecetriy moved across his body, lookinh for more places to go. Cleching And closign his hands repadtly, Westons riar flled the room. After Adams pulled away the two cables, it subsides for whimpering and crying from Weston. Semi-collpasing and closing his eyes, Westons eyes came back to life when Adams grabbed Westons hair and threw him around a little bit. Weston slowly spat out his words, each of the little sounds he'd make brought out blood and spittle. 
"J-j-j-j- a-a-a- cob.Va-va-va-va ughton. H-h-h-h-he-he-'s coming!"
Weston finally manged to get out, befrore slumping in his chair, groaning with pain. Tears had gone past welling in his eyes. They were now running down his grime-sreaked face, leaving little trail marks. Weston then looked down. Two burns marks were on his shirt, and Weston could see his burned skin through them. Going back to groning and whimpering, Weston waited for the next round of his savage interogation.
Adams stepped back. He was one of the deserters who'd joined the Last Legion as Roarke advanced on DC. Adams had been at Fairfax. He had seen Vaughton tear through one of his squads like a raging god. He had seen him snap Rossi's neck, slash Duo's throat and tear Reno's lower jaw clean off. He'd seen him again during the DC Riots. Same man, deadlier, if such a thing was possible. Adams had never seen a man kill so many people so quickly. That knifework, hitting the weak points in power armor, the neck joints, that gap between the pauldron and breastplate, in behind the breastplate, under the arm. Piercing lungs, slicing throats. Vaughton was an animal. And he was coming. Those four small words struck terror into the hearts of every Crusader in DC. Because it alway seemed like he was coming for them in particular. And Adams had tortured one of Jacob Vaughton's friends! Adams stepped away from Weston, letting him fall to the ground.
Adams looked away and started pulling on his BRA. He needed to get up to where the Last Chancers were shelling the Horde camp from. He needed to get the hell away from these catacombs where Jacob Vaughton had slaughtered so many of his brothers in arms.
[[
Weston slowly stood uinglooked at the man who had toured him, who was running away. Weston did'nt give him the chance to let him leave the room. Picking up the chair and hurling it, Weston heard a bone-snapping crack. The man was now paralazed from the waist down. Falling to the floor, Adams started clawing at the ground, trying to get away. Grabbing his unifmorms cuff, Weston dragged him to where the two cables were. Touching them together, Weston stood over Afdams, a slight grin was etched on Westons face.
"I don't need fucking salt water, asswipe." Weston said, tonelessly.
Jaammming both cables into Adams eye sockets, Weston grabbed a another cable and cut it in half with a knife laying on a near by table. Jamming that cable into Adams mouth, Weston wacthed as the mans head quickly became nothing more then a charred peice of flesh, elctoured from the insdie out. Looking arond the room once more, Weston noitced a assualt rifle. Picking it, Weston checked the clip. Full of 30 rounds of goodness. Now to get to the armouy. The base was filled with confusin during the shelling, with soldiers running to and fro. Creeping out the room, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt, Weston made his way along the catacombs. First stop, armoury. Then Weston reallly looked at the gun. Same gun he's seen in a Crusade Outpost nearby. Something called a BPR. Weston cllooapsed the folding stock and went on his way, spitting out blood here and there.
Fireman
Stefanie put her hands on her hips as she observed Jerusalem from afar, for the third time. Standing in line, she listened to what Jacob had said. It had meaning. All her life she'd been looked at as a slave. She yearned for more. She didn't even break a grin as she thought of this. She could finally be somebody, assuming she survived the battle. She could make her parents proud. She put her hands on her hips and examined the scene. Explosions blossomed across the shanty towns of the Horde that sprawled before Jerusalem. Scattered groups of wastelanders and mercs returned fire with small arms and missile launchers. Jacob had ensured him that what looked like a full battle here was merely a skirmish compared to the bloodshed that would ensue tonight. Stefanie was ready. She popped in a Buffout and swollowed it, feeling a slight jolt that was all too familiar to her. She reached up and gripped the haft of Belton with her Power Fist, squeezing tightly as she drew the heavy weapon. Since leaving her home, she hadn't cracked a smile. She was prepared, mind, body, and soul. She'd seen bloodshed before, she'd seen battle, she'd even met death. Tonight, however, all would be dealt by her. Tonight, she would not fall. That was her mentalitly. Tonight Stefanie McRae was immortal, tonight, she was a goddess of war.
Roland thumbed the last of his shotgun shells into the NeoStead's receiver before shutting the barrel again and looking at the artillery. The last time he'd seen such effective use of explosives was Ranik's crew back in Austin- and this time, no-one was point-blanked by a terminal velocity mini-nuke, either. The merchant-slash-warrior pulled the helmet of his salvaged power armor on, the same suit that had seen him through the Hennard conflict, and quickly looked over the HUD display. All systems were green, as far as he could tell, so he replaced the NeoStead on his back and strode over to Jacob.
"Just like Fairfax," he said calmly. He then looked out at the Warrior Weapon, the brother-in-arms that had shed blood alongside him the day of the siege of Fairfax, the day of their escape from the Enclave on the west coast, the day of the Battle of Jerusalem, as he watched the Last Legion's bombs drop. Then he uttered those famous Roland Rockfort words: "You ready?"
"I was born ready Roland. It's like everything since Germantown has been leading up to this. This last throw of the dice. This is the make or break for the Horde and the Legion. Whoever wins will grind the other to dust, take them so low they can never rise again. This is as close to total war as the Post-War world will get for centuries. I can only hope it's us and the Horde winning. I don't like the idea of being a wanted fugitive for the rest of my life if the Legion carry the battle," Jacob said, scratching his chin.
"Jacob, you're throwing out some scarily profound shit every time you open your mouth recently, and it's starting to worry me that it makes sense," Jackal said, raising what was left of an eyebrow as he looked over at Jacob before continuing, "We can't lose this one. I'm saying that in the sense that we're not allowed to lose, as opposed to losing not being a possibility. If this goes arseways, we're all up a certain creek, without a boat, never mind a goddamn paddle."
----
Roarke stood among his Last Chancers, waiting for the disorganized Horde "soldiers" to rush the breach. He wondered if they'd manage to scramble an assault before the artillery wiped them out. He smiled inside his helmet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his Field Ripper. He drew his Chinese Assault Rifle and waited for the pathetic Horde attack to begin.
"Well, it seems the dogs don't like the fireworks. Such a shame that they can't appreciate the beauty of a shell bursting in their ranks," Roarke shouted to his soldiers. There was a racous shout from every mouth nearby, which was taken up by more and more until it built to a deafening crescendo within Jerusalem's walls. This was good. Very good.
"Where is it?" Weston said, through clenched teeth. 
In one hand, was a M1 Trench knife. In his other hand was clehcned a Crusade soldier. Well, Last Legion to be more exact. Gagging unfder the force of Weston pushing his thumb agiasnt his windpipe, Weston eased up enough. The Doctor slowly pointed towards a medical suppily cabinet. Weston rewared him with a stab in the throat. Jamming his knife as far as it could go into the man throught, Weston then horzaintlly pulled it out. The mans head was now half depciated.Slumping to the floor, with blood spurting out of its wounds Weston ignored the man. Raiding the medical supply cabinet, Weston found what he was looking for: Med-X. Taking one of the sryninges, flicking it and then taking a piecie of cloth nearby and wraping it around his upper fore-arm, Weston slowly eased the needle into his wrist. Pushing down on the top, Weston asighed with ease and slumped agiasnt a wall. Looking blanky at the celing for a few moments, Weston then stood up, grabbed his rifle and left the room. 
Peering around the corner of a wall, the hallway looked clear. He was near the armouy. So, that meant one of tweo things. One: everybody was either near those artielly guns he could hear booming, or, everybody waas inside the armouy. Creeping towards the armourys day, Weston thought for a second.
Lockpick? Too long, don't have the right gear...blow the door hinges off? Nah, mus conserve ammo...wait!
Taking as many steps back as he could before hitting the wall on the other side, Weston took a running start at the door. Running as fast as he could, Weston promrly fell down flat on his face.
"Shittt." Weston mumbled as he was getting up. Trying agian, this time he was sucessful. Smashing through the wooden door (I'm assuming here,, there problay metal, but, this looks cool in my mind.), Weston did a roll before bringing up to bear. Inside was a lone soldier. The two had a mexican standoff for a second. Well, more like a Mexican Standoff. Weston shot first. Hitting the men in his arm that was holding the .357 Desert Eagle, the gun fell to the ground with firing a shot. The Rest was too easy. Stepping over the dead body, Weston proucded to search the area for Ammo for his gun. Then, he felt woozy. Really, woozy. And...sleepy. Falling like a sack of poatoes, Westion closed his eyes for a moments.
A nap would'nt hurt... he thought. 
(He's passed out or something like that. He's not dead, don't worry!)
While most of the group had headed with Jacob.Alexis had made is way to the horde forces preparing for the attack.While there was no real leader of the horde alexis had a posistion of respecct among the majority of them and was rerasonably sure when he gave the order ey would charge."Men of the horde.Today we fight the largest battle this side of the apocolypse.We will destroy the last remnant of mankinds wirst foe in DC.The last remnants ofcrusade will be swept awaythe cround let out a momentus roar and with oneone body they charged towards the last legion forces's.Alexis was swept along with them and fel a momentus part of the history and saw men fall and others kill.The chaos was nothing compares to the first storm but there was more order,"For victory " he cried.
Dave replaced the shades over his eyes, then proceeded to make his way into the former warzone, stepping over numerous wrecked trucks, VTOLs, and other strewn about debris. His hand went inside his jacket as he drew his revolver, cocking the hammer and pulling it from the holster. Behind him, the others were spread out in various states, making their own path. The charge hadn't started yet, but Dave was hearing a lot of screaming and shouting, so the attack would come sooner or later. Dave honestly didn't care for the Horde; if any of them mistook him for an enemy, they'd get a .50 Heavy round to their head, and so would their buddies. To Dave, he'd kill anyone who wasn't already traveling with him; the Horde was no exception. The rumble to his left made him swivel as he realize the charge had started, and he was dead smack in the middle of it. A foolish Horde member saw him, mistaking him for an enemy. His rusty musket mis-fired, sending the weapon flying as the man stumbled backwards. As he regained his stance, Dave gave him a headshot, the man's head blown clean out. The lifeless waster fell backward as his midsection was blown out.. Dave whirled as he was stopped by Jacob, who tapped his assault rifle. Dave breathed for a moment, and nodded.
Strauss rested his Super Sledgehammer on his shoulder as he peered over at Alexis. "I thought I told that boy to lay off the drugs," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly. He'd just finished running a quick diagnostic on Worthington and his Sentry Bot, Frank, along with his own armour, before Alexis pulled that stuff with the crowd. He sighed, for a moment, as he peered up at what remained of Jerusalem after the two consecutive attacks against the base. He really could not help but smile slightly underneath his helmet. Odd as it may have seemed, but him knowing that he was - even if only partially, and to a miniscule extent - responsible for its current state gave him an empowering feeling.
He blinked as he heard small arms fire, shortly after the charge had started. Bit early, wasn't it? It then came to his attention that the shooting had taken place inside the mass of Horde soldiers. How typical. Without another word, Strauss broke off into a sprint, with Worthington and Frank trailing close behind him, towards the towering remnants of the base, alongside the mass of fighters, towards the Last Legion and into the fray.
Alexis hered the sound of a gunshot.Bit early he thought to himself,He then realised that the shoot had been from inside the mass of the horde.He ran to its firing point to see a man with his chest blown open lying in front of jacob and Dave.Alexis guestured to the body on the floor."alright one of you to did this.Im betting it was dave,I don't care,What i want to know is why did you do it".Strauss ran in behind alexis and answering his half formed question."One of these two shot a horde member.A nobody but still every life counts".
Roland arrived after Jacob and Dave, not one to be left out of combat while his friends shed blood around him. He found, sure enough, a Horde member had shot at Dave and Jacob had arrived soon after, followed by Strauss. Alexis looked like he was trying to (unsuccessfully) bitch out Jacob and Dave as the Horde ranks ebbed and flowed around them like the tide. Roland could barely hear him, but even from this distance the historian's voice grated on his nerves and lent force to an ever-growing migraine. 
"Alexis," he said, exasperated, "I'm sick of your bullshit already." The merchant looked through his power-helmeted visor at the historian, possibly a full head shorter than him while Roland was wearing power armor. "So," he said levelly, "I'd suggest you take a little nap, just like al the other children here."
Alexis got a dumbfounded look on his face, but it didn't stay there for long. With a single, gauntleted hand, Roland wrapped his arm around the back of Alexis's head and brought the historian's face down hard, bringing his knee up at an equal (or faster) speed. The resulting collision broke Alexis' nose and put him out cold. A couple Horde looters had seen Roland commit the dastardly deed and had started to turn on him, but one long look (down the barrel of his NeoStead) got them back into the charge. "So then, gentlemen," Roland said, back to his normal, jovial self in an almost bipolar manner, "Let's get this attack underway, shall we?"
Weston slowly regained consuiness. Graoning as he pushed himself off the floor, Weson stechted his back, and picked up his Assualt rifle lying agiasnt a nearby wall. Picking up a nearby tactial vest that had several holders for Ammo, Weston put three maginzes in each of the areas for, well, magzines. Thats when he noticed something, a flit of movement. Pointing his gun towards it, Weston walked towards it.
"H-h-hello?" he called oput. No responese.
"H-h-h-elllo?" he called out agian. This time, he was met with a small laugh.
Felling something wet drip down from the celing, Weston looked up. And there was Hennard. Well, Hennards body. Dutch's head. 
"Shit." However, Hennard was faster then Westons reaction time. Dashing towards Weston, after falling from the celing, Hennard-Dutch grabbed Weston and threw him agiasnt the wall. Thats when Hennard-Dutch began to speak.
"You know Weston, I never liked you. But, i consdier myself a gentlemen. I'll let you have a last drink. Tea?"
Weston was midly confused, to say the least.Here was Dutch and Hennard combined, offering a last cup of tea before he's killed.
"What the fuck?" was mall Weston could muster as a response at that moment. Sitting in a chair that came out of nowehere, Hennard-Dutch took out a teapot and pured the tea into a small cup. Weston was about to reach for it when Hennard Dutch lightly smacked him on his hand.
"It's hot, you'll burn yourself."
Cocking his head to the side, Weston used his eyes to look for a Wepon. Hennard-Dutch took a chair near Weston.
"Weston, you would'nt really kill your old friend, you you?"
"But your dead. Both of you?"
"Well, of course we are! Werwe just a figment of your imagntion. A projection of your fears. You see, your scared to die, and, your scared of being rejected by those close to you."
"...What?"
"You see, Mr. Weston, You left the group because you were scared that you would hurt something, yes?"
"Maybe...."
"Oh, don;t be silly. We know you did. Were a projection of your internal thoughts. We know what your thinking at all times."
Weston thought for a moment and was about to open his mouth to speak when Dutch-Hennard raised on of his massive hands and slicened Weston .
"And yes, we don't eally exist. You see, you think you see a combo of Dutch and Hennard. Instead, i'm really just a dead sioldier that you killed while you thought you were asleep. In fact, when this alloucation ends you'll see the rooms full of them!"
And, like that, Westons vision turned black, white and blurry. Looking around the room,. Weston saw several dead soldiers. One of them was sitting right across from him, laying agiasnt a wall, it's head with a fresh bullet hole. Then, the halloucation returned.
"See? Think about it Weston. Your mentally unstable! No bodyllikes that. Thats why you left, so then everybody would'nt figure that out. Your a pussy."
"What?"
"your a pussy. A wussy. A coward. chicken-shit."
"fuck you, i've been here 3 times before!"
"Not by yourself."
Dutch and Hennerd disapperd, and Weston was left alone, with 5 dead bodies. Shaking with mild fear, Weston cralwed into a corner. Pushing several crates together, he heard several men pounding n a door. 
Great. he thought. Jamming a fresh Mag home, Westons vision went Black and white gian. Then, it went just white. His body kept working, just his vison just saw white.No noise, just a room of white to Weston. Calm, comfroting White. Just himself, in his zone. Life was good.
Jacob smiled as he watched Roland smash Alexis. Two seconds more, and Jacob would have done the same. Except he may have killed Alexis. Actually, Jacob kind of wished Roland had killed Alexis, trying to rally the Horde like that. Jacob's hand rested on his trusty .223 Pistol. He reconsidered. Executing Alexis might not be a good idea after all. Jacob turned around and faced down the breach, as it filled with Horde volunteers and Legionnaires. Jacob's mouth cracked into a crooked smile. He could feel the weight of the past years fighting the Crusade and it's remnants wash from him in a great, sweeping rush. He nodded to Roland on one side and Strauss on the other. Stefanie was already rushing forwards, outpacing them. Jacob broke into a run, long powerful strides catching up with the more diminutive Stefanie quite quickly. Roland and Strauss were charging along in great power armor assisted strides. Jacob fired Mother's Woe as he went, running throwing his aim off something fierce, but the bullets that actually hit made their mark.
Jackal was firing his Shotgun's underslung SMG as he rushed forwards, somehow keeping pace with Jacob. He really hoped he wouldn't put his back out or something. That'd be embarrassing. He crouched, lifting a corpse to his shoulder and using it as an ablative shield as he went. Jacob was doing his usual thing, moving in weird stacatto steps, ducking and weaving at odd angles, and somehow, the bullets just slid around him, as if the Last Legion guns weren't pointed at him. Jackal watched men and women fall around him as they approached the breach, but the press of bodies behind Jackal made him keep going. People at the back were shouting "Forward", while the voices at the front were calling for a retreat.
Charging up the breach, Jacob watched as Roland and Jackal and Strauss and Stefanie rushed up alongside him. Surtr and Warren and River rushed up too. Silas and Dave and Domingo charging up too. Jacob reached the first line of Last Legion soldiers, spinning on his heel, Jacob slammed the solid steel stock of Mother's Woe into the first face, splintering the soldier's BRA mask and cracking his head back. Jacob stamped downwards on the soldier's neck as he fell, finishing the job. Jacob slung Mother's Woe and grabbed an SCM Officer Sword. He gashed the next throat to come withing reach and stabbed the next chest. He spun low, hamstringing another soldier, then stabbed downwards into the soldier's chest as he fell.
Jackal laid about himself with his Dadao, hacking off legs and arms as he went, hacking off any head that came within easy reach. He moved like a whirlwind in the breack, his heavy-bladed weapon cleaving flesh, bome and armor with equal ease. Men screamed and went silent at his pasage, limbs lay shorn from their owners as heads rolled down the breach in the raging Ghoul's wake. Jackal lashed out yet again, splitting a Legionnaire's head in half. He spun back, slashing another soldier's chest twice, before whirling back towards the breach, striking a Last Chancer so hard his back was opened as Jackal's Dadao passed through his chest.
"Come on motherfuckers!! Get it while it's HOT!" Jackal roared at the top of his lungs as he whirled his sword in his grip.
Strolling out of the armouy while lighting a cigarette, Weston took one deep puff. If anybdoy bvorthered to look inside the said Armouy, they could find 11 dead Last Legionares. If any body bothered to look at Weston, they could see that he had a BPR strapped to his back, a tatical vest with three spare magzines for said Rifle, and two thomposns. Yes, Two Thomposn Submachine Guns. Looking closer, they might have noticed the fact thaTt Weston was now wearing a bullet proof vest underneath the said vest. They might have even noticed that Westons pockets were chock full of 30 Rounds stright Magzines for the two thompsons. Walking down the hallways, Weston ntoiced that they were empyty. Good. Finding a elevator, Weston pressed the button that said "top floor". Taking the easy ride up, Weston was then confrotned by Chaos. A Bullet pinged off the elvator door while he was exiting. Stepping on a platform above the main fighting, Weston easily cut down the few Last Legion sinpers that were raining down death upon the Horde's soldiers. Thstas when Weston took the postion for himself. Reloaidng both guns, bracing himself he called out to the Last Legion soldiers.
"HEY! LIMP-DICKS! THINK YOU CAN KILL ME? HUH? THINK YOU CAN WOUND ME? FUCK YOU!"
Weston shouted. Even if the Last Legion did'nt hear him or not, Weston opened fire with his thomposns. At the same time. Of course, it was wildy inactutare, but, most of the bullets hit where he wanted it to go. Stopping to reload, Weston crouched behind a nearby wall. Coming back out from that, Weston shouted agian.
"I'M THE FUCKING JUGGERNAUT, BITCHES!"Using his left arm to fire upon the Last Legionatres fighting at the breach, Weston used his right arm to fire upon a Last Legion soldier charging at him with a Ripper. Going back to firing upon the LAst Legion soldiers at the bbreach, Weston thought he caught a glimmer of his friends. 
"FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF YA'LL!" Weston shouted gian, before going in for a reload and then more dual-weilding thiompson firing madness.
Silas Webb stood in the midst of a mass of men, gradually creating a field of dead bodies around him. Any Legionnaire that got too close was soon met with a variety of painful fates. Death by .44 Magnum and 5.56 rounds seemed to be the most common, although a quick stab or slash from his Bowie knife or strikes and kicks also worked their way into the mix. Silas stood in the midst of it all, adrenalized and almost euphoric as he fought off the Crusade splinters, screaming to his enemies, "Hell yes! This's a job fer a fuckin' cowboy!" This was usually followed by colorful phrases and statements such as "Fuck yew!", "Take that, bastard!", "I'll tell yer mother that yew did yer best!", and the ever-popular "Die!"
Fireman
Stefanie charged into battle alongside Jacob, Jackal, and Conor Strauss. The quartet pummelled Legionnaires by the dozen. Around her, she caught glimpses of the others. Surtr, Warren, River, Roland, Domingo, and the rest. She still had her mentalitly though. It was no time to lose it. She ducked the bayonetted swing of a Legionnaire and lashed out with a sidekick at a secind, sending a burst of fir into the air as his weapon discharged. She swung an uppercut from her Power Fist, into another. In a quick slam, she brought Belton down on his head, flattening the Legionnaire. With a dodge, she simultaneously slung Belton and rolled up, assuming a wrestling stance as a Legion Officer lunged with an SCM Officer Sword. Catching his arm, she twisted her hip into his thigh and swung through, tossing him over. She rolled up quickly, catching his head in her calves. With a sickening crack, she snapped them sideways as she stood up, bracing her shoulder into another Legionnaire, who was charging past toward Strauss. The unexpected shoulder block floored the surprised man and Stefanie was sitting on his chest in a moment, drawing her "Stabhappy" Combat Knife. She briefly noted the smiley face on the blade as she flicked it across the man's throat. Sticky blood sprayed on her as he gargled beneath her. She stood up, not even examining her work, and moved to the next target. The Legionnaire was about to club River with the butt of his R91, when Stefanie grabbed around his arms and head and sunk her knife into his abdomen. Flicking it upward and cracking his ribcage, then an equally quick and powerful stroke across, his intestines spilled to the ground as he sagged and fell beside them. Stefanie looked at River, who seemed visibly disgusted, and green around the gills. She stomped down hard on the gasping man's throat, as he tried to gather his innards. She flung her knife at another man, watching it crack the lense of his BRA helmet and sink into his eye socket to the hilt. She'd have to get that later, she thought as the man twisted and collapsed. His dying volley of shots cut down two wastelanders, but Stefanie paid them no heed. They looked like raiders anyway. Stefanie drew Belton again as she charged further into the mass of humanity that was destroying itself in the breach of Jerusalem. Stefanie was a rampaging goddess of war, immortal and unstoppable, killing at will within it.
While the rest of the group were off trying to breach the walls, Jack and a group of Horde soldiers were digging a way into Jerusalem. Or into Jerusalem's tunnels, that is. " Stop digging or I'll cut your fucking balls off by the end of this!" Jack was screaming at the top of his lungs. If he survived this, that is. Thinking like that would gut him killed, but he had been through worse. Well, not really, bu it helped to think like that anyway. If he were to die now, he hoped that some douche would remember that he had a girlfriend, and alert her of his death.
If Stef was a goddess of war, then Roland was either a holy warrior or a posessed one. Firing his NeoStead one-handed into the forehead of a charging Legionnaire, Roland watched as the spray blew up his arm to the shoulder, painting the appendage an unpleasantly bright shade of crimson. Grimacing at the prospect of having to wash himself of the blood, Roland took a Legionnaire out when the soldier attempted to take him out with a Field Ripper. Rolling out of the way of the whirring blade of death, Roland shoulder-blocked the man in a manner similar to Stefanie's recent attack, and brought up his fist. The blow caught the man in the ribcage, breaking two ribs and causing the soldier to double back in pain. Roland followed up with a swift low kick, sending the poor bastard sprawling to the ground. A final coup de grace to the back of the head brought the Legionnaire down for good.
The merchant spotted Domingo and El Oso rampaging across the battlefield a few hundred yards away, DOmingo firing the laser chaingun from the passenger seat and keeping the T-bar down in some uncharacteristically odd manner, either crushing them against the tank's wicked spiked plow or sundeirng them under its studded tracks. Yep, he doesn't need help. Roland thought as another Legionnaire came at him and fel, splattered, to the ground in a whirring cloud of buckshot.
'Click''
'Click,click''
"Shit!"
Weston quickly dropped back into cover before several Last Legion or Horde soldiers that were intdend for him hit his head. And that would'nt have been preety. Brining up a new magzine, well, his last magzine, Weston fired once more. Dropping one of his Thomposon's, Weston took aim, and fired in bursts. 
"30....25....20....15.....10....5...."
click
Dropping his other Thomposons, Weston unslung the Base Persnoal Rifle, or, otherwise known as the BPR. He perfered BPR. Moving down the staircases to the Jersulam courtyard, a shotgun shell whizzed by him. Doing a complety unnesscary shoulder-roll to a nearby sangbag atrea, Weston took aim for one that was about to bring a Ripper down on what it seemed like Roland. Firing, The bullets hit the ma's back, most likely severing his spine. Ducking into cover, Westonm peered over the edge of it agian. Weston could see some of his friends, including Celberal Jack, Domingo and a few iothers. They were still at the breach, the poor fools. 
"Shit..."
Then the Med-X side affect hit him. Cloassping behind his cover, Weston looked deasd to whoever passed by him, Instead, Weston was dreqming, Dreaming about if he had superpowers, what would he do. A Odd dream, yess. But, odd dreams come with odd times.
Dave fired three rounds in succession, almost flying on his back from the sheer recoil of the .50 Magnum Revolver. All three rounds slammed into a Last Legion Officer, literally tearing his chest apart. As the man fell to the ground quivering, a medic came up on him, big red crosses identifying him all over his armor. Dave kill him too. A fourth round served to enter as the base of the neck and exit at the back with an excess of blood and brains. As the man collapsed next to his dead comrade, Dave holstered his revolver and turned, expecting to find Jacob or Roland behind him again. Instead, he found a waster, a rather bulky one, slamming into him and throwing him into a military truck, cracking the glass as Dave fell moaning on the ground. Lying on his back, Dave felt an aching sensation as he struggled to move. His head felt very woozy, and his eyesight was less than coherent. The big wasters stepped over him, wielding a 2x4 with nails in it. However crude, one strike from the nails with force would both break the board and quite possibly kill Dave. As Dave fumbled to reach into his jacket and attempt to find his revolver holster, the waster straightened, then collapsed in a heap, a figure standing behind him with a big ol' super sledge. "Connor?" Dave asked. "Stefanie." The figure said, annoyance in her voice. "You don't look like a girl to me. Have you had plastic surgery?" Dave said, his state of being having been knocked down several meters by the truck throw. The next thing he received besides a hand helping him up was a punch to the face, then being helped up again by the same hand. His hands on his knees, Dave thanked Stefanie, then vomited for a few seconds.
Fireman
Stefanie slapped Davie on the shoulder as she turned to move away. That waster would've issued him a blunt labotomy, had she not intervined. Stefanie didn't know what the exact objective was, but she didn't really care either. Jacob had said something about killing Nathaniel Roarke. She figured he would. These wasters were lucky that they were here. They wouldn't stand a chance against the Last Legion without them. Stefanie didn't care too much about how many wasters were being slaughtered by the Legion. All she cared about was her friends. She waded back into the thick fighting, wide swings from Belton scattering soldiers before her. She danced through the seeemingly clumsy swings of her opponents and delivered death swiftly. These former Crusaders were some of the best fighters in the wasteland. Ordinary wastelanders were being torn apart. Stefanie and the rest weren't normal wastelanders, however. Stefanie had no idea who'd started this war, but the wasteland would be well rid of it. Despite the appalling losses, the Horde was pushing itself further into the breach in Jerusalem, the fighting spilling into the courtyard as the less numerous Last Legionnaires began giving ground. A fresh onslaught staggered the advance as reinforcements entered the fray, firing a volley into the mass that killed wasterlander and Legionnaire alike before charging in.
Stefanie met another officer amidst the melle. This one was more skilled than the first. Stefanie had countered his lunge as she had before, but this time, the man rolled out of it and Stefanie jumped back to avoid an upward swing of his SCM Officer Sword. She swung Belton around and the man ducked under, Belton finding a spot in some unlucky waster's chest and sending him flying. The officer spun low to swing at Stefanie's legs, and she jumped to avoid the swing. She felt the blade graze her midsection as she backed from another blow. Not deep but it drew blood, Stefanie paid it no heed as she switched from defensive to offensive. The officer continued to spin and hacked off the arm of a screaming wastelander, who was lining up a shot behind him. Stefanie was not going to die today. As he turned, she spun with a heel kick, the spur on her boot smacked through the BRA gas mask, and the man was dragged to the ground, dropping his sword and clutching his face. She wrenched it free and stepped back as the man ripped his helmet and gas mask off. The spur had gone clean through his cheek and into his mouth, and he spit out blood before rising into a tackle that bore Stefanie to the ground. She lost hold of Belton as the two warriors began more of a wrestling match than a duel. The officer grasped for Stefanie's throat, and she choked for breath as he applied pressure. She'd been in this situation before. She slapped the sides of the man's head simultaneously, the sound and force reverberating as his hearing dwindled. She slapped again and felt breath as he released the pressure. Rolling over, she felt him wrap his hands around her waist and saw the world tumble backwards as he flipped her over. She landed with a huff and turned, grabbing around the man's neck in her own chokehold, then releasing when she had no leverage. Rolling to her stomach, she dug her legs into the ground, her powerful calves and thighs giving her force as she pushed upward, lifting the man and slamming him sidewayswas. She straddled his stomach as he tried to sit up and caught his head in a reverse choke, wasting no time pressing her advantage. She applied pressure quickly, her bicep flexing as she choked the man, and she twisted her torso sideways, hearing vertibrae snap as the officer released his bearhug and went limp. She stood up and picked up Belton as another group of wastelanders pushed by her. She'd hoped somebody had seen that bit of work she'd done. It was a good kill.
Alexis was mad.There is a fine line bettween sanity and madness and alexis had triped over it,His vission was filled with images of dead bodys and burning wreckage,Most prominat among the bodys was the blank expresionless face of the man dave had shot and a smooking revolver.Sudenly the image of Rolands knee came towards him and he awoke.
Alexis was surounded by horde members.The charge must still be going on he thought,Picking himself up he joined the mass of people assualting jeruselum.His own friends and family were somewhere in that mass and he would find them.Shooting a legionarie in the head alexis felt a burning anger inside him.Not for the crusade or last legion but for roland,Alexis hated the way people treated scum like dave and jacob like somthing special.Scum like them existed all over the waste but the two of them were scum of a diferent kind,Jacob claimed to be diferent to raiders and scum like that but to alexis jacob vaughton was exactly the same as the raiders.Both of them had no sense of morals the only diference was that jacob claimed to be diferent.At least raiders were honest.
Regardless of that fact the crusade were more dangerous at this time and alexis regoined the charge.He would deal with roland when he had an army at his back.
Roland noted, between ripping out a Legionnaire's trachea and putting his fist through a Psychoed-up waster who took him for a Crusader, that Alexis had both regained his consciousness and "leadership" of the shattered, broken horde ranks within Jerusalem's walls. Shucking a few shells into the recievers of his NeoStead's twin barrels, Roland grunted. A crusader's knightstick broke across the back of Roland's helmeted head, and a quick backwards elbow jab threw the soldier to the ground with a collapsed windpipe. 
It was almost a surreal moment for Roland. Ever since that blow to the Forehead in Austin, some memories of his training as an Institute assassin had begun to sneak back to him. When he was fighting, he would suddenly recall the best nerve cluster to strike in order to incapacitate his opponents, the weak points of combat armor, where to unload his ammunition into a wall, at what angle and from what distance for proper through-the-wall fatalities. It was both disturbing and euphoric at the same time, and Roland sometimes became disturbed by it. He had begun to spend long periods in the bunkhouse of the Grey Lady, locked away from the world with a bottle of whiskey, purging the memories of those he'd killed from his mind with the abrazives of harsh alcohol. Sure, it was a bad idea to bury sorrow with a drink that only made you depressed, but it seemed to work. Although the hangover, combined with the constantly overshadowing migraine buzzing at the back of his head, put him in a constantly dour, borderline-angry mood. When he'd had painkillers or morphine, sure, he felt better, but his cargo was damaged goods, to use a charming euphemism. He'd read enough copies of the DC Journal of Internal MEdicine to know that brain trauma was nigh-on incurable. 
So, to stop his internal conflicts, he lifted up a Legionnaire one-handed and threw him into the Horde raiding party. Yeah, that felt better. Nothing like senseless violence to clear the mind of brooding and the like.
Jacob spun around, turning the Legionnaire's impact off with little effort, As the man staggered awayy, Jacob spun back to him, bringing up his boot in a quick, snapped front-kick, doubling the soldier over. Jacob's elbow came crashing downwards into the man's upper back. Dorsal Vertabra Three, the "Keystone of the Spine", split and broke under the force of Jacob's elbow and the world went dark for the Legionnaire. Jacob spun back towards the breach, backhanding an officer as he rushed towards him. Jacob had been lucky with that one. The man hadn't been ready, his sword low by his side. Unforgiving as usual, Jacob stamped down on the back of the officer's neck before he could rise.
Jacob nodded to Stefanie as she shouted something at him, then ducked as she swung her hammer. Jacob heard the distinctive crunch of a Super Sledge blasting through a human chest behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a soldier falling, a gaping hole smashed in his chest by the impact of Belton. Jacob nodded his thanks as he stood up, then pulled Stefanie from the path of an oncoming PFC, calmly driving his Ka-Bar up under the unfortunate Legionnaire's chin and into his throat. He felt blood splash over his back and turned to see Jackal standing over a headless Lieutenant.
"Eyes open Jacob. I won't be here to save you every time," Jackal said with a skull-like smirk.
"Nor I you, Jackal." Roland throttled a Last LEgionnaire that was creeping up on Jackal in stealth mode, ripping out his breathing mask's oxygen tube and punching him in the throat before hurling him towards a derelict trench where he lay still. The merchant smiled behind his helmet and moved on down the battlefield. "This portion looks like it's been cleared out except for the Horde idiots who are looting. Let's get moving."
And I thought I was brutal. River stared at the carnage Stefanie caused. It was there and then that River decided that she liked this girl.
"Here." She tossed a stimpack to Dave, who still looked dizzy as all hell. "Don't die."
One little two little three little assholes... River hummed to herself as she shot at the Legionnaires. She LOVED this new gun!
Four little five little six little assholes, seven little eight little assholes, watch their heads aspload.
Dave gladly caught the stimpak in one hand, showing off the pearly whites to give his appreciation to River. "I've been hit by worse." Dave said, his grin disappearing at the not so fond memory of the Anterk that had punted him. Jamming the stimpak into his arm and wincing slightly as it entered the open wound on his arm. Removing a bandage from his backpack, Dave quickly wrapped the dressing around his arm, then put his backpack on again. Drawing his revolver from the holster underneath his arm, Dave drew it from out of his jacket again, spinning it on his finger before catching it on the handle, aiming, and shooting straight through the unprotected neck of a Last Legionnaire who was about to bring his M1 Trench Knife through River's neck from behind. The man fell backwards, and River was none the wiser as she continued to fire her rifle. Revolver in hand, Dave limped past the young woman, briefly reminded of the General's daughter. A grin returning to his face, Dave turned to find a Last Legionnaire and another bulky waster grappling for control of an SCM APAR, struggling to seize the heavy rifle. Dave aimed and fired twice. The first round caught the waster in the stomach, punching a nice little hole in his midsection and dropping him as he groaned. The next shot grazed the helmet of the Legionnaire, sending him spinning as the APAR hit the ground, it's trigger going off and firing the weapon. Rounds caught several wasters and a legionnaire in various parts of their bodies, some of them fatal. Dave promptly fired a third round into the dazed legionnaire, then pulled the M1 Trench Knife from his boot leg. It was a nice knife; basically a KaBar rip-off. Sheathing it in his boot to replace his old one he had left at the shack, Dave turned to find Alexis staring him down from across the battle, anger flashing in his eyes. Grandpa wants a fight? Dave thought. Maybe it was because Alexis had got a nice little strike from Roland. Anyhow, Dave would have to pick himself carefully. If the Horde won this one, and Alexis used that influence of his, Dave could be missing a head if there was enough of them wasters swarming him.
"BOOM! Kneeshot!"
There was, quite literally, a quiet boom as Strauss swung his Super Sledge, appropriately, into a Last Legionnaire's kneecaps, producing a brutal snapping sound as he fell to the ground, his legs contorted in unnatural ways. Strauss took the liberty of plunging the bladed end of the massive hammer-haft into the soldier's face, kicking his body before moving onto the nearest of his comardes, slamming him square in the chest with the weapon and sending him reeling. A Horde soldier who really didn't look much older than fifteen suddenly emerged from the ground and started jumping on said Last Chancer's chest, before shooting him in the head with a .32 pistol and moving on, firing pot shots in the general direction of a large mass of the opposition before being cut down by automatic fire himself. Strauss swore as he realised he'd allowed himself to be distracted, making himself an open target, and glanced around to notice that nobody was attacking him. With a sigh of relief, he suddenly heard something scraping against the armour plating on his back.
He span around to find himself face to face with what he presumed was a Last Legion soldier in looted Power Armor, still adorned with the colours of the old Airborne. In his hands was an ornate-looking Officer's Sword which he presumed was the Praetorian variant. Strauss dropped his hammer and backed up as another strike came, before drawing one of his own swords.
"Come on! COME ON!" He bellowed. He aimed a clumsy thrust with his sword, which the Last Chancer counteracted by simply whacking his wrist out of the way and lunging in for the kill. Strauss managed to lift his other arm in defense reflexively, and the blade hardly scratched his Pip-Boy. Huh. Guess they are built to last.
The two of them circled one another, with Strauss occasionally going on the offensive only to be battered away almost effortlessly. "See, asshole, I'm the one with training," The Legionnaire lectured before headbutting Strauss after a riposte, "you may as well just give up and die now because I'm going to win eventually no matter wha--" He was interrupted pointedly by an RPG hitting his back, sending him flying over Strauss' head. The Wastelander gave a thumbs-up to Frank, who resumed mowing down the enemy left and right with his minigun, flanked by Worthington who did much the same, before moving onto his own next target.
Waking up just in time to see somebodys body hurling through the air and hitting the wall behind him with a loud Thump, Weston pushed himself onto his feet. The Fighting was spilling out into the courtyard and it was getting way more intense. The Horde actually manged to get a foothold within Jersulam. Imagine that. Ducking behind the sandbags just was several Last Legion soldiera ran by him, Weston creppet along the outer, well, outskirts of both forces, before winding his way back towards the Horde forces. Stopping and taking what looked like to be a Ski-Mask from a dead Horde member, Weston wore it. Streching his back, Weston grabbed somebodys combat knife and moved into the fray. With his BPR Rifle strapped to his back and Knife in hand, Weston caught a glimspes of his friends. Moving towards them, Weston was confrotnmed by a Last Legion soldier. Going in for a slash in the neck, Weston mis-judged it and stumbled forward. The Last Legionare cam forward with a jabbing attack, but, Weston Stabbed the man's arm. Howling in pain, the Last Legion soldier attemped a kick to Westons side. Taking it in the same spot where his gut wound was, Weston drew that mans .357 Desert Egale and exucted him.
"WWHAT!"
He shouted. Jacob Vaughton..r was that somebody else? Looked at him funny for a moment before they went out there rampage. Weston counited to use the .357 Desert Eagle/Knife combo. Althought the DE was terrible in Close Range due to the reciol, it still was preety good to use. Putting it to a Last Legions soldier's heasd that was attacking a nearby Horde Soldier, Weston fired a single round. Blood sparrted onto Westons and said Horde mebers clothes, but, the adavnce contiened. As it should. As it should/
==Act 3==
Alexis continued his push into the mass of legionaries shooting eatch one as he went.A bodyguard of horde members surounded him and together they were storming through the legionaries.Alexis was still mad at roland but his passion was forged into anger at the crusade.He shot one legionarie in power armour but he didn't die.The man took out another one of alexis's mob before he was taken down by the massed fire of 100 hordesman.
Alexis took a view of the battle as a whole.In terms of the casualties the last legion were doing amazingly well but the harsh numbers of the horde had worn down there defences.In general prespective the batle was turning in the favour of the last legion though.Alexis needed that rapture co force and members of his group to get here as fast as posible.
Then, just as things seemed utterly hopeless for the Horde, there was a deep, loud rumble. The entire battle froze as part of the courtyard collapsed. Jack and the Rapture Company mercs charged up through the gaping hole, leading a mob of Wastelanders into the heart of the Last Legion forces. The big guns went silent as their operators raised their assault rifles to defend themselves from this sudden onslaught. Shots ripped into the Horde and Rapture Company rush, cutting down mercs and Wasters alike, but the attack didn't falter. Not one step back. The screaming mob rushed forwards, firing guns haphazardly or waving clubs and blades over their heads as they went.
Artillery Captain Johnson was ordering volleys of fire as the enemy rushed across the courtyard.
"Fire," He shouted. The Waters kept coming, "FIRE!" He repeated. No sign of the Horde stopping, "FIRE AT WILL!"
The artillery crews fired their rifles again, emptying their clips into the rampaging wasters. They fired and fired, but none of the Wasters even faltered, charging over the bodies of their fallen comrades. The artillery crews scattered as the Horde reached them, running like blind chickens in the face of overwhelming enemy forces. The wasters ran amok in the artillery positions, maiming and killing, and destroying anything they could break. Some even spiked the guns.
Roarke stood at the head of the breach in Jerusalem's walls, looking around as the sudden assault threw his forces into chaos. How had those bastards tunneled into the tunnels? He was furious. There were enemies outside the walls and inside. His forces had been divided, and they were outnumbered from the off. Roarke roared, swinging his Field Ripper around in a broad arc, cleaving through two Horde "soldiers". He let the weapon's weight carry it on, impaling a third.
"Stand fast! Hold this line! Not one step back!" Roarke shouted.
Jack spotted Roarke shouting in the breach. He shook his head. What a dick. Roarke really had to die. And Jack was going to be the one to do it. He forced his way through the heaving melee, stabbing about himself with his own Ripper. Not nearly as large as Roarke's weapon, but still a formidable piece of equipment. He gripped it in both hands, revving it as he cut through a Last Chancer's chest.
"Roarke! Fuck you!" Jack shouted as he lunged at Roarke's back. Roarke, taking advantage of the Field Ripper's balance, spun the haft through his grip, swinging it up behind himself and intercepting Jack's attack.
"Getting ahead of yourself, then lad." Roarke snapped to Jack. He stepped away, rotating the Field Ripper back around and taking it in a two-handed gip as Jack assumed a relaxed fighting stance. Perfect for slashing, just like a Ripper was supposed to do. He looked Roarke in the eye, the glowing lenses looted from BRA helmets returning his gaze. Combat seemed to circumnavigate them. The entire battle seemed to know that this was a duel that could decide the outcome of this assault, and so gave it a respectful berth.
At some unspoken signal, the two hurled themselves at each other, locking blades immediately as Roarke's Field Ripper sheared teeth from Jack's mere Officer's Ripper. Jack stepped away, as did Roarke, pulling their blades away from each other. They began to circle, throwing the odd attack, but just sizeing each other up for now. Roarke looked Jack in the eye and moved forward, beginning a surprisingly quick salvo of slashes and cuts, which even Jack was herd-pressed to keep at bay. Jack sidestepped an attack and swung at Roarke's stomach, but Roarke grabbed Jack's wrist, preventing the attack connecting. Roarke headbutted Jack in the face in response, sending the younger man to the ground. Jack kicked out, forcing Roarke back and gaining himself some much-needed breathing space. He rolled to his feet as Roarke stepped forwards again.
This time, when they locked blades, Roarke reversed the rotation of his Field Ripper's chain, taking Jack by surprise. In spite of this, Jack managed to keep a grip on his Ripper. Jack moved to separate again, but as he drew his blade away, Roarke decided not to do the same. As Jack's ripper left the clinch, Roarke followed through, cutting deep into Jack's shoulder, and on into his chest. Jack spluttered and fell. As he lay, coughing up his lifes blood on the ground, Roarke kicked the assassin's weapon away.
"So, your confidence was misplaced. Pity. You could have been a good soldier. If your ego wasn't so fucking swollen." Roarke said. He raised his Field Ripper with the intent to finish the job. Just in time for Jacob's shoulder charge to flatten him and knock the wind out of him.
"It all ends here Roarke. Everything ends here," Jacob snarled at the winded Colonel as he rose.
Alexis was about to give up when a visable hole opened in the lines of the legionaries."Into the breach" he yelled.The massed forces of the horde pilled into the gap in thier lines and alexis and the best trained members of the horde.(Rivet Citys police) pushed there way through into the courtyard.Up ahead was a face alexis all to well,Jacob and Roarke were locked in mortal combat but it wasn't them he was intrested in,Neer to Roake was Lt Mathis a man that alexis hated with a pasion,Mathis had been behind the attack on Dr Cross's home and alexis was determind to get his revcenge.
"Lt Mathis you basterd,Ready to pay for Dr Cross's death".Mathis looked up and responded curtly to alexis "Dr Cross helped mutants and freeks,Why should you care for him?"."He took me in and protected me when no one else would".Realising there was no defusing the blood madened historian mathis raised his Desert Eagle and shot alexis once in the chest.
The bullet impacted against alexis's armour winding him."You basterd".Alexis shot mathis with his own pistol but still with no effect,Alexis crawled along the floor towards mathis,Mathis pointed his gun at alexis's visable face."I knew i should have killed you when i found you.Here you are,The last remnant of Cross's pathetic atempt to provide free medcain to freeks.Here we have closure".Mathis's face split into a grin as he raised his weapon.Alexis was smiling all this while when mathis saw this he looked down and asked."Why are you smiling".Alexis's grin grew wider."Closures overated".He shot mathis in the groin before finishing him off with a shot to the head before looking on at the fight.
Turning to see Jack fall to a Ripper, Weston was just about to move towards him. Then, The Horde swept him up. Pushing him forwards into a battle, Weston saw Alexis slowly standing up. Running past him and berifly thinking about punching him in his face, Weston simply just knocked off his hat. Moving towards a wounded Jack, Weston looked as Jacob and this other guy...Rorake, was it? fought. Taking Jack and dragging him a little bit away: I.E behind cover, Weston took out a stimpack.
"Hrey buddy, how you doing? Your going to be ok, alright? Ain't nothing but a thang."
Weston said, lying. The poor bastard probnlay would'nt make it, But, you never know. You just never know. Popping out of cover, Weston shot a Last Legionare charging towards his postion. Leaning agiasnt the small peice of cover in the form of a sangbag group, Weston lit a d cigarrette, smoking it slowly. Turning towards Jack, weston looked at it.
"You want one?" he asked.
Dave watched as Jack went down, disappearing in the sea of bodies as Dave tried to get closer. He stopped, however, as Jacob and Roarke, de facto badasses in town, stared each other down. The power armored figure looked towards Dave momentarily. "I know this one. The blind man's offspring, yes? Remember, Jacob, that he'll follow your death with his own." Roarke snarled, his field ripper revving. The prospect wasn't appealing to Dave. Jacob's face was one known to every man in the wastes. If he went down, then it meant the battle was lost. Which meant Dave was either screwed, or going to be drafted for the new regime as a foot soldier. However, Dave was a silver-tongued devil. Not too worried about the prospect of being sawed in half or being sent on some dangerous mission, Dave made a conscious decision to let Uncle Jacob handle the situation. If Dave knew Jacob, if he tried to interfere Jacob would probably knock him out just so he'd be out of the way. However, that didn't mean Dave couldn't help Jacob out. Picking up an M1A8 Thompson from the ground, Dave took a moment to seize the dead soldier's bandolier as well, then moved for cover, picking a small debris pile and a couple of corpses. His Thompson flared, and one of Roarke's body guards went down, a full clip lodged in his belly. The man's armor virtually shredded, he fell back lifeless onto the ground with numerous other corpses. Just as Dave made the motions to grab another clip, the second body guard leapt over his cover, a trench knife in his hand. Dave's breath was knocked out of him as the trooper landed on him with full force. His Thompson knocked clear several feet, Dave found himself straddled as he struggled to stop the man from bringing the blade down on his chest. The soldier was a very bulky, muscular type man, and he was wearing a V.A3 BRA with a power armor helmet painted matte black. Dave found himself quickly being over-powered as the knife inched closer to his chest. A quick shotgun blast to the side knocked the soldier off Dave, who quickly gave a thankful smile to his rescuer, a twenty-year old woman with attractive features and dirtied brown hair. Noting her face for later, Dave gave a charismatic smile as she left to fight, then turned as he was tackled again by the same trooper, his armor having protected him from the hit. This time however, Dave was ready, his hand having slipped by his boot leg where he had snatched another M1 Trench Knife earlier. Dave's own knife plunged deep into the man's throat as they slammed into the ground. Blood spurted all over Dave's face as he spat the soldier's fluids out of his mouth, disgusted. His breath lessened by all the dead weight atop him, Dave took a moment to shove the dead soldier's ballistic armored hulk off of him, then pulled his revolver from his arm holster inside his jacket as he lay on the ground. Of course, his action was cut short by a gun barrel to the head. "I gotcha now, you son of a bitch." The voice said. It was obviously a Last Legionnaire, judging by his voice. Being careful to quietly slip the revolver back in his jacket, Dave raised his hands in the midst of the battle as the barrel dropped. Dave turned around as the man lay twitching on the ground, a .44 round in his helmet. River waved, grinning. Dave, his hands on his knees, nodded in thanks, then drew his revolver a second time.
The battle seemed to ebb and flow in slow motion as Jacob and Roarke circled again, having broken off combat for a brief respite. The battle moved around them, leaving a clear space for the two soldiers. Jacob locked eyes with Roarke, slate grey eyes staring into the glowing orange lenses of Roarke's helmet. Jacob's face cracked into a smile as he stared Roarke down. This was going to be a hard fight. Jacob had been thrashing people all through the battle, while Roarke had just joined the fight. Roarke revved his immense Field Ripper as Jacob spun a pair of SCM Praetorian swords in his hands. He had left his Okatana in Bailey's Crossroads. Bad choice, it would have come in handy against Roarke's Field Ripper. But then, Jacob probably would have chipped and notched the blade by now. Conventional melee weapons just weren't designed to be used by a man with a Warrior Weapon's strength.
At an unseen signal, Jacob and Roarke lunged at each other, blades clashing in the centre of the breach, ringing off in the sounds of battle as they clashed, trading slashes, thrusts, blocks and parries. Every so often a soldier would venture too close to the whirling blades and pay the ultimate price as one fighter knocked the other's attack off-line or dodged at the last second. Between them, Jacob and Roarke had killed seven people from the two sides while trying to kill each other as they each kicked it up a gear, moving ever quicker like an avalanche gaining momentum.
Jacob pulled Roarke off-balance, but Roarke countered with a headbutt that knocked Jacob staggering. Jacob landed an elbow strike as Roarke moved in, sending the Power Armored Colonel reeling. Jacob lunged back, swinging his swords at mad angles, but Roarke swung his Field Ripper upwards, shearing through one of the swords and nearly splitting Jacob in half. Jacob jumped backwards to avoid the roaring teeth of the Field Ripper, swearing profusely. He stepped back, tossing his assault rifle and duster to Jackal as the Ghoul passed the duel by. They caught Jackal off-guard, the duster wrapping around his head as Mother's Woe bounced off him in mid stride. Jackal flailed his arms as he toppled over at the sudden change of weight. Down to his Combat Plating and Kevlar undersuit, and his civvies, Jacob could move much more freely now. He bounced on the balls of his armored feet as he and Roarke circled again, neither taking their eyes off the other for a second.
In Power Armor, Strauss could tower over the Wastelanders of the Horde. Immoral though it may have seemed, he took advantage of his boosted height by holding his Laser Rifle over the masses and blind-firing in the direction of the Last Legion's soldiers. Wastelanders had no choice but to take the bullets for him as shots missed or just glanced his hands or weapon. As the final one took a bullet to the head, he grunted and caught the poor bastard's body, using that to soak up more bullets. You're an evil fuck, Strauss, ya know that? 
Just as a limb seemed dangerously close to falling off, he threw the body forwards and dropped to the ground in a kneeling/squatting position, cranking up the dial on his Laser Rifle and taking another final shot at the Last Chancers before expending his cell and crawling out of their LoS diligently. He took a welcome moment in cover to reload his Laser Rifle before slinging it and drawing one of his swords and his D'Eagle, holding the former in his right hand and the latter in the other. He couldn't aim particularly well with that hand, nor could he withstand recoil (hell, it was a Desert Eagle - if not for his armour he'd snap his wrist every time he fired it), but his Power Armor would no doubt help with that. He paused, momentarily, as he saw something he liked, lying on the ground in the grip of a fallen Hordesman.
A missile launcher.
"Aww, yeah, baby," He said as he slipped his sword between his chestplate and his harness, holding it there for a moment while he scooped up the weapon and checked its load. Already had one in there. He shouldered the weapon and took a deep breath before wading out of cover into the opening of the breach and into the line of fire of several Last Chancers, firing the missile at the closest one to him before throwing it back over his shoulder. "Who's your fuckin' daddy and what does he do?!" He roared, flipping off the Legionnaires en masse. With that, and flanked by several Horde members, he drew his sword and charged once again, blasting and hacking away as he pleased and making copious use of random chunks of debris to cover his ass.
Roland looked over the battlefield as it were. Everyone seemed to be doing well (well, except for Jackal, whose face was wrapped in an inconspicuous duster). After a few seconds of working at the tangled duster, ripping the thing off his face and putting it to the side, he ran off to re-join the fold. However, he was waylaid. El Oso was parked near a corner of the battle, with the rear door shut and the interior lights going. "What the hell?" Roland thought quietly to himself, walking over to the trailer and smashing on the back door, shouting his name and telling Domingo to 'open up'. 
Meanwhile, Domingo had been patrolling the outer edge of the battle when he had happened upon Weston and Jack. Hording the trader and the wounded assassin into the trailer, he had set up one of his empty cots as a triage area, where Jack was currently laid out. When Roland came inside, he was caught by the sight of Domingo and Weston milling worriedly about Jack, who was bleeding and laid out on a bedframe with a gash in his shoulder that Rivet City probably could have parked in, citizens and all. 
"What... What the hell happened?" Roland said, shutting the overhead door behind him. Domingo gave the merchant a grave look before walking over to him, speaking in a low voice. "Weston had found him behind some rocks with a nasty gash in his shoulder, over by where Roark e was first engaged with Jacob. I stopped and pulled them inside. His left arm is hanging on by a few tendons, and he's lost a lot of blood to the ground." The merchant took a long drag on his cigar and wiped his bloody hands on his pants. "I gave him a few stimpaks and started him on a transfusion, but the damage is too great... Even with surgery, the ripper may have shredded some of Jack's internal organs, and even if he survived he would probably lose his arm. But I have a gut feeling that he won't be walking away from this."
Roland looked at the floor, his face drained of its usual rosy pallor. "Well, what are you gonna do?" The merchant said as he looked up at his Spanish compadre. 
"We're keeping him drugged on stimpaks, Med-X and pre-war perscription drugs, trying to keep him comfortable until he runs out of blood or just passes on. I'm sorry, my friend, but there's nothing we can do." Domingo turned away and headed for the bedside again. Roland couldn't stand to follow him. The sorrow dwelling in a pit of his stomach had solidified into something that was now easily the size of a fist and twice as heavy as the most dense lead brick. He, however, attempted to galvanize this doubt and sorrow into steel anger which he could weaponize against the Last Legion. However, the Horde had taken the battle in a sweeping turn of events, leaving nothing for Roland to fight in this location. He could only spread the word, now. 
So he did. He spread the word to the first person that came to mind: the group's medical wunderkind, River Cheung, who was taking potshots at the Last Legionnaires who were being suppressed by the encroaching Horde. "River," he shouted, tapping the young girl on the shoulder and pointing back towards the trailer of the tank parked nearby. "We got a dying dude in there. Any way you could work some of your medical voodoo on him?"
"Shittt..."
Weston said, running his hand through his hair. Sitting on a nearby rock, just outside the trailer, Weston looked areound. The fighting had cleared out in this area. All tha twas left was Roland, River, a few random looters. Weston processed the last few mintues. He was smoking with Jack ,trying to cheer him up...Domingo came around....Weston helped Jack into the trailer and then....well, Domingo delivered the bad news. Surreding what was left of his Med-X, Weston had just stood there, unable to do shit....just. Stood there.
"Fuck man...."
Standing next to Domingo, Weston light a cigarrette and looked at Jerusalm, where heavy fighting was still going on.
"Shit Domingo, i was sure that Jack would make it. I mean...fuck...i thought nobody would take a bullet or a wound, you know? I mean....shit..."
Weston said. He slowly trailed off. Weston was spilt in three ways. His first through was to go back in there, get some payback. His second thought was was to guard the trailer. The thired was to book the hell out of there. But, for now, it wasnumero two he was listening to.
"Weston," Domingo said, stamping out his cigar butt. "He took a field ripper blow to the shoulder, he's lucky his torso is attached to the rest of his body right now." As if to punctuate the statement, Jack moaned a bit, and Domingo injected a syringe of Med-X into his neck vein. "Don't get me wrong, we're all going to miss him if he does go." Domingo lit another cigar immediately after he finished grinding the butt of the previous cancer stick into a paste on the muddy floor. "And given the choice, I would gladly go in his place. But it's not our place to decide whether he dies or not. Med-X and prayer can only do so much for a person, and Jack won't die without delivering a final soliloquy." 
The merchant chuckled. "Or at least insulting my accent one last time."
Fireman
Stefanie noted the parting in the battlelines and the gap in the fighting formations. That could only mean one thing: Jacob had finally met his nemesis. As for her part, Stefanie was sprinting along the ramparts, causing all sorts of trouble for the Last Legionnaires attempting to defend their fortress from an elevated position. She spotted a .30 caliber machine gun nest spraying hot death down onto the Horde. She sprinted toward them, not taking much notice from most of the other Legionnaires, who were largely pre-occupied with the Horde below. She leapt, with both feet in the air and connected squarely with the gunner as he turned toward her at the last second. The dropkick hit him right in the chest and he tumbled over the side of the ramparts with a scream and was boiled in the sea of humanity down below. Stefanie rolled out of the way of the downward sword stroke of an officer, kicking with both feet from her back, sending him tumbling off the other side of the ramparts as well. The loader for the machine guncrew dove on top of her and she rolled him up against the side of the parapet. Rising to her knees, she landed two Power-Fisted punches and then two knees to his midsection. Rising to her feet, she stomped multiple times on his helmeted head and chest, stunning him. Last Legionnaires were being pulled from the wall to defend further along the parapet as Horde wastelanders began skittering up the sides and along the ledge. They weren't fairing too well, but there were lots of them and Legionnaire and wastelander alike tumbled from the wall as the ramparts became slick with blood. 
Stefanie jumped to the top of a storage shack, then dropped onto a fighting Legionnaire. She let her weight bear him to the round and ended up sitting on his chest. Smacking him three times with her Power Fist, she got up and tackled another passing Legionnaire. By a stroke of luck, the duo landed heavily next to a corpse that happened to have a Stabhappy Combat Knife sticking out of the eye. Quickly pulling it free, she slipped it across the Legionnaire's throat and moved on.
Weston could'nt help but to simile a litte at the last line that Domingo gave. Putting his back agiasnt ehe trailer's outside wall, Weston quickly peered inisde. JAck was lying there, obsivoly in pain. Giving Jack a thumbs up signal, Weston got the middle finger in return. Nodding a little at Jack, Weston reutnred to watching the area around the trailer. Taking out his BPR, Weston adjusted the sights a little. Firing a single round, Weston saw a little cloud of dust came up around a few inches to the right of where he was aiming.
Good enough. he through
Lighting another cigarette, Weston looked upwards ont the sky.'
"Domingo, never asked this question....where the hell are you from anyway?"
Jacob and Roarke were clashing blades again. Jacob had cast aside the broken sword and was using the second one with both hands. Even with the strength-enhancing Power Armor, Roarke was starting to feel the strain. Jacob was stronger and faster than anyone he'd ever fought before. He was too well-trained to be a normal Wastelander. He was too strong to be a normal Wastelander. He was too fast to be a normal Wastelander. Now Roarke could understand how his sons had fallen to this seemingly unstoppable foe. Jacob was the juggernaut he had been labelled as by Crusade forces. He was this tireless destroyer. Until Roarke reversed the rotation on his Field Ripper's chain, launching Jacob's sword into the air. Jacob staggered back, jumping away from Roarke's swings and thrusts, moving like quicksilver. He didn't bother with anything other than keeping moving. There was no way his combat armor would stop that roaring, thrashing blade.
Roarke pushed Jacob back again and again. He'd do this for his sons. He'd do this for the Crusade. Roarke roared as he followed Jacob. Neither of them had even begun to tire, but Roarke knew Jacob wouldn't tire before he would. Roarke thrust his blade at Jacob once more, but halfway through, the thrust became a swing, a step and another swing as Roarke aswung the Field Ripper from one hand to the other behind his back. The trick would have sheared a slower man in half as the Field Ripper came back around, but Jacob was not a slower man. He stepped inside the arc as Roarke whirled the Field Ripper, and caught Roarke's wrist, stopping it dead. The Field Ripper, however, didn't stop. It spun from Roarke's grip and off into the ground a good ten feet away, embedding itself into the churned-up ground of the breach, it's chain and teeth still whirring around.
Jacob and Roarke grappled for a second before Jacob pinned roarke's hands and kicked him away. Jacob followed up with a torque punch, but Roarke was just quick enough to block the attack. Roarke responded with an uppercut to Jacob's gut, catching the big vigilante off-guard. Jacob staggered, but shrugged the blow off and responded with a powerful jab that blurred Roarke's vision. Roarke staggered and threw a punch. Jacob reversed it and backhanded Roarke, sending him staggering. Jacob's hands ached from punching the power-armored man, even with his gauntlets. Both of them knew they had to end this soon. Jacob stepped through and kicked Roarke backwards, following up with another kick, followed quickly by another.
Roarke stood up as Jacob went to follow up with another kick, expertly blocking the attack. Jacob stumbled, not having expected such a response. Roarke grabbed his neck in a crushing grip, immediately cutting off the blood to Jacob's head as he applied a blood-choke. Jacob kicked with all his strength, knowing time would rapidly run out if he let Roarke keep that hold. The kick caught Roarke in the leg, staggering him. Jacob stepped back, his vision clearing as he gasped for air. His hands, feet, his whole body was aching. Then he saw how to end this. He stepped forward, grabbing Roarke's wrist and face, pushing him backwards. Roarke rapidly scooted his feet back to prevent Jacob bullrushing him.
With a final shove, Jacob launched Roarke backwards, sending him staggering. Roarke couldn't reset his balance however, and fell. He didn't rise again as his head and body rolled away from each other, shorn apart by the still-spinning teeth of Roarke's Field Ripper, still embedded in the ground at the top of the breach.
Jacob staggered forwards, gripping the Field Ripper and wrenching it from the ground. It was a heavy bit of work, but well-balanced. A fine trophy. Jacob raised it and levelled it towards the Last Legion arrayed in front of him as Horde soldiers swarmed the breach. Jacob strode towards the Legionnaires, hefting the Field Ripper in his grip as he went. Clenching his fists around the hilt of the immense weapon, he swung it at the first one, shearing the man in half. The weight dragged on, splitting the next one in half. Jacob staggered as the weight got away from him. Quickly recovering, Jacob looked around, trying to spot his friends in the heaving press of bodies as the Horde and the Legion met in brutal melee, power armored Last chancers crushing all before them as Wastelanders mobbed their comrades. Glowing BRA lenses met brazen eyes as the two forces hurled themselves at their hated foe. And Jacob charged at the head of that wave of bloodshed, dealing death and destruction with every swing of his roaring Field Ripper.
"Like hell I'm going to die, I ain't planning to die." Jack muttered those words quietly at first, then louder when Weston looked at him and just stared "I said like hell I'm going to fucking die. I want to have the ability to insult every single one of you fuck bags one last time before I got to hell, and make you all miss me horribly. Now, let me start off with the people currently in this trailer. Weston, you're a druggy, and a good one at that. Galloping around, taking a shot every few seconds. IF you don't quit with in the next month, I'll haunt your dreams till you're so bald that one could see right through your large head. Now, let's move on to my merchant friend, Domigo. You're accent is stupid as hell. And you're tank smells like sun baked dog shit." Jack stopped for a second, before looking at the other merchant. "Your part robot. I don't fucking like robots." Roland stared at him for a second. "Well, I suppose you do have a dumb ass boat too."
"Sure thing" River replied, following Roland to a trailer and saw the aforementioned dying man. She raised her eyebrows when she saw him, dropping her gun and pulling her medical supplies out of her bag.
"Ow. That... that doesn't look comfy. What happened, he insult a weedwacker's mother?" River had to chuckle at the man's... "colorful" monologue. She would tr her best to help him, but she really wasn't sure what she could do. Lots and lots of bloodloss, and his arm didn't seem to have much keeping it attatched. She looked at Domingo, who seemed to be taking care of him at the moment.
"What have you done so far?" She asked.
"No, I instead tried to attack that bastard Roarke. Turns out, he actually does know how to use a field ripper. Who knew? Now, if you were to stop insulting me while I'm on my deathbed, you might get to hear why I dislike you so much." Jack stopped to think, and with his attached hand, grunted as he pulled out the .50 magnum from his holster. He put it beside, just incase the pain was too much. "Now, I don't like your name. Who the hell names their kid River? Were your mommy and daddy fucking on the pontomac or something?"
"I don't fucking gallo[p!"
Weston retored. At least, he did'nt think he galloped. Did he gallop? Weston just shook his head and looked at Jack. He had to admit, it qwas kinda funny that this man was hanging on to his life just so he could insult everybody. Then Westons eye drew over to the M-79. A Idea came to his mind.
"Hey, Jack...got a question for ya. Since...well, your dying and all....can i havbe your Greande Launcher?"
Weston then winced. It was the complety wrong question to ask at that tinme, and his tone was just..well...inapportie for the kinda mood that was being set. Sitting down on a nearby crate insided the trailer, Weston drew out a cigarette and slwoly smoked it. Niot enough to have the whole trailer filled with smoke, just enough to add a minor haze near Westons head.
"And i don't have a big head..."
"And since when did my ship smell like shit?" Roland raged. "I've never even had you aboard! I oughtta stick my fist into that bigass hole in your side and pull your trachea out through your shoulder!" And Roland's threats went onwards as he argued with the barely-clinging-to-consciousness Jack.
Ignoring the three behind him for the moment, Domingo turned to River. "We've got him on transfusions right now; according to his Rapture ID we've got him on the right blood IV. Other than that, we're keeping him pumped full of medical-grade painkillers and stimpaks, and keeping him comfortable."
"Right." River nodded, looking closer at the wound. Even if they somehow managed to keep the arm on, there was no way to reattach the nerves. This wasn't going to be pretty or painless.
"I'm... probably going to have to cut the arm off." River looked at the man sheepishly. "It would pretty much just be hanging there if I didn't, even if I could get it to stay on. Best thing I can think of is cutting off the arm, applying fire to the wound to close it, and giving it time to heal. Safest way I can think of." She shrugged.
"Can I hack it off for ya?" Jackal quipped as he stepped into the trailer, looking down at Jack. He winced at the sight of the ghastly wound on his shoulder and chest and then continued, "See what you get when you attack a psychopath with a ripper bigger than a child? You fuckin arrogant bastard."
Jackal ignored the stares that drew. He was gonna let Jack know just how much of a dick he thought he was. If River allowed him to hack the arm off, he might use the wrong side of his machete to start with. Jackal walked back to the door of the trailer and leaned on the frame, pulling out a cigar and sparking up. He again ignored the indignant stare this drew from River and Roland and Weston.
"River aside, you all know you hate him too. Grow a spine and show it. Anyone wanna blow some smoke in his face? Other than me? No? Well, I'll let the cigar burn down for a while to get some smoke in the air," Jackal continued, before blowing some smoke into the trailer.
----
Jacob turned around and around, watching as the Legion scattered and fled. Some ran for the gate, others poured through the breach, pushing past Horde conscripts in their haste to escape and save their own skin. Jacob walked back towards El Oso, bleeding from where a bullet had grazed his shoulder and where an SCM Officer sword had clipped his leg. He shouldered the now-silent Field Ripper and walked long, limping slightly between his bad knee and the sword cut. He'd seen Weston drag Jack into El Oso's trailer, and he wanted to see Jack before the arrogant hitman died. Jacob refused to acknowledge Jack as an assassin any more. He always let his ego get in the way. He stopped for a second to stamp down on a dying Legionnaire's neck and then continued on, raising his eyebrows in surprise at seeing El Oso right next to the breach.
Jacob lumbered down towards the idling ex-tank, stretching his shoulders to loosen them up. His left kept popping. He'd overstretched it throwing Roarke onto the Field Ripper. Might need to talk to River about that. Ha walked slowly around to the trailer, just as Jackal looked around. Jackal tossed Jacob's duster and Mother's Woe back at him, catching him off-guard. Jacob caught the duster, but the Assault Rifle hit him in the face stock-first, splitting his eyebrow. Jacob grunted angrily as Jackal indicated the tear just above his own eye. Evens. Jacob walked towards the trailer, laying the duster, rifle and Field Ripper on the ground outside before stepping into the doorway and leaning on it, hanging onto the top of the frame, wincing as his left shoulder struggled to allow his arm high enough to get a hold.
"So, Jack, rippers hurt like a bitch, don't they?" Jacob said, eyeing the wound. Jacob raised his eyebrow. It'd probably kill Jack, that wound. Jacob winced. Not that he cared, but all the same, Jack wasn't all-bad. He had a sense of humour anyway.
Strauss limped along, the servos on the left leg of his Power Armor creaking loudly and moreso than usual with every move. Fucking .30 cals. Good thing he was aiming for my foot for whatever reason. Dickhead. Right now, he was focusing on getting back to El Oso and patching himself up. He'd left Frank with the Horde, who seemed to appreciate the presence of a kickass robot in their midst, but Worthington was following diligently as per usual. He forced himself onwards, over the bodies of Legionnaire and Hordesman alike. If he hadn't lost so much blood or be so caught up in the carnage of the battle, he may have actually looked down to see that he had partaken in an almost indiscriminate massacre. Perhaps he would have given this grieving moral soliloquy about how wrong this was, and how he objected to the fact that each and every one of these fallen men once had lives, and that now they would be looted, then left to rot. If they were lucky, they'd be dumped in a mass grave so they could rot together.
Strauss didn't really consider this, though. He had more important things on his mind, like surviving. He hardly paid Worthington's running commentary any attention as he kept going, trying to put as little pressure on his injured leg as he could. He finally reached El Oso, looked around at everyone, then pulled off his helmet and blinked.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Let me answer your questions in order, then insult the new comers. Weston, feel free to have the grenade launcher. Ammo's going to be a bitch to find though. Roland, I could smell that boat of yours from Rivet City. I'm serious, you need to clean that thing. Jacob Vaughton. I'd say why I think you're the biggest ass hole on the plannet, but then again I saw what you did to Bren. So I'm just going to tell Weston, and have him tell everyone else in this room. I'd tell people myself, but frankly I've lost so much blood I'm not sure whether or not I can still breathe anymore. I also see you're wearing black." Jack pointed his finger at the rest of the group, not wearing black. "Jacob's the only one kind enough to wear black to mans funeral! I hope you're all ashamed of your selves!" Then Jack's attention shifted to Jackal. "Jesus christ man, what's the matter? Have you gotten sand in that rusty old Irish vagina of yours?" Tossing his grenade launcher to weston, Jack then noticed Strauss standing near the door way. "Hey! I missed you so Strauss! If you haven't noticed, my arms been nearly cut off. "Oh, and I forgot. Your robot is gay for you and sticks its little pincer arms up your ass at night. I've caught him doing it several times. I have no idea how he manages it when you still have the armour on though. There a latch in there or something?"
"Jack, no sand in there, nor a vagina. I'm just the one who's being honest with you on your deathbed.You made one shitty first impression and didn't do a thing to improve it. And this ain't a funeral, because there's no coffin for me to piss in and no grave for me to dance on when we're done buryin you face-down. That way, if you come back to annoy us, you can just keep on digging," Jackal said, crouching next to Jack and breathing smoke in his face. Jack coughed and groaned as his heaving chest stretched the wound, without quite tearing it.
Jacob winced as Jackal smiled his skull-like smile, and then shot him a disparaging look. Jackal sighed.
"Sorry for that fella, I should be more polite to you now you're dying, even though I don't like ya. Should I fluff your pillow, comfort your girlfriend, beat yer kids? Or should I ease yer passing?" Jackal continued.
"Jack, I wear this shirt all the tiume. And this combat armor. And this isn't a funeral. A funeral would have your friends present. Now, anything else you want to say before you expire? Your last words aren't as dramatic as your usual phrazes. Or should we write something we think is fitting on your tombstone? Something like "Respected by few, liked by no one"?" Jacob said with a tone of sarcasm rarely used by the man.
River was getting a little annoyed with the funeral crap. There was a pretty good chance that he was going to die, but someone asked her to try and help this man and dammit, she was gonna try and help him.
"You can save your goodbyes for later, old man." She sighed, cleaning the would as best she could with a wet cloth. "I don't see a dead man yet, so this isn't no funeral. You've heard what I plan to do, and it'll be all kinds of painful, even with the painkillers. If you don't mind," She held up a knife. "I'd like to get to business now."
"Go for it, River," Roaland said slyly. He slowly began to remove his power armor, piece by piece regaining his mobility. "Just salt the edge for me on the first cut."
Domingo gave the merchant a bit of an angry stare. Roland shrugged the angry gaze off and pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cooler nearby. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, the merchant took a draught of the firewater and looked around, watching the goings-on as he constructed his response. Eventually, he just blurted it out: "Well, he insulted our ship, and that's what we do to traitors and prisoners who were wounded in action aboard the Grey Lady; to knock them out as much as to punish them."
Fireman
Stefanie approached the trailer of El Oso and peeked inside. Jack was laying on the floor, in a pol of blood. Well, pool would be an inadequate term, lake of blood was more like it. She shook her head as she stepped inside. He looked like a Deathclaw had wrenched his shoulder and the rest of his torso in opposite directions. He seemed to be insulting everyone in the trailer. Typical Jack. Asshole to the end. "What the fuck happened to you?" she said,. "Ah Stef. Whacked in the head so many times you got no fuckin' brains left," he spat, "how many Legionnaires you fuck out there?" "You skeevy little prick," she said, pushing past River, before being restrained by Jacob. Jack laughed. "Oh the little slave girl is mad," he coughed up some blood, "better watch out for her, she'll kill you with an STD." Stefanie was livid. "I'll stomp your fuckin' throat in, you fuckin' son of a whore!" Jack chuckled, gurgly, "You're not my mom." Jacob tossed Stefanie behind him, kicking, "I'm takin' his head when he goes!" Stefanie said to Jacob, who just shook his own head. "Head's mine," she heard Jackal say behind her. She turned to see his skully grin. "You can have his hands," he said, smiling, and running a stone along the blade of his machete, as he led her away from the trailer.
Dave waited quietly at the door, his hands fingering his pistols on both pantlegs. Inside his jacket, his revolver itched like it was a part of himself. Leaning against the inside of the trailer Ben Wade style, although missing the hat, Dave kept his distance from the mourners. His dad probably knew Jack better than he did, and it wasn't right for him to intrude on something he wasn't apart of. This group's friendship had been forged on blood and bullets, and he had still been in diapers when his dad had begun to kill and kill and kill. Paying his respects, Dave quietly took guard at the edge of the trailer, his back to the killers inside.
Weston was busy with the grenade launcher. Namely, how to break it open. OPushing a dnd pushing, he finally gave up. A few seconds later, he tried agian. So, Jack, being the kind and loving person he is, decided to help Weston. And helped he did. So, Weston was rewarded with the barrell partflying back and hitting him in the face. Weston looked dead at Jack before whispering in his ear.
"If your were'nt asbout to die, i'd kick your ass."
Weston said, before leaning back onf the trailer wall. He liked Jack, but, the last bit of insults were a bit...how to say, asswipeish. Lighting a cigaertte, Weston only used his mouth to smoke it. Which, failed miserbayl because the cigaertte fell right to te floor. Luckily, it did'nt hit Jacks blood. Then Westons eyes flashed with realzation. Jackal said something about a girlfriend!
"YOU HAVE A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND?!?! I THOUGHT YOU WERE GAY THIS ENTIRE TIME!"
Warren downed his last kill, who just so happened to fall none too far from the trailer. He spotted Dave almost immediately and gave a half wave with no smile. His arm was bleeding quite badly from a graze caused by a passing bullet. Minor at best, but looked a lot worse than it actually was. He reloaded his magnum with the last speed loader, the .32s for his Hunting Rifle long since spent. He didn't know how these guys had survived as long as they had with very little co-ordination. Very run and gun, and he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with it. Bitterly, he thought for a moment that maybe the Capital Wasteland didn't deserve his hand in its liberation. He grunted and kicked the Last Legionnaire's corpse in the crotch for no other reason than he wanted to. He began making his way to Dave, but stopped before he actually got near him and sat against the side of the trailer. He took a Stimpak out and applied it to his arm, which slowed the bleeding. "You got something clean I can wrap this with, Dave?" He asked through gritted teeth.
"Bandages are in there." River jerked her head at her bag. She had finished cleaning the would as best she could, and began to cut through the man's arm. She really wished people would stop treating this like a funeral. It wasn't exactly doing wonders for River's morale. Once she was done cutting away the dead tissue, the girl lit a match and started heating the side of the knife.
"This is the part where things get painful. You want something to bite down on, old man?" She asked, not looking away from the blade.
Alexis slowly made his way back to the tank,blood driping from his woonded leg and his armour was leaking hydrolic fluid.He didn't want to see roland again but he needed to pick up some stuff and tend to his injuries before he left.He arived just in time to see warren moaning about a scratch on his arm."Take this" alexis muttered throwing one of the bandages from the med kit he had found ages ago at him.Satisfied that waren wouldn't start moaning he looked inside the trailer.There was litraly a river of blood trailing out off it.Alexis steped back and shruged off his armour before looking inside,Jack was laying on the bed blood driping out of his arm."Outch" he muttered.He saw that river was treating him well and as a friendly guesture he tossed her the last parts of the pre war med kit.The girl nodded he gratitude and alexis took several steps back from jack avoiding jacob and rolands eyes.
Strauss had stripped off the plating of his Power Armor, component by component, around his lower left leg while he listened to the conversation. So Jack was dying. It made him feel guilty, but he didn't quite know whether he was happy or sad about that. What he certainly didn't like, though, was how much of an ass he was being to everyone - and, in turn, how much of an ass everyone was being to him. What a way to go out. Finally, he finished taking off the armour on his leg and pumped himself full of Med-X before getting to work with a knife, grunting a few times as he tore up the insides of his leg inadvertedly before finally pushing a .30 cal bullet out with the blade. Alexis took note of this and threw him some bandages, so he got to work dressing the wound.
"So Jack. Got anything constructive or maybe poignant to say before you go?" He asked casually. His own cool indifference to the subject matter shocked himself.
"Strauss," Domingo asserted as he moved Stefanie off to the side of the trailer to let her simmer down- and to move Belton as far away from Jack as he could. "Jack isn't going anywhere, not yet. His heart-" Domingo scratched his greasy-haired head- "Or at least, whatever circulates his blood, is still going strong. So far." 
Roland shrugged, growling at Alexis as the meek, annoying historian climbed into the trailer. He turned his attention back towards River and Jack, and groped his way along the wall with his left arm until he found what he was looking for. An 8-foot coil of rusty steel chain was coiled on the wall behind one of the old shelves bolted to the walls. Taking a certain length of it, Roland engaged the cutting torch in his finger and sliced a section off before returning the extra back to the coil. He then pulled a length of ripped leather off of his trench-coat and wrapped it around the length of the chain, tying it off at one end to secure it. Now it looked like the ten-inch length of steel chain was wearing a brown leather cape. He handed the little restraint to River. "Tell him to bite down on it, no matter how bad it tastes. Whether he wants the restraint or not, he'll go through his tongue if he doesn't get one."
The trailer fell silent as Roland's words passed over the crowd. After a few awkward seconds, Roland's face lit up in realization, and he took the chain back. "On second thought, get chopping. Go, go, go, let's get this done! Time's a-waistin, we ain't got all day to linger here in Jerusalem!" Taking another draught of whiskey, the merchant faded back into the shadows.
"Hang on there a minute," Jacob said, walking over to Jack's makeshift bedisde, "Jack, do you know what a Kansas City Shuffle is? When Everybody looks left," Jacob continued, waving his left arm around flamboyantly in a fairly haphazard manner, very nearly backhanding River, "I go right!"
Jacob's face flashed angrily as he hit Jack in the side of the head with a heavy right hook, knocking him out cold. Jacob stood up, dusted off his hands and admired his handywork.
"Well, get cutting, he won't be unconscious forever," Jacob said to River. The unusually happy look on his facewas at odds with the way he snapped, but River, jovial as ever, took the smile to be the earnest part (given that Jacob rarely smiled) and happily went back to cutting pieces out of the ragged remains of Jack's right shoulder.
"Godamn, I wanted to do that," Jackal mumbled from the back of the trailer. Jacob ignored him as he walked to the back of the trailer and watched as the Horde began its celebrations. Drinking, carousing, gambling. Jacob was sure he saw someone sacrifice a Brahmin near the fountain.
Then Jacob looked at Warren. The high and mighty hero. Jacob would go to his little town to lend a hand. But it would be to help the townspeople, not Warren. The only way Jacob would willingly help Warren for now was delivering a mercy blow if Warren was suffering from a mortal, agonizing wound. Like disembowelment or a broken back. Or impalement. Jacob couldn't help but smile at the various images his mind conjured up of Warren impaled through his spine with his guts hanging out. He banished the image immediately. Warren had gone all "I'm a hero and I'm better than you" for a good cause. But so had Bren. Jacob's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he remembered he'd left the bag with Bren's head and leg in Dave's shack. Luckily, no one had asked what Jack meant when he said he saw what Jacob did to Bren. Jacob was still adamant that killing Bren had been the right thing to do. In the long-run, it was. The world would be spared Bren and those who followed his example, but Strauss, Jackal, and a few others knew Bren as someone who always wanted to do right. Although, Bren's concept of right was quite conceited and bigoted in and of itself. Yup, killing Bren had been the right thing to do.
ALexis walked back to waren."Im not going to help your town but",Alexis guestured to the mass of celebrating horde,"Give these men a speach,Ask the ones who will help you to step over a line",Alexis drew one in the sand."ask them to cross over the line if they cross you can have them".Alexis grined in his mind at that.There was no way the horde would go with waren and alexis wanted to see the mans face when no one crossed the line.
==Act 4==
Dave watched Alexis with disappointment in his eyes. Sure, Dave couldn't talk against Alexis on account of his past actions, but he'd at least try to act nice to the guy. Dave might go himself, but he had a reputation and a standing bounty on him. If he went all soft, it'd be pathetic. Dave kept his place beside River, who was preparing for whatever medical magic mumbo jumbo she was gonna do. The partying amongst the carnage was half jovial and half mourning and remembrance. Dave honestly found it repulsing to be amongst all of these degenerates, a sign that his Enclave side was still inside him. Three of them approached the trailer, toting hunting rifles and obviously drunk. "Hey buddy? Who's the bitches in the back?" The waster said, flashing his ugly yellow teeth and making an irreverent comment to River and Stefanie. "Watch yourself." Dave growled, pulling his jacket back as he revealed his revolver. "Oooh, so the boy's got a gun, eh?" The drunkard said, smellyand jumbled with his accent. His hand pulled the rifle off his back, and he acted as if to taunt Dave, who vainly tried to resist the attempt to shoot him. The man and his companions tried to push past Dave. "Buddy, why don't cha mov----." The bastard didn't even finish the sentence. Dave pulled his revolver from his arm holster and planted a round in his companion's chest, blood and flesh imploding from the man's shirt as he fell backwards off the trailer steps. Before the other two could react, Dave fired two more rounds, catching one man with a mortal hit to the head, and catching the drunkard in the throat, blood spraying as he grasped at his neck, squirming on the ground as his blood pooled. Planting his boot on the man's chest, Dave kneeled down to face the man, who's eyes were quickly losing energy. "I ain't no boy." Dave said, and fired a fourth round, catching the drunkard in the chest and ending his pathetic life. Others had gathered around the trailer. "Anybody else wants to come inside?" Dave said. The crowd quickly returned to their partying, although some of the man's former companions eyed him with vengeance, gripping captured assault rifles. A quick bullet to the front man served to remedy the situation. Satisfied that he had done well, Dave returned to his leaning position.
Jacob shifted slightly and picked Mother's Woe up. Dave had just gone loose cannon and offed several piss-ant Horders. Jacob would quite happily have joined in but he didn't have Dave's flair. It was as if the kid could get away with anything. So there was something to be said for charisma. Jacob himself preferred the renegade intimidation that had served him so well for the past 41 years. Jacob leaned back onto the side of the trailer, staring down any Horde hicks who eyed River and Stefanie. One of them winked at Stefanie, and Jacob couldn't shake the feeling that he now wanted to tear that inbred yokel's slack-jaw off. One of them made a fairly vulgar gesture after that, and Jacob decided that if he thought he could get away with it, he'd rip off that scumbag's head and shit down his neck. Jacob's face twisted into a snarl and the Horde's "elligible" bachelors immediately busied themselves elsewhere.
Jackal was now sitting on the carcass of one of the Hordesmen Dave had shot, calmly sharpening his machete, while eyeing the crowd with his borderline insane stare. He stood up, sheathed the machete, and drew his Dadao with his skull-like smile. He whirled the Chinese war sword around and around in one hand until he got bored with that and sat down, sharpening it. There was something about a mad Irish Ghoul that kept people away, just as much as Jacob's permanent scowl and assault rifle did. Jackal leaned back and looked into the trailer, watching River working on Jack. In spite of having a distinct dislike for the prick, he'd probably miss Jack if or when he died.
Weston was caught up in the surpise of Dave's sudden shooting. Trying to figure out his new greande launcher before Dave pulled a gun out on the Horde soldiers, the grenade launcher flipped out of his hands before landing and hitting Conor in the power-armoured head. Quickly retriving said grenade launcher, Weston stepped outside. He'd seen a couple of them starte at the only two women in the trailer. River, he did'nt know about. Stefaine, however, was a friend. And if one of these hillbilles wanted to try and force his way. Well, first they would have to go through Dave and Weston. If they survied that, then Jacob and Jackal. Then, Domingo, Roland, Conor and Alexis. Well, maybe not Alexis. Finally, they would have to deal with Stefanine. 
Wait a mintue, then why am i out here? I should be inside the trailer! It's comfy in there! Weston thought.
Climbing back into the trailer, Weston took a spot near the door. Leaning his back agiasnt the wall, Weston pointed his BPR out the door. Taking off the ski-mask that he had been wearing the entire time Weston casually smoked a little bit of his cigaertte before throwing it out the back end of the trailer. Looking around his surrodings, Weston grabbed some nearby rope. Tying one end at the Barrel of his new Greande launcher, and the other end at the stock, Weston then slung his new Greande launcher with a sling over his back.
Dave, taking up his Ben Wade position by the trailer entrance, pointed with his fingers in the shape of a mock gun at the Hordesmen who waited in silent anger. Dave brought his hand up as if to aim in line of sight, pretending to make bang motions with his hand. "Pow... pow... pow..." Dave said, firing in fake, immature motions that pissed off the wasters. Dave couldn't be happier. Charisma worked both ways in the end. It gave you points with one side, and new bounties with the other. The new front man, a burly officer in a stripped down BRA suit carrying a hunting rifle, bared his own ugly teeth as if to threaten Dave. Dave grinned his own white teeth, then powed again with his finger gun. The officer pulled the bolt lever on his rifle, but slowly slew it over his shoulder and tipped his hat after Dave had trained his USP9 on the man's forehead, not making any more fake pow motions. The others crowded around, gathering as the partying behind them silenced their anger. Satisfied he riled them up, Dave showed off some more of the usual stuff by pulling both pistols from both holsters on his jeans, spinning them elaborately whilst moving his hands, then catching them by the handles and sliding them into his holster. A quick show of what he could do with his revolver further discouraged them to test how fast he could draw.
As for Weston, he kept the the BPR's barrel facing towards the Horde. Two revolvers, altough Daves moves were kinda cool, were'nt going to stop the Horde. Looking back at Jack, River seemed to be doing an ok job. Which, made him think back to when he was wounded and lying the back of a trailer. For some odd reason, everybody cared. But, Jack here is about to die, or, will evetunally die from blood loss, and everybody is being an ass to him. Sure, he was an ass to....everyone around him. But, he was kinda handy in a fight....when he was'nt being a ass. Cracking his back, Weston went back to looking at the window. Thats when something else came to his mind.
What does El Oso mean?
Weston opened his mouth as if he was about to ask that question, but, then quickly closed it. Wrong time. So, that question swilred around in his head as he looked outside El Oso, which he still had no clue what it meant, back end of the trailer.
Jack woke up from consciousness, just as river was finished removing what was left of his arm. A sharp pain spiked through his chest, near the area where his arm used to be. However, this was soon replaced by the pain of having his arm nearly cut off. Jack looked around the trailer, didn't more people used to be in here? Barely hanging into conciousness, Jack noteced Dutch, hanging by the door. Didn't he die? Must of came back to life. Wait, did that mean Dutch was now a zombie? Great, when your day was going great so far. Now you have a zombie dutch at the door. Might as well insult him before he eats your brains. And that shit faced Alexis too. "Hey asswipe! I find you to be a cocksucking prick, who takes it in the ass from the Enclave just because they kid napped you when you were a small child!" Wait, was that Dutch? No, it was Dave. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were your father for a second. Now, I think your a muscle bound peice of shit, running around in the closet like no tommorow. And I know, I checked Strauss's robots gaydar." Jack, using all his strength picked up some rotten fruit, and threw it as hard as he could out of the trailer. It flew threw the air, breaking into pieces (and covering) Alexis. Starting to shout, yelled "Alexis! I find you to be the worlds biggest prick alive! Just because one day you picked up some half assed group about your buddies the French, and then went into a musuem for a whole five fucking minutes make you think your better then everyone! Come here so I can kick your ass one handed ya snot nosed piece of shit!" For possibly the first time today, Jack thought he was serious.
Without looking up from River's side, Domingo began speaking to Weston. "I know you're looking at the nameplate again," The merchant announced loudly. "It means the Bear." 
Jack threw a hard kick into the air, aimed for Alexis (who was halfway across the room). Domingo just happened to be attempting to restrain the hitman's limbs, and unsuccessfully blocked the kick, with "unsuccessfully" meaning "he used his face to stop it". The flat toe of Jack's boot caught him in the forehead, which almost floored the big merchant. "You know," Domingo said as he picked himself up from the wall of the trailer, "if I hadn't been on the recieving end of that kick, I would've congratulated you." He then proceeded to get a few lengths of rope and tie Jack's ankles down to the bed frame as River worked her way through the rest of his arm. Now left with the task of holding Jack's remaining arm still, Domingo bore his weight down on it and made sure it didn't budge.
"But for once, just shut up and let someone do their job." Domingo accosted the hitman. "Unless you want to lose your whole right side to infection and a bad knife cut."
Warren looked at Alexis. He was entirely sure he'd be able to pull something like that off, and without even trying he'd already alienated one of the group. "I suppose I could give it a shot" He shrugged and turned around, and stood up, standing at the edge of the mouth of the trailer with his back against it so he could easily turn to the inside and the outside of the trailer, able to address everyone from their current position. He took a breath, and looked at his feet for a moment. Right, get it together, they owe you nothing. Just remember that much. Jacob's words had apparently stuck. "I know this may not be the right time to bring this up with the current, uh, situation" He nodded briefly to the dying Jack, but didn't feel the need to say much on his obviously imminent passing. "But as some of you may or may not know, there's a township up North, way up North, almost reaching Ronto, that is experiencing some rather dire Raider troubles" He paused to let his words sink in, then continued. "I was protecting this town with a group of close friends of mine including my remaining family and as it turns out these Raiders are quite well armed for whatever reason, so I need some well experienced Wasters or Mercs who can help us and the town with this little problem" He paused to look across the former battleground, focusing on nothing in particular. "If anyone wants to help we're going to move in the next couple of days while I restock" He paused for breath and absently scratched behind his ear. "Caps aren't an issue, but the only weaponry you're gonna get from this little excursion is whatever you can scavenge off the dead Raiders because we are going to tear those savage minded mohawk-bearing little fucks limb from limb" His tone rose at the end, almost reaching a shout. When he continued, his voice was still quite raised. "I don't want any heroes, because you're going to be destroyed by Miniguns and Missile Launchers if you try this run and gun affair that I saw today" He looked over everyone after he said this, as if daring them. "If anyone is interested we'll meet at the entrance to Rivet City 8 in the morn two days from now and I hope to see at least some help show up" His part said, Warren turned his back to the trailer and sat back down, satisfied that he had at least given it one more shot. If not, there's always some Mercs looking to be paid.
Weston turned a looked towards Warren. He just said something about how a little town was under attack by raiders. Boo-ho. Warren also said something about no heros. Ha, what a hypocrite. So, Weston turned his head towards Warren and spoke his mind.
"Shut the fuck up."
Feeling a little better, Weston went back out to looking around the trailer. Domingo said that El Oso meant the bear. So, thats meant one or two things. One, is that El means 'the' in french or whatever the languge is. So, that means that Oso is Bear in said language. Unless they make it really confusing and switch it up. So, that would meant that Oso is The and El is bear. Languages besides the ones you speak are oh-so confusing.
River drowned out all the chatter around her. She drowned out the gunshots outside, the insult flinging, she just focused on the job before her.
When the man --they kept calling him Jack, so that must have been his name-- woke up, shortly after River had finished removing the dead tissue, the insults started again.
"You really should take it easy." River sighed, finishing heating the knife and pressing the flat of the blade to the wound. The job wasn't clean, pretty, or particularly quiet, but River continued burning the wound closed until she was finished.
"There." She sighed, returning the knife to the plastic container of disinfectant she kept it in. "That's really all I can do. I suggest you rest now. And that means sleep. Not shout profanities at everyone you see, sleep."
Alexis mutered sarcasticly "I love you too jack".Alexis wiped the pieces of fruit of his jacket.Jack had no idea how smart alexis was or how he lernt that stuff,None of them did except posibly strauss who had been with alexis in the enclave base.Outwardly he sighed and looked on at river."Give him this" he said tossing her one of the sleeping chems he had acuired with the rest of his chems ages ago.River caught the chem and looked at alexis puzled."Sleeping drugs,Should nock him out for a while"
"Yeah," Roland said sarcastically, "Because combining sleeping drugs with the cocktail of sedatives and other drugs he's on right now, that totally won't kill him." The merchant put away the gyrojet pistol that had been in his right hand for the duration of the little standoff Roland had been having with a small group of Wastelanders. There was already a dead guy laying on the ground amongst them; apparently these morons wouldn't get it through their thick heads that Stef and River weren't available. Period. Combine that with the fact that the outright handicapped historian was still running his mouth and acting "smart", and Roland's omnipresent migraine was flaring up again. Yes, there would be a face to punch until it was concave to the rest of his head if Alexis didn't shut his goddamn mouth.
"He's probably right." River shrugged at Alexis. "Domingo put him on a shitton of drugs earlier, so I think it'd be best to let him rest on his own." She looked around at the others in the trailer. "Anyone else need medical attention?" She asked, standing up. Some wastelanders who didn't seem to be overburdened with an abundance of education kept giving her the eye, but she ignored them, wiping the blood off her hands. "Also, I don't seem to hear shooting. Did we win?"
"Damn straight we did." Dave said, turning after taking an obviously drugged Jack's insults to a surface level of humor. "We shoved a damned sword straight up their asses." Dave said, then stopped. "My apologies, ma'am. I forgot for a moment that I had ladies in attendance." Dave said, bowing as if in mock respect. Of course, this only earned a flog across the face from Stefanie, who had a habit of punching Dave. Jackal cracked up a bit, and Weston was about to do a bow himself when Stefanie made him think otherwise. Dave turned to face the Horde, then looked back, his humor disappearing. "They're a disease, you know." Dave said. "We all are. We thirst for the fast lane, and we've had it. But now that they," Dave said, pointing with an vindictive gloved finger to the ceaseless Horde crowd, "have had a taste, they will want more." Dave said, eyeing the partying crowd. He sat down on the trailer entrance. his elbows leaning on his knees with his arms crossed, his back hunched forward. "They'll want more spoils. It'll be natural of them, you know. First they'll hit the raiders, you know, acting all righteous an' shit. But then when they've had their fair share of killing fair opponents, they'll go for the towns, and the settlements, and the caravans and ordinary people." Dave said, his shades watching the crowd uneasily. "We've traded one ruler for another ruler for yet another ruler." Dave said, standing up. "Do you realize that the wastes have only traded masters?" Dave continued, leaning now against the trailer wall.
Alexis listened to what dave had to say carefully."Im not sure dave,Look at them,no leader,no organisation nothing,If they were sober mebey someone who had their respect like chief harkness or somthing could convince them to do what they said,But im not sure he has any ambition for power,I mean if he did he could of had rivet city under his control ages ago.Im more woried myself about whats going to happen with the muties and the feral ghouls now thier gone".Alexis stoped and saw a horde member obviously drunk wander towards them."So what happens next bud?" the man asked."Firstly im not your Bud and nothings going to hapen".The man looked shocked "But what about raiders and that lot."The man started making eyes at river."Excuse me friend shows over" alexis shuved the man back on to a rock where he fell unconsious.
"Alexis, don't give me that bullshit." Dave called after him, but he was already out of earshot. He turned to face Jack, who was grumbling in his sleep about some sort of revolver and such on his person. Dave silently volunteered himself for two of the weapons. He knew it wasn't being a good sport and all trying to get a soon to be dead man's stuff in a lottery drawing, but somebody had to take the stuff, and he already had a .50 Heavy on him, so he knew how to work the things. Of course, he wouldn't take anything until the respectable, albeit disrespectful vigilante was dead. Letting the group pay their final respects, Dave made his way into the little crowd around Jack, his hand still on his revolver as he looked out the trailer to the horde of drunkards that Alexis was too blind to see as the new rulers.
"Pah"Alexis called back.He looked on at jack mutering in his sleep and walked back into the trailer,Even though jack was a cocky anoying dick at times alexis still owed him.He couldn't belive that dave though the horde would be the new rulers.They were to disorganised to pull it off.Within days they would fracture and break.
Strauss had been busy treating his wound and was just releasing the contents of a Stimpak into his bloodstream near the affected area to stay the flow of the bleeding and accelerate the process of healing when he began to listen to the conversation Alexis and Dave were having. He couldn't really be bothered to raise his voice to give his own input - in fact, it seemed to him as though he'd maybe miscalculated his dosage of Med-X (he'd been using a different-sized syringe to what he normally would), or maybe lost a bit too much blood (which seemed a rational explanation given the red stuff on the floor of the trailer around him), which would quite well explain the drowsiness he was feeling. There was also the possibility that Weston had just whacked him too hard with the grenade launcher he threw. Weston, you fucking asshole, he cursed within his own mind, unwilling to voice his opinions seeing as nothing would come to fruition of them other than possibly another grenade launcher to the face. 
Regardless, what sense he made of Lex and Dave's conversation was quite troubling. It seemed to be something of a cycle in the area - the Brotherhood comes in and overthrows (sort of) the Raider gangs, the Super Mutants appear and overthrow (more like dispute) the Brotherhood, the Crusade shows up and eliminates the Super Mutants and now their final remnant, the Last Legion, comes to an end, the Wastelanders who brought about their demise would more likely than not assume their positions. And Strauss had so dearly hoped that this would bring some resolution to the problems that had plagued D.C. for so very long, that he could fight the Good Fight as normal and help humanity get back on its feet. But it seemed everything was just going to start all over again. Huh. So much for victory.
"You're forgetting Dave and Alexis, that all of these people have homes to go to. You're forgetting that these people will sit back and lean on the glory of this for years. And you're forgetting one more, very important thing," Jacob said, finally pointing to the massive heap of Wastelanders piled in the breach. Then he pointed towards more heaps out in the field, torn apart by ferocious machinegun and artillery fire. Then he pointed into the courtyard, at another killing ground. "The Horde has been all but broken. They won't be able to hold down DC like the Legion and the Crusade did. They don't have the sheer skill, training or experience. And now they don't have the numbers to compensate for that any more. The victory bell plays the requiem, Dave, Alexis. This victory is as hollow as a promise from the Enclave."
Jacob stepped back wholly into the trailer as he finished. Dave and Alexis looked at each other and then at Jacob. He was right. So many people had died that it almost wasn't worth it. Jackal was back in the trailer too, nodding away to himself as he let Jacob's words sink in. He shuddered as he looked at the corpses piled around. Arms and legs scattered across the battlefield. The screams of the dying who lingered mixed with the cheers and wailing of the living as the found the corpse of a friend or loved one. Jackal swallowed hard. The music couldn't drown it out. The screams of mothers and children and brothers and sisters.
Fireman
Stefanie was back inside the trailer. Sitting down on a discarded Last Legion T-45d Power Armor Helmet. She wasn't bothered by the wasters outside. They'd been yipping and yapping and Dave shut them up. Either way, if any of them rock humpers tried to lay a hand on her, she'd've broken it off, slapped them stupid with it, and stabbed them to death with the splintered bone. They just didn't know who they were dealing with. She shrugged it off. What she was mad about was Warren's little holier than thou speech. Miniguns, missiles, all that bullshit? The Last Legion had 20 times the weaponry that these raiders would have. Stefanie glared at Warren, daring him back. She had to say something. "Running and gunning?" she said. "In case you weren't watchin, "Quick Draw," we just mopped up these fuckin' Legionnaires like a dirty spill. These goddamn hicks think it's their win, but it was us. You don't tell us how to fight. I don't follow shit you say. I'm nobody's little errand girl. Nobody's." Stefanie stood up, and Warren did the same, she promptly walked over and put a hand into his chest, sitting him down again. She leaned really close, daring him to make a move. "You're just another of these yokels. You don't know who you're messin' with. Course, I don't either, but I got an idea." The group watched as she continued. "I got a safe trip back to Zanadu, and if you think you're gonna be barkin' orders at me, I got my own mind to walk my sexy ass back up Maryland way to Baltimore. So you want help, you better pipe that shit down, and go about it the right way. Stefanie swalloed a Buffout and went outside, stopping briefly to kick the dead waster that Dave had shot. That boy'd better shape up. she thought, plopping down on another carcass near Jackal, who merely looked up and grinned.
Silas staggered across the battlefield. His killing streak hadn't lasted. The man had taken quite a lot of pain in the latter half of the battle. His duster and the underlying pads of combat armor weren't in good shape, and the new metal plates he'd reinforced his armor with didn't look so good. Silas staggered, shuffling and dragging his feet. The sounds of the Horde as they partied and fought over loot from the battle. 
Up ahead, Silas saw El Oso's trailer and several members of the battle as they sat outside. Silas made his way towards the trailer but, when he was within twenty feet of the trailer, Rad-X withdrawal hit him hard. He coughed hard and fell over as his vision clouded with streaks of brown. Pain racked his body, and he struggled to get up and get to the trailer. His entire body felt numb, and he was confused and dizzy. He dimly felt hands grab him and hoist him up, allowing him to take a pill and get a drink of whiskey to calm himself. Silas nodded to his rescuer, then made his way to the trailer again. Silas sat down heavily and ate whatever was handed to him. As he ate, he attempted to tend to his wounds. He heard Stefanie yelling inside the trailer, heard something about Baltimore, and remembered. When the girl sat down, he said to her. "If yew need someone to take ya to Zanadu, I can do that."
"I could use a vacation, there room for one more on your little trip to Zanadu?" Domingo said quietly to himself as he topped off a bottle of whiskey and polished off the last bits of his previous one. The hispanic man was clearly relaxed; with Jack under for the count and the last of the battles dying down to salvage disputes between the yokels, the merchant had time to kick up his feet, enjoy a cold one and have some pleasurable company around him for a change.
"No dice with me," Roland said. "First light tomorrow I'm heading east to Oktoerfest again."
"I thought that was cancelled," domingo interjected.
"That doesn't mean it won't start up again." Roland said with a smirk. "Anyways, if somebody wants to tag along for a three-week trans-oceanic journey to the land of the drunk and stoned, you can meet me in Rivet City tomorrow, over by Gary's Galley." (This would be the point where Jacob gives in to his mid-life crisis =D)
As for Weston, he was just about to light another cigaerrte when everybody started talking about what there going to do next. Weston sighed, put away the cigarette, picked up a beer and took a swig of it. Flexing his fingers, Weston spoke.
"You know what i'm going to do when i get back to the world? Going break up with my girlfriend, sell my place in Rivet City and go off the fucking grid for a bit." Weston said, using almost no expression. 
Taking in another swig of tehe beer, Weston set it down nearby. Looking around the trailer, he noticed that Warren seemed to actually be shutting up.
"Hey Warren! Kweep up the good work! Your actually shutting up! Alexis, maybe you can learn something from him!"
As River moved on from Jack's arm to the rent in his chest where the Field Ripper had carried on, she winced. Jack grunted as blood bubbled in his mouth. He spat and groaned as his life trickled away agonizingly. He started scribbling something on a postit, writing quite awkwardly with his off-hand and pinning the postit to his thigh. River winced again and stood up. She didn't quite know how to tell a man he was going to die in front of his friends. So she just hugged him and shook her head at them. She stepped back from Jack as he smiled at her and mouthed "Thank you". Possibly the only non-arrogant gesture in his entire life.
"Jacob...yeah, you with the scowl and the black armor," Jack wheezed. He spat out more blood before going on, "I need to ask a favour, in...private, like."
Jacob raised an eyebrow, but then waved the others out of the trailer. They all knew what the favour was. But Jack had been all bravado and macho-man around them. He didn't want to have to ask someone a favour in front of them or have them see him put down. So he was human after all. Jacob walked over to Jack's bedside and crouched next to the stricken hitman. Jack locked eyes with Jacob and gripped the big man's shoulder with more strength than Jacob thought a dying man could muster, particularly so high on painkillers as Jack was at this point.
"Jacob, share my shit out. Even with Surtr and Warren. They need some better hardware," Jack wheezed, grinning as he finished. Even his dying wish had to offend someone. Jacob smiled. At least Jack stuck to his principles. Jack blinked at Jacob sudden smile and continued, "This is for you."
When Jack finished, he let go of Jacob's shoulder and reached down to a belt separate from the other one with the two holsters. Jack undid the buckle clumsily and pulled off a bullet belt with a dark red leather holster on it and pressed it into Jacob's hands. It was one big-ass revolver. Finely made from dark steel with an oakwood grip. Jacob put the belt around his waist, among the other multi-holstered belts. Then he drew the Revolver from it and looked it over.
"Jacob, Boris, my mentor, gave that to me the day he took me in under his wing. I want you to have it. And I want you to use it on me. Boris' kindness made me, and his gift will break me. Poetic, huh?" Jack said, managing a coherent sentence. Jacob thought it was quite fitting. He pressed the muzzle of the pistol to Jack's chest, just at the heart. Jack nodded.
"Before I do this, I want a promise in return, Jack," Jacob said. Jack looked at him, confused, but Jacob went on," Save me a seat when you get to hell. I'll see you there sometime."
Even though everyone was expecting it, the group outside the trailer jumped as a single S&W 500 shot rang out. Jacob closed Jack's eyes and pulled the sheet up over his face before gathering Jack's effects. He stepped slowly out of the trailer and laid Jack's gear on the ground, stepping back from it when he had finished laying it out on display. He nodded, job done.
Weston looked at Jacks body in the trailer, with a blank look in his eye. Looking around, almost as if a child would look, he found what he was looking for. Taking a nearby shovel, Weston simply began digging. And digging. And digging. Stopping just when he just broke a small area of soil from the grouund, he looked at the group nearby. Some were taking Jacks weapons. Others, looking at Jacks body.
"Well, ain't anybody going to help me? Like hell i'm going to just leave him here for whoever."
Hopwever, some random Horde member came by and tried to take some of Jacks equimpent. That was stopped by one of Westons bullets from his BPR which easily pentarted the Hordite's weak helment, before returning it to a slung-over back postion. Con8unting to dig, Weston waited for someone to join him.
Jacob sighed and joined Weston, grabbing a shovel. Before he could start digging, however, Jacob whirled the shovel and split a would-be thieving Hordesman's head wide open with it. The man fell, blood, brain and bone fragments leaking from the wound. Jacob returned to Weston's side and began digging. Being stronger than Weston, he heaved masses of clay from the hole as Weston huffed and puffed next to him. Jacob straightened up, his back producing a loud crack. Feeling a little better now that he'd relieved himself of the pain and the knot in his back after that fight in Stefanie's place, Jacob returned to digging. Jacob nodded to Weston as the young man sniffed. He'd liked Jack. For some reason. Jacob had no idea how to comfort him. So Jacob just gripped Weston's shoulder reassuringly before returning to the digging task.
Dave approached Jack's curled holsters, the revolvers tucked away nicely with the belt wrapped around, seizing them and placing them in his backpack. They'd be nice reminders for the cocky bastard his dad had fought with. As a sign of respect, Dave shoved a round into each revolver's chambered, spun the weapon on his hand as usual, and slid it back into it's holster. Then he drew his own revolver and pointed it straight out in a horizontal row, bringing it to bear back and forth to discourage thieving. The Hordesmen were obviously contemplating it, and one of them was about to get a bit closer. "No chance in hell, bud." Dave said, firing a round at his feet to keep him back. Dave honestly didn't want to kill any more people. He'd had his fair share, and it seemed as if he was going through a sickening realization that the last man he had killed wouldn't be the last. He looked towards Weston and Jacob. "On account of there ain't no more shovels, I'll play more guard duty." Dave said, smiling unhappily.
Warren took a moment to admire the Repeater. It was in pretty decent shape and had a scope, but he would now have to share the ammo with his revolver, which would mean yet another trade. He sighed a little, briefly lamenting the approaching loss of his revolver. The thing had been with him since before he could remember, he couldn't even remember when he got it, probably stolen from one of the Slaver's hauls. His moment done, he turned his attention to Stefanie. "I didn't say it wasn't a good plan because I've seen better plans come off worse" Warren shrugged. "But it's not gonna be a heroes run straight into the base and catching them with their pants down like we saw here because I don't even know where they are." While he said this, he stood up and untied his Hunting Rifle's sling, causing it to land with an unceremonious dull thunk behind him. Sitting back down, he twisted behind and dragged the sling around, removing the Hunting Rifle and lazily flinging it off to his right. A Waster cast a nervous glance at it and, deciding that Warren must be done with it, scurried over and picked it up before running as fast as his legs could carry him. "So it's going to be pretty much just holding down the fort until we get someone to track them and I'd hate to see more people lose their friends, so yes, no heroes" You've done a fantastic job rallying them to your cause Warren grimaced and looked along the Repeater. He would need to accomodate his sling for the lever. Whipping out his hunting knife, he cut a long notch in the up side of the sling and slotted the lever into place when he holstered the Repeater. Perfect. He took his duster off and slotted the sling strap through the holes in the back of it, then stood up and put the duster back on, quickly catching the straps before gravity pulled them back through the holes and securing them.
Now that's something you can manage, Jacob Jacob thought to himself. He could show up at the town, looking to trade and mention in passing that he found a large Raider camp somewhere. A large camp of raiders loaded with National Guard gear from what Warren said, but Jacob was a master hunter/tracker/sneaky bastard. The likelihood of being caught was extremely low, especially considering most of his long-range weapons were scoped. He might even be able to cause some havoc among the raiders before heading to the town. Help out those people without answering to Warren. But Jacob shuddered at the sound of Ronto. He hadn't been to Ronto itself, but he'd been pretty far north, near Hudson Bay. Stefanie would freeze, if she wore that stuff. It'd be hard-fought, breath freezing, your lungs burning as you gasp the freezing air. Jacob and Jackal would be able to hack it, they were used to it. Warren was probably accustomed to it too. Jacob worried about the others though. Could they manage it.
"Well said Warren," Jacob laughed, spinning Jack's ornate revolver around his fingers and from finger to finger, his practiced dexterity putting Dave to shame. He smirked as Dave started spinning his own revolvers ever-faster. Jacob put the revolver away and helped Weston carry Jack from the trailer to his grave. Wrapping Jack in his poncho, they laid him to rest and started shovelling soil down on top of the body. It wasn't a tearful affair like Dutch's makeshift funeral, but a solemn, somewhat respectful thing.
Sebastian Vakas came around from the side of the tank, looking towards the group of wastelanders standing around. Most of whom he recgonzied. Well, at least there facres. Only a few he knew by name. Like, over there is Jacob Vaughton. And there is Stefnaine McRae, famous for being on a ten-penny reward. Sebastian quickly thought about killing her and taking the reward, but, he decied agiasnt it. He was in the Horde camp during the attack, selling info about the Last Legion forces there. Unfournatlenly, someone started the charge ahead of schudeule. Way ahead of schuedle. So, a bunch of need-less deaths were causesed because of it. Leaning agiasnt the trailer wall for a few moments, he completed wether or not to speak. He spoke, agiasnt all opf his brains telling him "No!".
"So, Jack is dead?"
A few of the group quickly turned around, guns pointed at him. Rasing his arms slowly in the air, to show he meant no harm, a few lowered there guns. Or fists. Or shovels. Another few kept there guns pointed at him. 
"What? You guys did'nt think i would'nt know? It's quite easy to figure out, consdering the fact that, well, he's missing, and most of his gear is now with other pople, besdies him." Sbeastian repiled, turning not to sound like a smart-ass. 
Slowly, he brought it hands down, not making any sudden moves or anything. Then, he brought them down to his hips. A good few inchs was his pistol, but, Sebastian did'nt go for it. 
Why the fuck did i decide to talk? Shit!. Sebastian thought. 
"Oh, and Alexis. Next time, never lead a charge like that. One, it was a bad idea, always stick to the plan. I had some info that might have made the battle a little bit less....bloody". Sebastian said.
"Oh, hello Sebastian." Roland said nonchalantly as he walked to the back of the trailer. "Yeah, Jack's pretty dead." The merchant plucked Jack's silenced Chinese asssault rifle out of the pool of blood on the floor next to his bed and began wiping it down from a rag that was always in his pocket. "Field ripper got him." When he had wiped the caked blood off of the gun, he stored it on his back next to the NeoStead and 13mm gyrojet rifle, adjusting it so that it was comfortable. "There's blood everywhere, and we just put him in the ground." 
Satisfied with his explaination, the merchant sat down on the bumper of the trailer, sitting down slightly to the left of the stream of blood that was now dripping from the floor of El Oso to the dead, battered ground of Jerusalem. He checked the action on the silenced Chinese Assault Rifle, then detached the clip and pocketed it.
"Hello again sebastian,I admit i may have been slightly arogent starteing the charge ahead if schedual but your a crusade spy.Give me one reason why we could have trusted you?".Alexis picked up jacks bag,Gave it a one through and realising there was nothing good left put it down.Alexis was going to be heading north soon to meet up with an old friend of his."Im going to be heading north east after this is over,Anyone who wants to come with me is free to.Just warning ya though the place im heading to is a hotspot for raiders"
"Well, Alexis, your wrong. You should'nt trust me. But, i'm not a Crusader. I'm freelance. Always have been, always will be."
Sebastian said, the last part with his arms outstreched, before folding them and leaning agiasnt the trailer, still looking at the group. Both Jack and Dutch were dead. The other guy....what was his name agian? Was still alive though. But, the need for revenge was gone. Taking out a little bottle of water, Sebastian took a small sip of it before putting it back into a dump pouch. 
"So....yeah. You know who killed Jack? Not every waster has a Ripper that can, well, do that much damngae..."
Sbeastian said as he pointed to the large puddle of blood. did not like using Rippers. Or any close combat weapon for that matter. To Sebastian, you did'nt need to get up close and personal to a enemy, unless you had to. If at all possible, you take them out at range. Fight on your own terms, not somebodyselses. Tapping his arm with one finger, he looked around at the group agian. Nope, no-body besides Roland, Jacob, and Stefanine. How the hell that this Alexis guy knew his name was unkown to him. Did he have a contact within the small spy game? If so, damn. Not many freelancers anymore, the rest working for some larger organzation. The only spys he knew of were the ones working for the Crusade's CCI or those AWA Paragons...at least, thats what his contacts told him that they were xcalled that.
"It was Nathaniel Roarke." Roland said off-handedly, without even looking up from his work on the silenced assault rifle- work which included crudely sawing off the stock with his butane torch finger. "Commander of the Last Legion, and all around puppy-killing evildoer." Roland filed down the still-warm end of the stock with an on hand metal file. "Unless, of course," Roland continued quietly, "poetic mercy killings as the final killer, in which case you would want to talk to Jacob. It was his Rapture .50 that was used to strike the killing blow- well, Jack's .50 Mag, but you know what I mean."
The merchant stood up and looked over at Stefanie. "So, everyone, if you're heading for Zanadu now, say your goodbyes and I'll be coming with you for a brief visit to your hometown hellhole, Stef, and then I'm headed for Germany." The merchant smiled softly to himself as he stowed the gun again.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow over what Roland just said. Nathaniel Roarke. Famed Crusade tratior, now, most likely dead. So, the rumors were true, that he did fight on the front line with his men and did'nt be some foxhole norman, like so many officers. Unless, the fighting spilled into his CP. Which, is mostly un-likely.
"Huh" Sebastian breathed. It was'nt evrryday that you hear of someone thats famous, at least known by the ntellagiance community, to die by a commanding officer of a enitre Faction. 
Spotting a nearby bottle of beer, Sebastian took it before taking a swig of it. A very quick sqig, before putting it back. Flexing the fingers of his right hand, Sebastian quickly looked at Stefaines ass while she had her back turned. Then, focusing his attenion on the rest of the group, Sebastian turned and looked towards a black haired kid (Dave). He seemed familiar...was'nt it that one kid from the cavarns, last time he was here?
"Hey, kid. You look familar. Whats your name?" Sbeasitan acted, sounding complety neutal. Almost like how a teacher would ask a student there name on the first day of school.
Dave stared at the guy. "The name's Dave Holmes, ass." Dave said, putting away both of Jack's .50 Mags in his backpack. "Can I help you, sunshine? If it wasn't for the fact you hadn't looked like a Hordesman, I would've shot your head off." Dave remarked. "I knew your dad." The masked man said. Dave raised an eyebrow. "He was an asshole. Him and Jack there caught me in the middle of the night, tortured me, then tied me to a log with no weapons for the ferals to eat up as bait." The man said. Dave grinned. "That's my dad." Dave said. Sebastian shrugged in annoyance, taking another swig of beer into his mouth. Flinging Jack's poncho over his shoulders, Dave grabbed a cigar, did his best to imitate Jack, and got some laughs as he lightened up the air. As the ceremony continued, Dave moved to Warren's side. "Where's your town thingy?" Dave whispered, still looking forward at the ceremony. "I'm gonna get bored real fast with this hermit life." Dave continued. Warren listened on. "I ain't so proud of my past. Uncle Vaughton doesn't know that, and neither does the crew here, although I suspect Jacob knows I'm hiding something. Not big on morality, but I'd like to set myself up, ya know." Dave said. His past deeds had recently come back to mind with the sudden lack of killing, and Dave figured maybe some new deeds might make up for it.
Warren looked at Dave. There was more to this man than he thought, but he wasn't about to ask. If he wasn't telling his uncle, he certainly wasn't telling him. "Well, as far as I can tell it's not far from Ronto, because you can see the tip of the ruins of that frozen hell on a clear day" Warren shrugged. "Well as clear as you can get with some of the fog that rolls around." He considered for a moment Dave's mention of trying to improve his morality and whether that might lead to any complications, but he supposed that bridge would be crossed when it came to it. "Without Ronto as a landmark the best I can tell you is it's a roughly seven hour trip north west of the Dusty Shack, which is my home" He realised right then how foolish he was to just let the "ambassadors" from Shyn lead his little entourage without any directions for themselves. How would they get back? "That said, I'd be happy to have you with me Dave" Warren smiled, and unholstered his Magnum. Emptying the chamber and taking the gun apart, he checked the inside of it. Gonna need some more oil soon He sighed and put it back together. Maybe when he traded it he would get something without moving parts.
"Well, later guys....i've got to ge tout of here."
Sebastian said and walked off from the group. He did some mental notes. The first was, that, Jack was dead. The second, is that Alexis knew his name. The final thing is that , well, Ms. McRae did have a nice ass. Know, to get himself to a safehouse. He nedded the sleep. 
----
As for Weston, he sat down on the trailers edge. Everybody else was looking through Jacks stuff. As for him, he had a grenade launcher. Aiming it somewhere away from the group, he pulled the trigger.
Click.
Ammo was needed. Lighting up a Cigarette, Weston leaned back and sighed a little, before shooting back up to where he was. It almost seemed that he did somnething like a situp. 
"Well, this shits done. .. well...later guys."
Weston said, as he goty up and walked away. Littteraly, the shit was done. There was nothing else to happen. Unless, there was a bunch of random explosions and obne of his friends took a bullet, he did'nt think much else could happen.
THE END
==Epilogue==
And so it was that the Last Legion, the last vestige of the Crusade, was broken as a force in the Capitol Wastelands. Gone was the oppressive shadow of Moore and Thomas and Roarke. Gone were the glowing eye-lenses and merciless guns. Gone was the roar of artillery and the screams of the dying. For the first time in too long, silence descended on the Wastelands. And forevermore, that silence held over the ruins of Jerusalem. Fitting that no bird should sing, and no cricket should chirp and no dogs should howl over the grave of so many. Nature itself holds quiet watch over the hollow ruins and skeletal towers like some guardian. No raider nor mercenary dare take hold of Jerusalem again. Some fear the weight the name bears. Others fear the wrath of the Wastelands. Others, some would say the foolish, others would say the thoughtful, fear the ghosts of Jerusalem. Unsurprising that they believe the restless ghosts still stand shoulder to shoulder, facing each other over shaded battle-lines, eternally locked in war, that struggle that mankind seems to hold so dear. Some believe that the Crusade and the Legion still walk the hallowed halls and broken parapets as they did in their glory-days. Others fear the wrath of the tortured souls, slaughtered by Jerusalem's erstwhile lords, those broken bodies hanging in gibbets and Crows Cages from what remains of Moore's Tower. The silent few who suffered for a war that was not theirs. Who knows, perhaps they're right. Perhaps, on quiet dawns, when the mist hangs heavy over the plains and the courtyard, pale soldiers march to the beat of no earthly drum.
For the victors, those who would write the history books, it was a glorious day when the Heroes of Jerusalem led the Horde into the storm of the Breach. A day to be remembered forever more as Night's End. A day when children remember their ancestors who fought and died for their freedom. A day when heroes and villains met in mortal combat for their right to call the Capitol Wastes their own. The day the War in DC truly ended. For the losers, the Crusade, the Last Legion, brave men and women unto themselves, it was a deserved end. And that end brought with it a beginning. A time for DC to heal, to grow. A few hoped that the Crusade and the Horde would be forgotten, that war itself would be forgotten. Perhaps they hoped in vain that war men would cease to fight, that war would pass silently into the annals of history, perhaps not.
But that, that is a story for another day.
===Character Epilogues===
Here is where you post your character's final thoughts and actions immediately after the war. Post below the line.
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==== 'Ere the North Wind Blows ====
Stefanie McRae looked out across the corpse strewn courtyard of Jerusalem. It was as if a shroud had fallen across the Capital Wasteland. As she looked across the courtyard, her gaze drifted up over the walls and across the wasteland. For the first time in her life, she heard nothing. Not the chatter of small arms, nor the roar of artillery. She swallowed a Buffout as she listened to the merriment of the Horde wasters below. Slowly, the sound of it faded. In her mind she could not truely comprehend the importance of what had gone on here. Nor the circumstances that now fell into place because she'd been a part of it. Now, her mind was somewhere else. The cheers of the Horde altered and shifted, suddenly sounding altogether more confined. More raucious. Less celebratory, more bloodthirsty. She could hear a slight rattling, like hands on chainlink. She closed her eyes and felt the cool north wind blow across her features. She breathed in deeply as she realized what she needed.
She needed the sound of that crowd. The rush of a fight. The feeling of victory over her opponents. To crush them, mind, body, and soul. She could feel adrenaline. She could smell blood and sawdust. Slowly, her hands formed fists. She could feel an opponent under her. The struggling, the grappling, the final submission. It was all so... perfect. She was born to fight. She was bred to fight. Everything she'd learned would make her that much more unstoppable. The wind from the north blew for her. Calling her to The Cell. Calling her to where she belonged. Her decision was made. She'd return to Zanadu. She didn't know for how long. She needed the fights though. As much as she needed Buffout, as much as she needed her freedom, as much as she needed her friends. She needed to fight. A grin crossed her face as she thought of the new challengers that must be there in the years since she'd left. Of course she wouldn't just wordlessly leave her friends. In the morning, she'd make her intentions known. Perhaps Silas would want company on his trip to Zanadu as well. Any and all were welcome in her home there. And she'd maintain her home in D.C. and come and go as she saw fit. There was no force left in the wasteland, that could control the actions of Stefanie McRae.
On the morrow, when the cool northern breeze once again swept the wastes, Stefanie would return to the pits. Return to the sport. The blood, the respect, the honor. It was what she was born to do. Her own neverending war, calling to her to finish, yet everlasting in itself. And so the old saying applied to Stefanie McRae. That echo of the world that seemed to dominate these times. It was that war... war never changes.
==== Changes ====
Weston slowly slid the needle into his arm. He had only a hand-ful of Med-X left, but, he needed a hit now. He had'nt taken one in a couple of hours, and he wanted one. No, needed one. Pushing the plunger down, Weston waited a few seconds, and then let out a sigh of ecasty. He could'nt keep this up just by scavving, no no. He needed something more profitable. He needed a job, so to speak. He was good with a gun, and had something of a resume already. Three assualts on Jeruslam, then numeros years in the wastes. Yeah, yeah thats it. He'll get a job working for one of them start-up Merc groups. There was, what, enough of them to form a damn new army now-a-days. Getting up from the rock he was sitting on, Weston walked towards....anywhere. 
Westons thoughts kept on racing, however. 
Which group? Who will pay me the most? What would i have to do?. Those sort of questions.
Running his hand through his hair, Weston looked around. Nothing. No sound, no screams. Just...nothing, save for the distant cries of the Horde. Just...silence. And Weston did'nt like silence. Humming...well, anything, he could, he walked towards Rivet City now. He had to get rid of his house, cost to much. Plus, maybe someone is offering work there, in the bar. 
"Yeah, i'll go to Rivet City." Weston said, just so he could hear something.
Unslining his BPR, Weston walked to Rivet City. And the way there, all these little dancing mutfuirt followed him, singing a really annoying song.
==== Los Tres Caballeros ====
Domingo's boots clomped across the floor of El Oso's trailer, the hollow echo filling the enclosed space as he locked up all of the crates and finished mopping the last of Jack's dried blood from the floor. Checking to see that George and the Duke Nukem Special (Thomas' gold-plated D'Eagle) were still in place, the merchant stroked the beginnings of his goatee with an almost loving feeling. He looked over and kept an eye on Stefanie as he finished locking in the last few pieces of merchandise before he stepped off his trailer and closed the door. 
"Well, that's the last of it." The Hispanic merchant said as he locked the door and hoofed it over to Stefanie, zipping up his jacket as a cool wind blew in from the north. "Radio's all set, so I can start advertising whenever. I signed a deal with Riley before we left," the merchant smirked, "that I get to work out of a spare room in Bailey's when I'm not moving around in the tank. I pay room and board as rental and we split the profits three ways; 34 percent each." 
He rubbed his nose. "Of course, I may be heading up north to Zanadu, meet some old acquaintances... You need a lift up there?" 
And so it went that Domingo offered his services to Stefanie and Silas, and would begin his journey northward. At least he wasn't alone anymore; he had friends and a profit was to be cut. That was the best thing that could possibly happen.
==== Woes of the Journeyman ====
The grey horizon stretched on indefinitely, combining invisibly with the smoke from the Grey Lady's stacks. Roland looked back towards the coast slowly rolling by; savoring the view of Rivet City retreating into the distance, fusing with the fallen monoliths that formed the rotten center of the once-great Washington, D.C. The merchant ringed the engine department with his throttle, and the paddles nearly doubled in speed as the little boat plucked its way south towards Austin, where someone special was waiting. 
The coast soon faded into flatlands and Rivet City was far gone from sight, the only sound being the steady chuff-chuff-chuff of the Grey Lady's engines burping smoke into the hazy mid-day sky. Roland looked up and found, surprisingly, that the sky was a shade of blue he'd never seen before; usually it was the same rusty orange-brown as the ground. But now, it seemed to glow with a joyful light that reflected darkly onto a suddenly moody Roland. He looked down at his feet firmly rooted to the wheel-house floor; noted that, without his boots and socks on, the artificial skin peeled away and laying beneath his bed in the captain's bunk, they flickered shinily in the mid-day sun. He noted, with dismay, that he couldn't remember what his human legs looked like. 
What have I turned into? Roland thought to himself, sitting down in the damaged swivel-chair that formed the wheelhouse's captain's chair. He really didn't know, either. Usually he would be able to convince himself that he was Roland Rockfort; trader, vault dweller, drinker, womanizer. Now, after that building in Austin, even that fact was up in the air. He had turned away from merchanting somehow, headed down a darker path where he was paid in death and charged in bullets. That wasn't a path one turned away from easily; and much to Roland's sorrow, anger and sadness, he was beginning to enjoy it. He looked down at the ship's wheel; its worn maple handles felt cool and reassuring in his hand.
Gripping that ship's wheel seemed to have a reassuring effect on the merchant. No matter what he thought he was, in his heart of hearts he knew, no matter what, he would always be Roland Rockfort; trader, vault dweller, drinker, womanizer. No amount of blunt trauma could change that, although it could change his way of thinking drastically.
Things were looking up for him already. He hauled on the string of the Grey Lady's steam horn and grinned, laughing like a child as he finally remembered who he was before Austin: carefree, full of laughter and happy. 
That was all he needed to keep going. 
That, and an engine that would work. Much to his chagrin, he realized that second wish would never happen. Mainly because he noted a large plume of white smoke rising from the bowels of the Grey Lady and the curses of the engineer belowdecks. Sweeping his coat up off the back of the chair and pulling it over his shoulders, he went below, humming a quiet little song he had heard played on the harmonica in a simpler time.
====Shattered Glass====
Jacob sat on a battered chair on the remains of a porch, next to the charred skeleton of a chimney stack. He rubbed his face, and stared at three wooden crosses next to the shattered hearth. Good that his reputation had kept people away from here. It had been too long since he'd visited. He wondered what Jenna, what the kids would think of him if they knew what he did now. Sure, they'd be proud of him for busting the Crusade and the Legion. But everything else. Would they have seen his way for killing Bren? What about everyone else he'd killed? All that blood. All those bodies. All those faces and no names to go with them. Would they see him as a Broken Hero, some Angel of Death? Or would they see a monster? Jacob ran a hand through his greying hair and shook all over. So many damn questions no one could answer. So many question he wanted answered but at the same time didn't. Taking a deep, ragged breath, Jacob stood up from the chair and walked through the ruins of what was once his house. He stood over the graves of his family and exhaled, long, slow and shaky.
"It's been a while, hasn't it? Too long," Jacob said, half to the graves, half to the skies above. He swallowed, took another ragged breath and then continued, "It's been a while since I could look at myself straight. Since I could, well, since I could summon enough backbone to come closer than a Guai's roar of here. You could say I didn't want you all to see the animal I've become. But I'm here now, and I'm sorry. I'm what I hated most. I sold my soul for my revenge. And I need some forgiveness. Something that won't be given to me just because I'm Jacob Vaughton. I need this from you three. I'm a monster. I want to be a man again."
He knew people would forgive him for what he'd done. He knew his family would, but he'd never forgive himself. The day he did was the day something went badly wrong in his head. The day that happened was the day he'd put a slug behind his own ear to stop himself hurting someone who didn't deserve it. The day he forgave himself would be the day he really lost all humanity, the day he'd no longer deserve to call himself Jacob Vaughton. A day he hoped would never come.
====Home We Go====
Alexis sat silently among the bodies of the dead hordesmen.1000's had died just for a single reason.It sickened alexis that people were taking this as a victory.This was no victory it should be a day of mourning not celebration and alexis was sure after the celebrations the Hordesmen would realise the price they had paid.In persuit of a single goal 100s had died.Alexis needed time to recover and rest,He was going home.
As he aproached his house alexis relaxed.As he walked up to the door he pulled out his keys and open the lock."Well im home" he said before closing the door and walking off.
====Eye on the Horizon====
Silas sighed to himself. He was dizzy. His head was swimming. He fumbled around the trailer and in his med sack, injecting Stimpacks into himself until he finally felt better. He sighed again and north. He was headed that way. Finally, he was headed home. He'd hang with Domingo and Stefanie for a while, then leave them. A trip home was needed. This time spent with Jacob had him thinking. Silas' thoughts drifted as he thought. His mind traveled back in time as he thought about the last few days, weeks, months, and years, all the way back to that day that changed everything. As the man eyed the horizon, he thought back to the boy he had been, and he wondered, briefly, what his life would be like if that had never happened, if the Steelhounds had stayed away. He'd never know, though. As he watched the horizon, he saw the movements of Horde members back towards their homes, some to build up the shattered wreck the world had become, and some to tear it down. Silas scanned his eyes over the battlefield then, and thought. He'd read once that the world was huge. Much of Silas' time recently had been centered around tiny things in comparison. Even this, this mass battle at the fortress Jerusalem, was ultimately unimportant when the entire scope of the world was taken into account. Silas sighed again and turned his eye on the horizon as he thought.
====Continuity====
Conor Strauss exhaled softly as he walked alongside his robots and the wheeled dumpster the larger, grounded one pulled along behind him, heading south from Jerusalem and back home. With Impact rested on a weary armoured shoulder and the creaking of the haphazardly modified hydraulics punctuating his journey, he simply walked, head slightly tilted towards the ground. 
It had been a long, taxing and tiresome fight, but they'd won it. A few hundred Wastelands against a few hundred trained killers and they'd won it, kicked their asses. And those responsible for such a massive victory? Strauss, for one. They all had helped turn the tide, Jacob especially. And in light of the recent victory, the Capital Wasteland was the safest it had been in twenty-five years. The Super Mutant and Feral Ghoul populations had been all but eradicated in the first years of the Crusade's occupation, and now they, in turn, had defeated the Crusade and sent what remained fleeing with their tails between their BRA suited legs. Usually this would be a cause for elation, but Strauss didn't feel particularly happy.
The DC War was finally over, after nearly three years of constant hell, and Strauss was finding himself rather saddened. It seemed that it had come at a terrible price. So many men had died, as had friends of his, like Dutch and Jack. But more importantly, the Crusade was gone. DC seemed to be relatively safe at last and he quickly realised that he had nothing left to do. He'd thrived on that war, allowing him to spread his own view of what amounted to "good" with a hammer and a rifle, battling the threats of the Wasteland and now there were none to battle. He sighed once more. Somehow, he'd managed to become bored with post-war life. He knew there had to be something wrong with that.
He'd considered following Dom, Stef and Silas up to Zanadu, but from what he'd heard the place was seedy and rife with scum. There'd certainly be a lot to do there, but nothing he wouldn't have to pay for or catch something from, probably. Alternatively he could have went up their to trash the place but that wouldn't come to much fruition either. After a moment, his eyes settled on the distant DC ruins and his thoughts drifted to what was past them. Rivet City. He smiled slightly - he had friends there. Friends like Alexis and Weston and the people he'd grew up alongside but hadn't spoken to in years. He wondered how they were doing, outside of 94. And there was the Good Fight to keep hm going. And there was the big fucking dumpster full of guns he was dragging back home.
Maybe he'd jumped to conclusions when he'd thought there was nothing to do.
====Settled Dust====
Warren looked across the courtyard that would become the makeshift grave of the dead Legionnaires and drew in a deep breath. When he came to the Capital Wasteland, he did not expect to be drawn into a full conflict between controlling factions such as these. Something about it felt right though; giving such freedom such as this when not even ten years ago he was taking that same freedom from people. Well, as free as can be from the motions of life. He let his breath go and turned to the sun, and felt the gentle weight of the light on his face. I missed this warmth up North. He smiled and stopped a random Waster for direction to the Potomac, and from there he would find Rivet City and hopefully that ex-Slaver and his little bitch would give him something decent in exchange for a custom Magnum. 
He considered for a moment how Sarah and the others were doing up there in Shyn, and how many more may have been lost. This soured his mood and he set off on a brisk pace to the Potomac, not caring to avoid any Wasters that stood in his way. The peaceful soul that had basked in the sun was now soiled by murderous thoughts of revenge. Revenge for Marie, revenge for the others that had fallen. The Raider leader was going to pay the most. Warren would make sure that one felt everything right up until the moment he died.
====Running from the sound of guns====
So . . . quiet. No birds singing, no machineguns chattering, no shells screaming down at the Wastelanders. Jackal smiled his skull-like smile as he cleaned his blade. Jacob had left some time ago, to do "something he'd needed to do for too long". Jackal had sat in the ruins of Jerusalem, burying the bodies, burning the flags and primers. Guarding Jack's grave for a while too. Jackal was now standing at the top of the breach, that gap in the wall where Jacob had killed Roarke on the blade of his own roaring Field Ripper. Jackal looked at the blade in his hand. He could see his reflection in the steel through the thin coating of blood. That skull-like smile, the crumbling visage, all through a crimson haze. In that moment, that moment of revulsion at his own deeds, the bloodshed he had just taken part in, he considered throwing that sword down and running. Running and never, ever looking back. Getting away from the slaughter. And when he'd finally stop running, at the very ends of the earth, he'd probably curl up, and cry till the cold or some animal killed him. What right did he have to kill these people. Because they were just that, people. Fighting for their own cause, just like him. Jackal guessed it was true. The second you see your foe as human is the second you lose the battle.
Utterly deflated, and disgusted at the elation the Horders were feeling in their "victory", Jackal walked off, hanging his head. Two hundred years of fighting for every day, and now all he could see was death. He ran a hand through what remained of his hair as he walked away from Jerusalem, back home to Underworld. A Horde Scout walked towards him, with their typically bullish swagger.
"So, Ghoul, your friend killed my friend earlier, looks like I have to repay him the favour," the Scout said, drawing a machete. Jackal parried the young man's attacks almost half-heartedly. An experienced observer would have said Jackal was drawing him in to land a killing strike. But they'd be wrong. If it wasn't a matter of life and death, Jackal wouldn't have fought. But he knew if he didn't do something, he'd tire, and he'd be a corpse. He headbutted the young man as he left a fool gap in his guard and performed a fairly brutal weapon strip, grabbing the man's none-too-sharp machete and wrenching it from his grasp after hacking into his forearm with his dadao. Jackal headbutted the Scout again, flooring him. Jackal raised his blade to finish the job, but stopped. The Scout was cowering beneath him. Even ten minutes ago, Jackal would have killed him without a backwards glance. Jackal looked at the sword in his right hand and sheathed it. Then he looked at the machete in his left. Jackal threw that away.
"Look at you. Look at you, what they made you give," Jackal said to the Scout. Then Jackal stormed off, leaving the confused scout in his dust. Back towards home, Underworld. It was a long trek, at his depressed pace, but he got there anyway. Stepping back through the doors, he nodded to Fawkes in the lobby and walked into the undercourse.
"Well, here I am..." Jackal sighed as he looked around. He was home. It was time to rest.
"Nice ax." She said, glancing at the tomahawk in one of the man's hands... Hey! She knew him! He was the guy who was always hurting Jericho! She liked him! Was scared all kinds of shitless by him, but she liked him!
"Well, nice to meet you all." River shook the hands she was offered. They were a strange bunch, but that could be said of anyone who was willingly wandering the Capital Wasteland. "And I've seen some of the things Mr. Jacob can do. He keeps hurting one of the resident assholes in Megaton, which, while irritating, is on occasion hilarious." She glanced over at the man the medic/historian/whatever was examining, they'd called him Dave.
"He okay? I've got a couple stimpacks to spare if you need 'em."
"He got punted by one of our friendly neighbourhood deer here, and landed quite awkwardly." Jackal said, looking concernedly at Dave. Dave was something akin to a grandson to him, and it was worrying to see him sitting against a wall, covered in scrapes and bruises with a medic stooped next to him. Jacob scratched his chin, and looked somewhere between worried and angry.
Jacob surreptitiously put his tomahawk away, and crouched next to Dave, snapping his fingers in front of the young man's eyes. Dave immediately grabbed Jacob's hand and pushed it away from his face.
"Jacob, I know I'm hurt, and that you're supposed to be the epitome of mass murderers out here, but if you don't stop snappin your fingers at me, I'm gonna have to cut you open and hang your kidneys around your neck like fuzzy dice." Dave said matter-of-factly. Jacob blinked. Probably shouldn't have snapped his fingers at a hung-over twenty-something year-old. After all, the first thing Jacob himself had shouted when he heard gunfire this morning was "Fuck off".
"And who is your fine lady friend?" Dave said, downing whiskey. It was apparent he was drunk. "He's, hic, got a girlfriend, eh?" Dave said, nudging Jack as he woozily walked along, not on a straight path. Alexis hurried after him, trying to get a stimpak in his arm. Dave was going to continue when Jacob came up behind him, grabbing him around the neck and putting him in a chokehold. "Don't, hic, touch, hic hic, the hair, brosef. You may, hic, find, hic, yourself sleeping with the hic, hipppotamus'ss's's's's's tomorrow, you dutch bastard." Dave said, still in a chokehold. Jacob looked towards the woman. "He's family." Jacob said, releasing Dave and taking away his whiskey. "Self-righteous, hic arrogant dutch, hic, bastard." Dave shouted, leaning against a wall.
Weston was leaning agiasnt a conveitlantly placed runied wall-corner, before he heard his name called, with the word 'Crazy' attached before. Getting up, Weston slandered on over to the new chick.
"Hello....my name is Foster, Weston Foster....HEY WAIT! YOUR THAT ONE CHICK IN MEGATON! H-OLY SHIT"
Weston said, at first sounding sauve then going in a very-exticted, fast paced talking before regaining himself.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, where was i...Oh Yes! My name is Foster...Weston Foster. DC Wanderer. And i roll with Mr. Vaughton."
Weston said, this time sounding like a pre-war movie annoucer. Extending a hand, and trying to light a cigaertte with another, Weston grinned. Maybe this woman would'nt try and kill him the first time they met. Well, Stef did'nt. Its just that she'll problay rip his balls off if they ever, and he meant ever, went to bed together.
Stefanie glanced around. Apparently, if you'd been to the Megaton Clinic, you'd know this girl. Unfortunately, Stefanie had only been to Moira Brown's and Moriarty's. Never the Clinic. "Good ta meet ya!" she said with a wink, "I'm Stefanie McRae. Champion Pit Fighter of Zanadu, scavenger, sometimes-mercenary." "And dynamite in the sack!" Weston blurted out. Stefanie slapped him upside the head, chuckling. "Not that you know," she said with a grin. The new girl chuckled a little too. "This is my yard. Anterks don't usually wander this far into the city. That lift leads down to my home. We're gonna go in and get some breakfast. You can come but you need to follow one rule. Anybody?" she said. "Don't wreck shit," the group said, in a mumbling unison. "We are learning!" Stefanie said, laughing. Riley chimed in. "There's some tied up guy downstairs too. He wrecked shit." "Come on in,walking to the lift, " Stefanie said, "Jeeves'll make us up some Anterk steak and eggs!"
"I would know!" Dave shouted, drunkenly raising a hand as the crew began to pull the Anterk corpses from the small surface area. Stefanie slapped Dave on the back side of the head as well. Fist-bumping Weston, Dave moved away from the elevator, helping Jack and Jackal with the biggest of the corpses, the head of the herd. "Sheesh he's a heavy bastard!" Dave said, the trio heaving to pull the massive beast towards the lift. Taking his katana, Dave began to hack away at the legs of the anterk, taking several minutes to slowly and carefully remove the limbs. Both Dave and Weston eyed Stef, who smiled as she and River sat back at the lift, downing beer. "Cocky bastards." Dave said, mumbling in his drunkeness as the women enjoyed the manual laborers slaving away.
Roland grunted, using his cybernetic arm to drag one of the larger Anterks to the lift. Even with the enhanced strength of one badass arm slash mobile toolkit, he had to remember that he was still human. Therefore, massive deer were still as heavy as they always were. And that would be "really heavy". He plopped the carcass down inside the lift and sat, taking in a deep breath and a mouthfull of whiskey before going after another one.
Jacob wasn't entirely sure all of his strength had returned, but he wasn't about to let everyone else do all the work. He stretched his hands out and reached down, gripping the Anterk he'd been skinning earlier. He lifted the head up to shoulder height and pulled the antlers over his shoulders, forming a decent harness, and he dragged the Anterk along that way. When he got to the lift, he just rolled the anterk into place, before taking off his duster and throwing it into the lift after the Anterk. Maybe it was the hangover, but he felt like he was being roasted. H walked back to the Alpha Female's corpse, the second largest, after the Alpha Male. Which Weston, Dave and Jackal had been moving, but presumably either Dave or Weston had dropped it, because they were staanding, staring at their feet while Jackal shouted at them and waved his arms. An image made all the more hilarious because Jackal was possibly the shortest person here, aside from Stefanie and River. And any children Jacob hadn't noticed. (Jackal is 5' 8")
Jacob began hauling the Anterk along, refusing to stop for a rest as his body screamed in protest. He was plain old dragging this one along, as it had one weird shaped antler that would impale him if he tried to do the same as he did with the last one. When he got to the lift, he heaved the carcass in on top of the growing heap of BFD bodies. He pulled out a Chinese Pistol and took aim at a crow that was getting a little too close to the bodies that hadn't been gathered and pulled the trigger. The crow dropped, and the others scattered. Dave, Weston and Jackal hadn't seen Jacob draw the pistol, and so had pulled guns and were crouched behind the dubious cover of the Anterk they still hadn't dragged to the lift.
"What are we gonna do with the extra Anterk meat?" Jacob asked as it dawned on him that there were far too many dead Anterks out here for the group to eat by themselves. "There a working fridge down there or something?" Jacob finished, indicating the subterrainean part of Bailey's Crossroads.
Fireman0504
Stefanie laughed slightly, "of course I have a working fridge!" she said happily. Stefanie was one of the only people in the wasteland, and possibly the world, that could get away with laughing when Jacob Vaughton asked a serious question. "Oh, was that a grin I saw from the mighty Jacob Vaughton?" Stefanie chuckled. She honestly couldn't tell, but probably not. Vaughton didn't grin. Ever. She honestly thought that the Enclave, when they created him, removed all the muscles in his face required to smile. Oh well. He wasn't trying to kill her and that's what mattered. "Jeeves knows how to make jerky out of the stuff too. He can make a bunch and you guys can take as much as you want with you. These are your kills after all," she said. She activated the lift and the first load of Anterks went down. The door opened to Jeeves waiting. "You wanna clean these and put them in the cooler?" she said. "Let's get fired up!" Jeeves said, rotating his flamer into place. His catchphrases were getting more lame by the minute. "No," Stefanie said, "cut and move, no cooking." She activated the lift and went back up to help with the rest.
Weston, helping Jackal finally drag the Anterk to the lift and he said he could lift it all by himself and failed, walked into the lift. Shooing a small child away, and, when that did'nt work thrating him to send the Zombie man after him he earned a punch in the arm from Jackal and a slight smilie that disapperred soon after from Jacob. Thats when Weston realized two things. One, he had'nt taken his Med-X this morning. Secondly, Jackal may or may not know that he is additced to Med-X. Rubvbbing the back of his neck, Weston looked around slighty. Nothing but him, Jackal, this massive deer and 4 walls of steel.
"Sooo...Jackal. You know how to cook this thing?"
Weston asked, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible.
Dave was about to continue with chopping up Anterk limbs when gunfire outside the courtyard alerted im to possibly more action. Having regained his sense somewhat, Dave motioned he would check it out, smiling as the other guys grunted at having to do the heavy lifting of the mutated corpses. Entering through the decaying ruins of a school office thingy, Dave pulled out his revolver, his other hand resting on the butt of his katana's handle, the sword sheathed yet again. Suddenly, he was face to face with an orange-eyed tango, who was just as startled as Dave was. Both jumped back a little, as the Last Legionnaire and his comrades drew weapons, Dave doing the same. Great. Another urban shootout. Poking his head around the side of a broken column, Dave drew it back quickly as G36C gunfire rattled his cover, shredding and chipping away at the irridiated concrete. Revolver in hand, Dave stepped from cover, firing a .50 round straight into a Legionnaire's face, nearly taking the rebreather and face off all together. Blood exploded everywhere in a mix of brains and bone, and the corpse fell from it's cover lifeless, it's rifle going off as it hit the ground and sending rounds to kick up dirt. Immediatly, however, Dave didn't have time to observe as the others, which looked to be an entire platoon of twenty, were spreading out to neutralize and capture their prospective enemy. Dave could already hear the sounds of a .30 caliber LMG being set up. I truly am screwed. Dave thought, trying to squeeze in even closer behind his scant cover. Why the hell did I volunteer to go check out the ruins again?
Jackal and Weston had had a little "talk" on the way down the lift. Mostly it consisted of Jackal pinning Weston to the wall, with a machete to his throat, and threatening to cut off various parts of Weston's anatomy with it if Weston's little habit ever led to anyone getting hurt, and that Jacob would likely do something quite similar. He also mentioned that Weston would be lucky if Jacob got to him first. Jackal was now cutting bits of Anterk up with his machete, making sure Weston had a great view of how the keen-edged blade sheared through flesh and bone alike. Weston's face had long since drained of colour when the mad Irish Ghoul had split the Anterk corpse open right down the middle of its underside, from its throat to its hind legs with a single two-handed swing of the long-bladed Latin Machete.
"You okay Weston, you look a little off-colour." Jackal asked with a menacing skull-like smile. Weston gulped in response. His throat had gone dry some time ago.
Jacob snapped to attention as he heard more gunfire up above. And this wasn't the budda-budda of a G36C. This was the aggressive pop-pop-pop of a larger weapon. Either Dave was in trouble, or, well, Dave was in trouble. Jacob stood up slowly, his hangover-addled mind screaming in protest. His sense of responsibility towards Dutch's son, however, overrode the need for rest and recuperation. In spite of the nerve-jarring sounds of gunfire in his hung-over state. He lumbered towards the lift, looking tired. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was starting to get old. The others could see it too.
----
The lift door opened and Jacob stepped out into the annoyingly bright sunlight. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he pinpointed the sounds of gunfire, coming from a nearby building. That gunfire was the sound of an SCM .30 cal. Just like the one on El Oso. Jacob grumbled something about fate being stupid as he realised he had left Mother's Woe back downstairs. Along with his duster and the various pistols stocked inside. He was down to a Bowie Knife, his Ka-Bar, an M1911 and a .44 D'Eagle. Suffering from a hangover as he was, he wasn't going to use something as loud as a Desert Eagle under any but the most Dire circumstances. So he wandered over to El Oso, and pulled a decent-looking DKS Sniper Rifle from the trailer. Then he started walking towards a hill near the building with all the commotion coming from it. Lying down in a comfortable spot, Jacob resisted the urge to fall asleep as he searched the area for a target.
He spotted an officer in SCM Ballistic Raid Armor, with defiled Crusade heraldry on his shoulders. With the crack of a rifle, the officer fell, the top half of his head taken off by a .308 Hollow Point. Jacob rapidly worked the bolt to chamber another round, slid back and a little to the right, so that the hill hid all but his head, shoulders and rifle. He fired again, and again, skulling one Last Legionairre, and shooting the other in the heart. Jacob moved again, but a stray shot clipped his bare forearm. With a roar, Jacob dived to the ground.Fuck! Why the fuck did I stand up? I could have been killed! Jacob thought to himself as he searched the area below for targets. Only one had left anything visible from behind cover as they waited for Jacob to strike again. One man broke cover, attempting to draw Jacob's fire. Jacob could still hear the roar of the .30 cal.
"Hang in there Dave. Hang in there" Jacob muttered as he ignored the bait, and shot down another two soldiers as they moved around, revealing nothing more than the tops of their heads. But that had been enough. One dived for the dubious cover of a fridge, but Jacob, with little more than a lucky guess, shot through the fridge, and into the soldier's throat. He gargled and fell.
"Come on you Legion bastards, move the MG to me, suppress the sniper, not the kid." Jacob thought, hoping against hope that his shooting would force them to shift their attention away from Dave.
Strauss had been lying limply on a ruined sofa which struggled to hold up his Power Armored weight for some time now. He'd tried to help cutting up the Anterks for a while but the one's he'd killed personally were either in bits from a grenade blast or beaten to a fine bloody paste from repetitive attacks. On account of the latter, Impact now seemed to be busted. He'd have to fix that up later. Stefanie'd probably have some useful junk around her little abode. But right now, he was focused on wallowing in his own hangover. "I'm never going to drink again," He muttered, but failed to convince himself. Now he was becoming increasingly annoyed at an incessant pop-pop-poping noise, punctuated by infrequent, different sounding noises.
"Master." Worthington interjected as Strauss felt cold metal prodding repeatedly against his face. His eyes snapped open and then narrowed in the direction of the floating robot. "What?!" He snapped, batting the machine's manipulator arm away. "There appears to be an exchange of ballistics on the surface. I believe Dutch's offspring Dafydd or some such like and Jacob are involved." Strauss let out an incoherent series of grumbles as he sat up with a start, plonked on his adjacent helmet and grabbed his Laser Rifle, slamming home a fresh Microfusion Cell and watching momentarily as the small digital gauge on the side filled up once again. With that, he stood up and made his way over to the elevator, punching the button clumsily to recall it and waiting.
----
"Hey! HEY! Some people are trying to frickin' SLEEP!"
An unsuspecting Last Chancer rifleman was inexplicably cut down by a volley of laserfire from the direction of the elevator. His comrades barely had time to register the random shout before he fell, his BRA A1 suit steaming and the tube on his respirator apparently reduced to runny black goo. Strauss then turned his attention to the machine gunner, flipping his scope down and taking a more careful aim on the soldier while he managed to heft the .30 cal to face in Strauss' direction. One laser scored lucky and struck his A3 helmet, forcing him to pause to quickly detatch his respirator and throw the now-extremely hot piece of armour off before flattening himself down behind the gun. Small arms fire pelted at the Wastelander's armour, forcing him to take cover at risk of it becoming compromised. Soon enough, however, the .30 cal firing resumed, tearing away at the age-old block of concrete Strauss was leaning against. He'd just drawn the gunner's fire. Yeah, smooth fucking move. He knew his cover wouldn't last long so he prepared to make a beeline towards a sturdier-looking piece.
Suddenly though he heard the unmistakeable crack of a DKS-501. The stream of .30 cal bullets came to a stop. He peeked his head out in the direction the infantry were now firing to see Jacob crouching a few metres across from him behind his own cover, sniper rifle in his hands. Strauss gave the vigilante a thumbs-up - not that he'd noticed - and stood up once again, vaulting over the concrete block he once hid behind and speeding towards one closer to the soldiers' current position, blind-firing in their direction as he did. A few shots hit the machinegun, and Strauss could only hope that they'd damaged the barrel and rendered it inoperable. Now was the matter of locating and rescuing Dave.
Jacob jumped cover, following Strauss as he went. The Wastelander was apparently pissed at having to fire weapons while hung over. For reasons beyond him, Jacob was glad Conor was on his side. Jacob dived in through the window of the building, catching a Last Legionairre by surprise as he tried to flank Dave. Before the man could cry for help, Jacob had a hand on the man's neck, crushing his windpipe. Jacob then grabbed a chunk of concrete and caved in the man's facemask, and consequently, his face. Jacob stood up to a relaxed crouch, moving quietly through the gutted building, and spotted another soldier moving up behind dave. Jacob watched in horror as the man raised his Paulsen, pointing it at Dave. With a roar thet Jacob hoped more like a battle-cry than the scream of an extremely tired and irritated man, Jacob launched himself at the Legionnaire.
Rapidly disarming the soldier, Jacob kicked the masked thug backwards.
"You picked the wrong kid to mess with. And you definitely picked the wrong foster uncle to fuck with!" Jacob snarled as his heavy-handed punch broke the man's neck. The body fell to the ground, still. Jacob walked over to Dave, tapping on his shoulder. Dave shifted and indicated that Jacob should get down. But Jacob was already flat on the ground, having spotted another G36C weilding Legionnaire on the far side of the room poke his head out from behind cover.
River had been standing near the lift awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do or say. They didn't seem to need any help with the anterks, and River doubted she could lift one, anyways. She just sort of stood there, listening to them chat and laugh and fight. 
Come on, dumbass, think of something to say.River had just opened her mouth when she heard the distant gunfire. Dave-- that's what they'd called him, right?-- was already moving, and River just followed. Hey, at least this meant she'd probably get to shoot things. River was good at shooting things. Shooting things was fun. Not like talking to people, no, that was difficult and confusing and... 
River ranted on like this for a while in her head, taking cover behind a block of concrete once the fighting started and poking her head out occasionally to take aim and shoot something. 
"One..." Heh... his head went all asploady.
"Two..." River whispered the number to herself each time one of the... raiders? Were they raiders? Nah, too organized. Whatever. She counted as they fell. It was strangely calming.
"WHY IS IT EVERY TIME I TRY TO WORK YOU ASSHOLES TURN UP!".Alexis drew his magnum and shot one of the legionaries.After shooting one of them and watching him fall to the ground he drew his hammer."Take a fucking break dicks!".He wacked one of them on the BRA helmet and looked on in satisfaction at the triangle spike shape hole it left in the mans head,Next he smashed it on the wrist of another man crushing the wrist.
----
Aaron had been his normal silent soul through the antrek hunt.But the Last legion were nothing but a group of jumped up fools and he hated there ass's.He opened up with his R150 and the enhanced rounds cut one of the legionairs open.
THe nearly-silent "Psssst!" of a 13mm Gyrojet stuck a Last Legionnaire right in the forehead, blowing him over backwards. "Yep," Roland said as he shouldered the Gyrojet rifle again for a precision shot, "definitely packs a punch."
A last Legionnaire came up on him fron the right, which (by all accounts) was a bad move. Screaming like a moron with an SCM Officer Sword lifted high above his head, the soldier was brought down by a quick rifle-butt to the face. The merchant jammed the gun's barrel under the Legionnaire's chin, pulled the trigger, and felt the "Psssst!" sound the gun made when it fired... But the Legionnaire kept on standing. A few awkward seconds passed while Roland held the gun vertically beneath the stunned Legionnaire's chin, before a single sound crossed the showdown: Roland shouting "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs. He rifle-butted the Legionnaire again, flooring him, before he actually backed up and pulled the trigger again, watching as the offending rocket was ejected from the barrel along with the current round, which spiralled away in a finnicky manner before the rocket ignited and it flew off into a nearby building, completely useless.
"Fuck me blind!" Roland shouted again, discarding the Gyrojet rifle for his Neostead NS-2000 and shooting the Legionnaire as he moved to get to his knees. A single shot, and the Legionnaire had a new breathing hole the size of a head with his chest.
Fireman0504
Stefanie had seen Jacob go into the building after Davie. She went in another door in hopes to help out a bit. She'd sen muzzle flashes in a window upstairs, and the months she'd spent with such militarily minded individuals told her one thing: sniper. She'd gone quietly up the stairs and peeked in the room he was in. He was firing and concentrating so much on her friends running and gunning outside that he didn't even notice she was there. She'd jumped onto the back of the sniper, who was prone on the second floor overlooking her lift entrance. Pinning his arms down with her knees, she'd locked him in a choke and snapped his neck sideways, smirking at the crunch that would have any "normal" girl her age gagging. Looking down through a hole in the floor, she could see Davie and Jacob prone as another Last Legionnaire fired his G36C at the two, then poked back behind the wall for cover. Think thin Stefanie silently thought as she dropped down from another hole behind the Legionnaire. The man was peeking around the corner. Rushing while she had the opportunity, she bashed his face off the door frame, dropping him to a sitting position. He raised his hands to protect himself as he dropped his weapon and Stefanie landed two heavy knees into his face before quickly dragging her spur across his throat. He gurgled as he squirmed and Stefanie took a slight satisfaction in watching as she rounded the doorway, blood pooling behind her on the floor. Jacob and Davie rose a little. "How many more?" she asked Jacob.
"No idea. I just got in here myself." Jacob said to Stefanie, before firing over her shoulder with a .223 Pistol he forgot he had holstered in the small of his back, ventilating the skull of a soldier in BRA A2 armor. Jacob noticed the blood pooling behind Stefanie, and the slumped body lying against the doorframe "And remind me never to get on your bad side."
"Dave said something about a platoon, and thats twenty men. I killed maybe seven. Maybe eight, between sniping from the hill and diving in here. This place has to be crawlin with them. And speaking about diving in, never, ever, fling yourself through an intact window," Jacob said, indicating the blood dripping from a cut across the exposed parts of his forearm. He shut up immediately as he realized he was rabbitting on in the middle of a skirmish. He scratched his head, as much out of embarrassment at the "word vomit" as to get any slivers of glass out of his hair. He nodded towards the back part of the building, where he heard gunfire, occassionally punctuated by the whoosh of Roland's rocket gun thing.
Jacob and Dave stepped into the room first, some sort of protective instinct overcoming the polite gesture of letting the lady in first. They stepped in, operating in perfect sync, Jacob covering one side of the room, Dave taking the other. They each immediately put a helping of lead in the nearest soldier, lending their firepower to Roland's, who was pinned down at the far side of the room. Dave had emptied his USP, but rather than reaching for a new clip, he decided on a New York Reload, drawing his M9 and continuing the barrage of 9x19 Parabellum. Stefanie stepped in the door, instinctively catching the M1911 Jacob passed to her as she passed the threshold and expertly working the action and flicking the safety off without breaking stride.
"What the fuck is this?" Warren inspected the dead Anterk, his Magnum drawn into a ready position. It had played possum before when he put a .32 in it's brain case, and he wasn't about to take the chances that it would happen a second time. He knocked on its hardened skull, running his fingers over where his .32 had glanced off the bone. Bet that just dazed you didn't it? He unsheathed a serrated knife and began carving into it. "Well big guy, you may not have been a 'guai but let's see if you taste as good" He had barely sawn off the first piece of meat when the wind whistled with gun fire. Stopping, he stood up and looked around, listening intently for clues to the location of gun fire. Satisifed that it was coming from the East, he headed in that direction, leaving the Anterk meat in the dust.
Dave emptied the M9 into the face of the Last Legionnaire, his mask collapsing in a mix of blood and gore and the entire corpse collapsing from cover, the rifle in it's grasp clattering to the floor and going off in several directions, the bullets pinging off of two-hundred yeard old concrete. With both pistols emptied and his revolver needing an individual reload for each bullet, Dave ducked for cover as the .30 cal opened up again, it's gunner having been replaced by another soldier, this one smarter than the last. Instead of concentrating on Dave solely, he spread out his arc of fire while his comrades in arms moved up in a three meter spread from around the complex's first and second floor, having tried to get an advantage by seizing height. Dropping even lower, Dave took a minute while reloading his pistols and revolver to look around him, as Jacob fired a .44 Deagle at a trio of soldiers to the front outside a doorway, taking down one with ease and precision as the slugs slammed into the man's left orange goggle slit. His weapons reloaded, Dave holstered both pistols, drew his revolver, and swerved from cover, firing three times and getting two scores on an officer charging Connor.
Alexis shot one of the legionaires in the head before retreating back into to cover.He noticed a dead body next to him.Taking the dead mans ammo clip a suden thought struck him.I thought jeruselum would be the last time i met these basterds.Yet the execution of inocent wasters hasn't stoped it's got worse.Since i first met the crusade i have killed more people than i can remember,Not mindless mutants charging him but people,People if i had met in difent circumstances might of been friends with.What gives me the right to take there lives,At heart the group of us are no better than them.
Alexis's brooding was cut short when the face of a legionarie apeared in front of him.He shot the man and sat back on the rock.
Slowly pushing his way up from the floor that Jackal sorta just left him there, Weston stumblled out of the lift. Assualt rifle gripped in one hand, Weston made his way to the ruins, where a single Last Legion soldier was running away from. Both were looking the opposite way when they bumbed into one another. Both Weston and the other soldier looked at each other for several seconds, dumbfounded. The masked faxce with the glowing red eyes looking at the dirty, helemted face of Weston. Weston went for his gun first. Trying to pull the SMG out of it's holster, The Last Legion soldier charged him. Or,. more like got up and started to move tgowards him. Weston felt the fist slam down into his face. Then another, then another. Then another. Finally, Weston manged to get a good look. There he was, Jackal. Punching him in his face. Or, at least thats what he thought.
"Mkae 'um stop guys! Make 'um stop!"
Weston shouted. And someone anwesered. Halloucation Jackal crumbkled to the ground as Dave stood near the dead body, M9 in hand. Looking down at Weston, dave had his head cocked to the side.
"What the fuck Weston, just kill the bastard next time."
As for Weston, he was too busy getting up to really pay anntetion to what Dave said. Not that it really mattered, since the halloucation dispppared.
Fireman0504
Stefanie tossed the M1911 back to Jacob. "Thanks," she said casually. She'd taken a couple shots with it, but hadn't hit anything. She was getting good with small arms, but the Last Legionnaires were professionals. She wasn't that good. No matter, they were all pretty much dead now. Stefanie was tired of people running afoul of her home. She wished these Crusade assholes would just give up. Then she could go back to Zanadu for a while. She was actually missing pit fighting. Maybe she'd invite her friends to watch a few matches. Couldn't hurt to ask. First thing was the Last Legion needed to go. She walked over to where some of the group were standing. They were discussing the Last Legion and The Horde. "So whatdaya think guys," she said, "what brings the Last Legion way out here? We're a ways from Jerusalem, what were they up to?" She wanted to be rid of Roarke and his band of psychos just as much as anyone else. It seemed like things were going to be firing up for another trip to Jersualmem. You know what they say. Third time's a charm.
Warren arrived to the scene of what he could only assume was a firefight between two factions, and whoever the second faction was that was laying down the corpses he was finding he couldn't help but be impressed by them. Looks like my search for the cavalry won't take that long His ears pricked at a foot step behind him and he turned quickly and off to the right, drawing his magnum in his usual blur-handed fashion. The Legionnaire readied his R91 as Quick Draw turned, firing at where Quick Draw had once stood. Before the Legionnaire even knew he had missed, three .44s thundered into his skull, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. "Well, guess I know who my friends are in this little throwdown" He turned to the building behind him just as the last shots were fired and made his way towards, slightly eager to meet this obviously skilled faction.
Jacob sidestepped into a small side-room to avoid riding a .30 cal bullet into a premature grave. As he did so, he crashed headlong into another Legionaire. Both men were caught off-guard by the sudden, unexpected impact and they crashed to the ground. They rolled to their feet and locked eyes. The Legionaire had dropped his G36C, while Jacob had kept a firm grip on his .223 Pistol. He raised it, and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked empty. Jacob's eyes widened for a second, then focused on the soldier who was now approaching him in an almost-flawless boxing stance. Jacob eased himself into a calm fighting stance, somewhere between a Kempo fighting stance and a Kung Fu ready stance. His hands were perfectly positioned to make a cocky "Bring it on" gesture, but Jacob instead decided to put on a menacing grin and simply flip the soldier off. Thge Legionaire threw a series of careful, measured, and well-controlled punches, but none of them connected with Jacob as he leaned back out of the soldier's reach, blocking one-handed while kicking the Legioaire's foot back to the ground every time he tried to advance.
Jacob eventually tired of this game and went on the attack. He blocked an attack, deflecting the soldier's lead hand down to block his back hand, as well as pulling him off balance. Jacob spun right as the Legionaire staggered left. The Legionair stood up straight just in time to receive a spinning hammerfist to the side of his head. The unfortunate man staggered, and Jacob followed up with a solid kick to the Legionaire's lower back, sending him to the floor in an awkward heap. Before the Legionaire could recover, Jacob had stabbed his Ka-Bar into the gap between his collar and helmet, finishing the contest.
Jacob calmly reloaded his .223 Pistol, wiped the blade of his Ka-Bar, and turned back towards the gun-battle inside. He could have sworn he just heard the noise of a .44. He shrugged. The Last Legion used .357 D'Eagles and Auto Revolvers, so it was unlikely to be another enemy. Unless this person was just a wild-card third party. Which would be a shame, because then Jacob would have to kill them.
Roland, on the other hand, would act on his instincts.
"JESUS CHRIST!" The merchant shouted,followed by the rapid paff, paff, paff of him firing off three gyrojet rounds at the newcomer. The first two went extremely wide, the third landing in the rocks somewhere at his feet. He immediately got red in the face and dropped the rifle onto his back again. He drew in a deep breath as he noticed the guy meant no harm, and immediately backpedalled behind a few fallen iron girders.
Noticing how there weren't anymore bullets flying at his head, Dave poked around the corner, sighting the dead Legionnaire, slumped over his machinegun. Casually jogging towards the weapon, he removed it from his hinges, snapping it off the bipod by pressing on a small lever at the side and giving a slight tug to remove the weapon. Cradling it one hand, he holstered his revolver, grabbed the ammunition box, and walked towards Stefanie, where he promptly presented the weapon. "I'm sure Jeeves can put this to good use while we head for Jerusalem." Dave said, laying the weapon against a column of old concrete. His gaze turnd towards the newcomer. Replacing his shades, Dave fixed his jacket and walked cautiously towards the new gunslinger, his hand on his revolver. He didn't have major experience with other wasters besides his little clicke, so Dave extended a black gloved hand to the man, eyeing his revolver. "Nice gun. I got a fancy one myself." Dave said, removing Miriam from it's holster, pushing aside his katana sheath to remove the ornate weapon.
A stream of liquid fire arced through the alley, melting flesh and scorching bone, laying low Legionnaires attempting to join the nearby firefight. Professional soldiers by wasteland standards, these Crusaders, but there isn't much all that training can do when some looney masks his footsteps with yours and the sounds of a gun battle and bathes you in cleansing flame from behind. This, Surtr mused on as he stepped through the smoke. He didn't admire his handiwork. The result was never as entertaining as the act. Besides, there were more important matters at hand. He weaved through the ruined buildings, pondering today's agenda. These Last Legionnaire scum were the latest in a series of shit-brained imperialists over the years that were really throwing a wrench into the mercenary's plans. This time, the god of fire wasn't going to fight the "Good Fight" without any real help. 
"That's what got Baldur and Siggy killed. Damn Enclave," he growled out as his thoughtful little jaunt carried him up a flight of stairs to an excellent vantage point through a broken wall looking over the exchange between the apparent victors and another new arrival like himself. The pyromaniac wasn't stupid, and kept hidden, watching the group from behind the dark visor of his gas mask, the firefighter helmet he wore atop it keeping the sun mercifully out of his field of vision.
Fireman
Stefanie looked around as she smelled a burning smell. Like something was on fire. The wastland constantly had that smell about it, but this was less natural. She gazed down an alleyway from which she could see a trail of smoke billowing into the air. Three Legionnaires laid smouldering in the alley, the thick stench of burning flesh and hair eminating from their conflagerating carcasses. Stefanie shrugged. She wasn't stupid. She knew that none of her friends carried a flamer, and that Crusaders didn't just go around torching their buddies. Someone else was here. Someone aside from the new gunslinger that Davie was talking to. It seemed that everyone was trying to get into the act of slaughtering the Last Legion. With good reason. They were oppressors, plain and simple. Stefanie walked away from the mouth of the alley. No flames had been sprayed at her, so she didn't care. She flexed the fingers on her Power Fist, feeling the servos move smoothly. She looked around confidently. That was just the air about her. She walked over to Davie and the new guy. "Hey Davie," she said, gently brushing a hand on his shoulder. Davie was only about twhree years younger. He did bear a striking resemblance to his dad. Jacket, shades, dapper style. "Who's your new buddy?" Stefanie said cooly, extending a hand to the newcomer. Davie grinned lopsidedly. "I was just figuring that out, Stef." he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmm..." Domingo grumbled lightly to himself as he looked at the smoke trail. He moved towards the burning corpses, covering his mouth with a length of cloth to keep his lungs clear, as he kicked at them one by one. It wasn't like he was checking for signs of life, he wanted to see what had done that. Looking around, he briefly spotted something red and helmet-shaped in one of the second-floor windows around the area. Quietly, he stepped waay from the group and the corpses and headed for the door of the building.
His footsteps surprisingly mute for a man of his size, Domingo snuck his way up the stairs and slowly moved into the room where he had seen the helmet. Sure enough, there was a guy in there with a flamer and a bright-red helmet and black gas mask. "Hey, bud," he said loudly, immediately holding his hands up as the flamer pointed at him. "Easy, senor, I'm not here to kill you." He said softly, projecting that calming influence that often came from his throat when he spoe in an easy voice.
While Dave and the others dealt with the triviality of introducing themselves to the newcomer, Jacob took to the more important mission of searching the bodies. One of the officers might have orders on him, and if all went well, some of them might even have caps, or better yet, Pre-War dollars on them. Jacob had tried finding hobbies that didn't involve as much violence, but he found very few of the ones he tried to be interesting. He had taken a liking to drawing, but it needed improvement. He had considered coin-collecting, but had always sold the Pre-War money before he could amass any sort of collection. He wondered if anyone would read a book if he wrote one. Writing might be a good hobby. Like a combat guide, or a weapon-maintenance instruction booklet. After all the stuff the Enclave Memory Grafts had embedded in his memory, he was pretty sure he could perform routine maintenance on an M1911 blindfolded. Yeah, writing seemed like a good hobby. And if his drawing skills improved, he could even do his own illustrations. Don't get ahead of yourself Jacob. You can change your routine when you're too old and frail to kill things any more. he thought to himself.
He noticed the smell of burning flesh, and spotted the burned corpses in the alley, and traced the footsteps, covered in a light dusting of greasy ash up the stairs. He swallowed hard. He hated flamethrowers. He couldn't think of a more gruesome, barbaric weapon in the world. And he was someone whose entire life had revolved around killing folks. He quietly made his way up the stairs, hoping to find someone with a flamer across their back, rather than in their hands. He drew his .223 Pistol in his right hand, and his Ka-Bar in his left, supporting his gun-hand with his knife-hand. He spotted a man in a modified gas mask with a Pre-War fireman's helmet on his head with Domingo talking to him. Ironic choice of hat, but Jacob had to appreciate the humour that went into such headgear. Like that Raider he saw wearing a DCPD badge. Jacob moved up alongside, watching his friends from a position not two feet away from the pyromaniac. Who, thankfully, had his Flamer stowed.
"So, what's your name?" Jacob asked nonchalantly. Both Domingo and the pyromaniac nearly jumped out of his skin, but Mr Pyro kept a level enough head to go for his gun. Not an easily scared man then. Jacob had merely taken him by surprise. Jacob raised a cautioning hand as he continued,"Don't worry. You're not a friend of the Legion, and until proven otherwise, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Warren shook Dave's hand briefly and smiled. "Thanks, nothing like the kick of a .44 in your palm eh?" He took a moment to look at the carnage that he had just missed, noting that the corpses all wore a similar uniform to the one who had tried to shoot him outside. Must be the next fucks who think they have a right to rule over the world He bitterly remembered a brief encounter with a couple of Enclave Soldiers a year ago. He turned his attention back to Dave. "Name's Warren, but I prefer Quick Draw" His tone was slightly stiff, as though he was addressing a superior officer.
As for Weston, he had just semi-stumbled in, and semi- walked in twhat was left of a door or some kind of entrance. finding the rest of the group, Weston put himself in distance between Jackal; and Jacob. Namely, several people betqween them. Thats when he thought of something. Stefinae. The only other drug addict he knew. Maybe...noo. Can't ask her for help. Hell, can't ask anyone for help! He just had to bee a weak little wimp, coul'dnt take thwe aGODDAMN PAIN AND JUST GO ON WITH IT. NO! HE HAD TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BETTER WITH DRUGS! HE HAD TO BE REDUCED!. For at leasdt a few moments,. Weston was filled with seething rage. Then, slowly, everything came cleaer, more calm. And the tingling began. Fucking great. Leacing the group, Weston went into a small room. Problay a pre-war office or something. Injecting some Med-X inot his wrist, Weston watched as colors blended and faded. Strechted and disroted before his his vision returned. Sighing softly, Weston looked around said office. Looking into a desk, Weston pulled out what looked like a small stack of money. Shrugging, Weston placed it into his pocket before rejoining the group. No one really noticed he left. No one should have noticed he came back.
The dark visor snapped to attention as Surtr's scouting was intruded upon. The snap of a harness on his back and in a moment his beloved dragon was in his hands again, prepared to turn the thermostat a few hundred degrees above room temperature if necessary. The pilot light at the flamer's business end flicked on in warning. He'd underestimated these people, he realized, and so had the Legion units they'd just destroyed. The Legionnaires never stood a chance with a frontal assault against people so adept at flanking maneuvers.
"Nevermind who I am," came Surtr's muffled, gravel-filled voice from beneath the rebreather to address the two men who'd caught him, "you appear to be exactly who I'm looking for. Capable sorts who aren't fascists, don't like fascists, and tend to kill lots of fascists."
He stood, a tall figure whose dimensions were otherwise difficult to discern, garbed head to toe in his mask and a worn suit of armor. The firestarter hoped these folks were knowledgable enough to recognize his A3 "bra," but level-headed enough to see it wasn't exactly standard issue Legion loyalist gear, being colored a ruddy and dulll red that matched his helmet. That it was worn and dirty enough that it seemed like he wore the heavy suit on a regular basis, if not all the time, should be apparent enough. 
"I'd like to see who's in charge, here. Enemy of my enemy, and all that."
".50 Heavys are even better. The name is Holmes. Dave Holmes." Dave said, shaking Quick Draw's hand with a strong grip and chuckling. "Son of one of the Saviors of Jerusalem, if you've heard the news lately from GNR." Dave said, and relaxed his hand on his revolver, showing an extension of his friendliness. "In fact, all of these people are part of or associated with the infiltration. But I'm sure you don't have time for chit chat, eh?" Dave said, smiling, and handed him a beer from his gear backpack, pausing to get one for himself also. He looked towards Jacob and a few others, who were addressing a stout fireman who was wearing an old A3 suit, with part of the 1st Legion's insignia scratched off heavily. Dave patted Warren on the back, and pointed out each of the crew. "That's Stefanie and her robot, Jeeves." Dave said. "The latino with the chip on his shoulder is Domingo, the fellow with the rocket thingy is Roland, the one with the poncho and the toothpick is Clint Eastwood, and the makshift power armored hulk is Connor Strauss. He's got a big ass hammer, so don't piss him off." Dave said, and continued to point other people out. "The irish ghoul over there is Jackal, the really young teenager over there is River, the guy about my age is a techie named Weston, and that," Dave said, pointing towards Jacob, "is my uncle. Him and my dad used to be super ninjas together until my dad..." Dave's voice trailed off quietly. "Anyway, that's the crew. A word about Jacob; he's... pretty dangerous. I'd stray from pissing him off." Dave said, his grin returning to his face.
"Nice to meet you Dave Holmes" Warren smiled a little wider this time and took the beer, listening intently at each name and noting them all down on that invisible notepad in his head. He took a moment to observe Jacob after Dave pointed him out, not doubting for a second that the man was the warrior who Dave described. "I think his reputation precedes him, I heard whispers of his name when I was on the pilgrimage to the North" He looked Jacob up and down, quite sure the man would kill him in a heartbeat if he put even a toe over the line. "I was a bit disbelieving, since the story I heard at the time was that he took down a Talon Company outpost with only a thirty-two pistol and some frag grenades, but now that I look at him" He looked over the others, all relaxed in their post-victory conference. Certainly capable He thought briefly. He patted Dave on the arm in a friendly gesture to get his attention. "So Dave, it's been a long time since I was last in the Capital Wastes, and it's changed a lot in six years, care to fill me in on everything?" He opened his beer and took a drink.
Silas happened to be nearby when Dave introduced everyone. He made a disapproving noise when Dave came to his own introduction. "Pssh. Clint Eastwood indeed. Name's Silas Webb, stranger. Wasteland wanderer. An' this ain't a toothpick, 's a Bowie knife. A toothpick'd be bigger."
Silas shook the man's hand and made the customary introduction. Then he turned to Dave and said, "I'm gonna scavenge around here fer a liddle while. Wanna pick up some more food fer Stefanie, seein' as we ate most've it, and I'ma grab some meds fer some other people in the group." Without waiting for a reply, Silas turned and began to head out away from the house, moving among the rocks and hiking towards a high rise in front of him, where he'd be able to scan the land below him and pick out places to scavenge. The old pharmacy looked to be a good place to start.
Silas slowly cracked open the door and made his way inside. Someone had been here before. That wasn't good for Silas' chances of looting the place, and they could also possibly still be here, so Silas had to be on his toes. The wanderer heard a noise. Radroaches, probably. Damn things were everywhere. Then he heard the sound of a 10mm pistol going off. Silas froze. Someone was in here with him. He slowly peaked around a corner and saw someone that he never wanted to see ever again.
Maria. Bren's raider bitch all the way from fucking New York City, fucking around with Bren and his little clique, corrupting his damnable innocence and naivety, and indirectly fucking up this part of town. Plus, she was in Silas' way for getting food for Stefanie and meds for Weston. She hadn't seen Silas yet, but she would soon probably wish she never had.
The wanderer slowly and silently drew his pistol. The element of surprise would soon be lost, but Silas didn't want to lose it beforehand. He slowly sighted down the barrel, exhaled softly, and pulled the trigger. The magnum roared as it spat out a .44 bullet from its barrel, smashing in the gun in Maria's hand, tearing it from her grasp and breaking it. Silas stepped out and began to move towards her. "Well, well, well. If it ain't Bren's raider bitch. Fancy seein' yew here. Yew know, Bren's dead, honey. He was killed by one pissed off man named Jacob Vaughton. And do yew know why that is? It's 'cause he abandoned the wastes, but more 'mportantly, it's 'cause he allied himself with a raider. Yes, that's right. Yew are the reason why Bren Tenkage is dead. An' I think yew should have to share the same fate that one innocent damnable kid suffered fer yer sake. It's only fair."
Maria lashed out at Silas in a desperate strike. She was scared of him. She knew what he could do if given the right motivation, and, to her mind, revenge was that kind of motivation. Silas grabbed her wrist as she tried to strike and stopped her arm with his iron-hard grasp. He spoke softly to her. "D'yew 'member when I first met ya? I said that, if yew tried to lay a hand on me, I'd rip three've it's dainty liddle fingers off. Well guess what, 'dearie'? Yew just tried to lay a hand on me, and I'm nothin' else if not a man of my word." She went to move again, but, before she could do anything, Silas struck her across the face with a backhanded slap, then floored her with a punch to her jaw, which resonated with a resounding 'THWACK'! Before she could get up to defend herself, Silas was upon her, Bowie drawn. Before he plunged the knife into her stomach, he whispered quietly into her ear, "Gunnight, Maria the Raider. Hopefully, the good Lord'll show yew more mercy than I have, which's more'n yew deserve." Silas stabbed down, and Maria's cry of pain died off as she faded away.
Silas Webb stood up. He didn't feel any better, unsurprisingly. He should, apparently. He avenged a friend and brought down an incorrigible sinner and a waste of human flesh. But he didn't. Vengeance was a dish that never agreed with Silas' stomach, and he was too old to kill for the law. This was why he left the Regulators. The single look of abject terror that she gave him before he buried his knife in her stomach would stick with the wanderer for as long as he lived. He cleaned and sheathed his Bowie knife, then began piling meds and food into a canvas sack. After he finished, Silas headed out of the pharmacy and back towards the others. He left Maria there to lie and rot. Silas may have felt sorry for killing her, but she didn't deserve a burial from him.
Fireman
Stefanie was busy while everyone else was talking. She was examining all the dead Last Legionnaires. Many wore largely intact armor, and all of their weapons were in prime condition. They'd fetch a handsome price inall the settlements across the Capital Wasteland with all the Horde "outposts" springing up. She smile to herself as she thought of completely re-stocking her food and drink shelves. She'd have to meander down to the liquor store later this week. She'd found it in a building to the south, and kept it secret. That's where she'd gotten the fine liquor. She'd have to get more. Speaking of food and drink, her stomach was grumbling. She picked up two G36C's, place a BRA helmet lopsidedly n her head, and slund a BRA Flak Vest over her shoulder. She tucked two D'Eagles into her belt and grabbed one of the SCM Officer swords on the ground. She was stopped by a quizzical look from Domingo. "Finders keepers," she winked. Domingo began jumping on the opportunity too. Stefanie put the stuff on the lift and went back for another load. There were three more wastelanders with them now. River, Quick Draw, and the flaming guy who was being stubborn. Whatever. Stefanie knew that the more people that were in the group, the less shooting there would be coming her way. Which was a good thing. She loved fighting up close and personal.
Stefanie gingerly stepped into the building, making her way up to the sniper she'd killed. He carried an advanced sniper rifle of some kind. Jacob had told her what it was. Something Pre-War, but she couldn't for the life of her remember. She'd have to ask him. She picked it up, as well as his prestinely conditioned BRA armor. She'd snapped his neck, leaving perfect scavenging. She went down to the machine gunners and unhooked the tripod. Hefting the heavy gun with her remaining arm, she looked like a scrawny, overloaded, Last Legion errand girl. Several members of the group chuckled at her. She dumped the stuff on the lift, noting Domingo eyeing the .30 caliber machine gun. Stefanie wondered if he may want to trade something. It would be nice having a machine gun mounted on his trailer, so they weren't just firing regular weapons from it all the time. Stefanie didn't know how to use that thing anyway. She made a mental note to talk to Domingo about it later. She popped a Buffout in her mouth as she continued to go about her business.
Weston glanced over at Stefine for a second. To her, popping drugs are common, and everybody does'nt really care! Weston then slowly looked around the group. Jacob, Jackal, Roland, Domingo, Conor...all of them...friends. But, did he really bvetray them? Would he really let his habbits take over? Would he really hurt his friends. Westons head swirled with crazy thoughts, with everything from sucide to buying the family farm. If he had a family farm in the first place. Putting his hands on his head, and slwoly shaking his head from side to side, Weston knew what he had to do. He had to leave. Now. Right niow, no-one really noticed he was sitting down by the doorway. But, if he left...what then? Would his friends think he left them for personal gain? Of course, that was'nt really the case...i mean, Jackal did make a convining agurement that if his little "problem" hurt anybody, he would prolbyay be killed very slowly for it. 
So, Weston knew what he had to do. Standing up, slowly and quietly, he opened one of the doors that was remianing from the Pre-War era, and walked out the building. He was alone now. Sure, they muiht take him back, but, for now...he was alone. Running as fast and as far as he could from the building, Weston turned back to look. His friends. Conor...the man he would debate with for no reason...Jackal...sortas like a crazy but cool Uncle or something...Jacob....his big-brother, in a way....Slias....like a reaslly cool brother that is around your age.....Stef.....always letting him into her house, even when it might have been his falught if he wrecked it....Dave, Dutchs Son....both friend because he was friends with his father, but, Weston also liked the guy.....Domingo....the crazy tank driver, arms dealer, and friend all rolled into one....and finnaly, REoland....Roland did one thing that he couldn't really repay him for: saving his ass. Turning back, Weston still walked onm, away from the school. He needed to do something. Weston pulled out a small map, and lookedat it for a second...then Weston marked a spot on the map and headed of in that direction. The direction of that was Jeruslam...
“Well, from what I heard, there used to be a really big group of genetical fanatics who kept away from everyone up until the seventies. They were called the Crusade or Crusaders or something like that. Then all of a sudden they started burning settlements and the ‘rape and pillage stuff’, ya know? They wore pretty intimidating armor, just like these guys, but with different insignia and more organized. Professional fighting force in every way; kicked out everybody in Virginia, and everybody in D.C. except for the Enclave and BoS. So Jacob began killing off legions of inept soldiers, starting with Fairfax with the Outcasts, then the D.C. Riots, and then Jerusalem. Short story short, the Crusade’s own guys start to rebel after Jacob, my dad, and some other super ninjas kill off the HighCom. Hence the Last Legion, the new bad guys in town. They kicked out their former comrades and continued with the killing.” Dave said, trying to keep the tale short. “I could explain it in more detail, but it gets kinda gory and stuff, from what I heard.” Dave said, smiling. “Lots of murder and executions during those years. Of course, I spent that time in an Enclave base getting punished for doodling with the General’s daughter.” Dave said, grinning. “Good times. Until I got 40 lashes for it.” Dave said, his grin disappearing.
Alexis looked around,he couldn't see weston anywhere "Uh guys has anyone seen weston recently?".He looked around again but weston wasn't anywhere.That kid would get himself killed he then set to examing his weapons and fixing them.His revolver was fully loaded and his warhammer was scratchless.He was set to follow weston to the ends of the earth if needs be
"Technically, all of us are in charge. We're not as much an organized group as much as a bunch of friends who are very good at killing things. We all defer to each other in a way. People bow a head to my skill, to Jackal's experience, to Stefanie's home and to Roland and Domingo when it comes to trading. Conor is a mechanic of sorts, and he's taking up a little trading too. Riley's an energy weapon wizkid, and Silas is our collective moral compass," Jacob said. As he named each person, he pointed to them, except Jackal, who was still below, hacking the Anterk bodies apart, and Riley was down doing whatever he did.
"Weston, he's like the communal little brother, and Dave was our new kid till you and whoever the guy with all the six-shooters is showed up," Jacob said, looking around alittle to see where the hell Weston had gone,"And the boy cheking through his gear with the fancy hammer is Alexis Ashton. He has a friend around here too, and there's a lad in a poncho around here somewhere goes by the name Jack Damask. Do well to stay on everyone's good side."
Jacob turned to face the general direction of the group. His de facto family. He smiled, he was proud of them. He folded his arms and scratched his chin, then changed over to scratching his head. He ran a hand through his hair.
"We're an odd bunch, but if you're in it against the Legion, you're more'n welcome to join us." Jacob finished
After lowering his weapon, Surtr's ambiguous visor of a gaze followed Jacob's third-party introduction. He nodded approvingly, as if Vaughton had listed an inventory of equipment that sounded satisfactory. The masked mercenary then switched off and "holstered" his flamer against its apparent fuel tank. An observant veteran like Jacob would also notice a shishkebab set in his belt. It was not unlike a katana made of simple salvage except for the long, seemingly pristine and hand-crafted, black, possibly titanium blade in lieu of a lawn mower blade or machete most of these sorts of weapons utilized. The fiery warrioer had other weapons, including a pistol nestled in the hip holster on the right leg of his armor, and he could make out the butt of something pistol-sized but wasn't really quite like a conventional combat firearm in one of three slots over his left side. The other two compartments besides the strange gun appeared to be the tops of unopened Nuka-Cola Quantumbottles. 
"Sounds like quite the motley crew. Call me Surtr. If you have to classify me, call me a 'collateral damage technician,'" remarked the pyro, "I think that best describes my one-man operation. So, if you're half the man of action I've heard you are, Jacob Vaughton, what's our next move?"
Fireman
Stefanie wandered whimsically around the "battlefield," which was now, more or less, just her "yard" again where everyone stood around talking. People must've been getting restless in the Capital Wasteland. She'd heard that The Horde was on the move, trying to take Jerusalem, again. The sudden increase in foot traffic in herneck of the woods was testiment. First a platoon of Last Legionnaires, now several random wasters. Barring people she knew, River, Quick Draw, and Surtr were the first non-hostile people wo come through here in a long long time. Raiders had popped their heads in a few times, and Talon mercs looking to collect the bounty on Stefanie had shown up, but that was about it. That just went to show, the wasteland was reverting. Even animals had been drivin into the D.C. ruins, which wasn't typical. She still hadn't seen many Super Mutants. Probably the one good thing that the Crusade did was decimate them. She knew Fawkes, who hung out with the ghouls in Underworld, but other than him, there hadn't been any Super Mutants in D.C. in more than a year. She wondered to herself if that would change if the Last Legion was pushed out. Same with the feral ghoul population. The Crusade had thinned it greatly. Mostly the worrys were raiders, mercs, slavers, the occasional wasteland cannibal, and of course the different critters of the wastes.
Stefanie waved as she heard Jacob mention her name to Surtr. "Don't forget River," Stefanie said, "she's somewhere round here too." Most of the Last Legion equipment was scavenged, with Conor, Roland, Domingo, and Stefanie scooping up objects. Stefanie walked over to Domingo. "So I got this new .30 cal machine gun that I just acquired," she said. Domingo grinned. "Senora, I'm very interested in that item," he said, grinning as his wheeling and dealing side came out. "Well," Stefanie said, "I'm interested in a certain Super Sledge in your posession. Kinda wanna branch out a bit with my trainin, maybe use some melee weapons." Domingo thought for a second. "That is a very unique item you are looking at, nothing like it in the rest of the wastes, maybe the world. I'm going to need more than just a routine machine gun," he said. Stefanie looked at him. "Lets make a deal then," she grinned.
"Alright, a deal it is." Domingo looked over at El Oso, and quickly walked over to it. Throwing open the rear door, he quickly scanned his armory. Sure enough, George and Belton were still in the back, right where they belonged (hung on the wall eneath Frederick Thomas' Golden Desert Eagle, which Domingo had taken to calling the "Duke Nukem Special"). In fact, his business center was practically overflowing with new items. Wait, overflowing? That was it. Picking up the massive sledgehammer once wielded by the Chimera who had ripped Dutch Holmes asunder, Domingo ran back to Stefanie.
"I'll take the machine gun and raise you one Chimera's Super Sledge. In return, you let me take over one or two of the rooms in Bailey's Crossroads and let me run a small standing armory there. El Oso has gotten a lot of equipment inside its back lately, and I can't fit much more with the radio equipment and the beds in there." Domingo grinned. "We have a deal?" When Stefanie nodded, he took the .30 Machine Gun and handed Belton to the pit fighter.
"Pleasure doing business with you, senora." Domingo said casually as he moved back to El Oso, looking to sort the .30 repeater away with the rest of his heavy weapons.
River, who had been sitting on the block of concrete she had used for cover, perked up when she heard the 'really young teenager' remark from Dave.
"I'm not really young! I'm just... short." She went back to staring at the ground, embarrassed. Such a witty remark! Surely they will know you are a mental force to be reckoned with!River shook her head and stood up, inspecting the bodies for anything interesting that had not been picked up by Stefanie yet. Were these guys really Last Legion? It was silly, but River always thought they'd be bigger. Or harder to kill. Or something, she didn't know. 
Most of them had laser guns, which River wasn't a big fan of-- too "clean".
Well, that sounded psychotic.She sighed, realizing she was thinking about that as she raided dead bodies. 
Well, this was a nice surprise. One of them had been carrying an SCM .44 Repeater. Nice gun, much better than the old hunting rifle River had been carrying. The ammo was rare, but not impossible to find, and the poor bastard still ad a couple boxes of bullets on him. River promptly ditched her old gun and slung the new one over her shoulder, and walked back to the group.
Wait a second, Dave Holmes? That... that meant these people were...
River nearly dropped her bag and kind of stared into the distance. 
"Huh."
Fireman0504
Stefanie smiled as she moved the massive Super Sledge in a slow arc across her body. She was surprised at how heavy it was, even with the Buffout and the Power Fist's additional strength. No matter, she'd be able to trainhow she needed, and she'd adapt. She'd be all the more lethal with the further knowledge. She looked at Domingo. "Well, it just so happens I have an available room," she said, "Riley's got the cage. You can have the room across from the kitchen. Not much in there right now. Feel free." (If you've played the DLC, it's the empty room with the dead Gary 23 clone in it, across from the junk room, next to the simulator room.) Her home was becoming a kind of settlement, sort of like Underworld. No matter, long as they were friends, they're welcome. It still was her home though. She was very happy to have Domingo in and out more regularly. She planned on setting up a code for the lift. She made a mental note to ask Conor Strauss about it. She also had been meaning to venture over to RobCo and meet up with Tinker Joe. He'd said he was acquiring some new merchandise. A Sentry Bot topside would be a great help. She moved Belton again, finding it easier as she already began to adapt. She smiled as she nearly relished the thought of facing Last Legionnaires armed with this monster of a weapon.
Jacob and Surtr had stood, looking each other up and down, sizing each other up as it were, trying to figure out how to judge each other. Neither had made a particularly telling first impression, other than Jacob being a sneaky bastard and Surtr being a quick draw on that flamer. That'd be a useful skill down in the tunnels of the Jerusalem catacombs. So now you decide you want to go back to Jerusalem. Twice not enough eh, you fucking moron! Jacob thought to himself as he led Surtr back down to the others. For whatever reason, Jackal had come topside, and was standin, bandying a few jokes around with the others. Even Jacob had to smirk at the one about Frederick Thomas and the chicken.
"Next plan of action would be to give the Horde a hand forcing the Legion outta Jerusalem. Much as I hate to go back there, it has to be done. We've lost too much to the Crusade and its remnants to just let them sit there in our back garden wandering around slaughtering all they please. We're going to finish this," Jacob said to Surtr and the others. Some of them stared at him in disbelief. Stefanie nearly dropped Belton. Jackal actually went to pull a gun on him. He thought Dave's eyeballs might explode if they got any wider.
"Well, if it has to be done, might as well admit I signed on for it before now anyways," Jackal said, shifting self-consciously from foot to foot.
"Well, sounds pretty heavy" Warren took his last drink from the bottle and chucked it behind him indifferently. He scratched his chin while he thought. "Well, alright, I guess I can help with these Legionnaires" He stopped as Jackal interrupted his thought process. He had never had much contact with Ghouls, and they always surprised him whenever he seen one. "However, only on the condition that you do a favour for me, which I can call you on at any time, does that sound good?" 
Alexis considered what jacob said alexis had lost two of the only people he cared about to the last legion.He was not going to let them continue what the crusade had started.Somethings had to be done regardless of the cost and this was 100% one of them."Im with you jacob somethings have to be done regardless of the cost".Alexis holstered his magnum and hammer and turned to the group.
Out of all the prospective looters, suffice to say, Strauss was probably hauling in the largest quantity of arms. This was down to the fact that he had not one, not two, but three pairs of hands (although one didn't actually have fingers and had a minigun and a missile launcher in their place). The Power Armored Waster himself, Worthington and Frank the scrapheap Sentry Bot were all collecting weaponry, and while Frank himself was having some trouble actually picking anything up, they were still grabbing a lot. As Worthington deposited a G36C in the dumpster Strauss called home, he himself was piling up a BRA suit he'd just stripped off the corpse of a Last Chancer on top of Frank's outstretched arms. The Sentry Bot rolled over to the dumpster whie Strauss picked up his sidearm, grenades and the ammunition he'd carried.
"Well," Strauss said as he deposited the loot into the dumpster. "Guess that's enough. Six bodies, ready to have their valuables sold off like the thieving mercantile bastards we are." He dusted his hands off and gave Frank a very slow, clear command to guard the dumpster while he gestured for Worthington to follow him. He took note of the newcomers and eyed them cautiously. Lots of things seemed to be finding their way to Baileys - random Wastelanders, giant fucking deer and bigots with lots of guns alike.
"Warren, right? Look around you. You can tag along if you want, but I'm not recruiting you. Go to Rivet City if you want that shit. So fuck your favour. Stay here, or go somewhere else if that's how you want things. To be absolutely honest, we don't need your help with the Legion, we've busted Jerusalem twice already. Like I said, tag along if you want, no one is going to make you come along but yourself," Jacob said.
He hated when people volunteered for things and then expected something in return. He wandered back towards the lift to retrieve his duster and other gear from down below in Stefanie's home, his mind going over many inventive ways to slap the face off that Warren guy for thinking he was doing them a favour. He really liked the idea of using Warren's own severed arms. About five minutes later, he had returned topside with his pistol-laden duster and Assault Rifle, nodding to the assembled crowd.
"Right,, anyone need anything before we get going. And has anyone seen Weston?" Jacob said, as cheerfully as he could manage.
Dave couldn't believe it. A shot at revenge. Sure, his bone was with the Enclave, but if the Crusade hadn't been sitting in their hidey hole near north-north D.C., maybe he'd still have his dad with him. What Dave couldn't believe besides that was the fact that he wasn't just scared; he was scared shitless. Dave didn't enjoy the thought of storming the most secured, almost impregnable fortress. Dave had read some information on that place during training with his dad and Enclave, and had seen the place while living near his father's grave. Some sort of pre-war military base; Adams-AFB looking minus the runways. Large buildings, military bunkers, etc. Except everything above ground except for the major walls and a few buildings had been decimated. Jerusalem had been downsized even more after the war to a smaller perimeter even easier to guard, and the wall height had been shaved universally. Still, it was a very formidable target, even if it supposedly had a hole the size of the General's daughter's ass in the main wall surrounding it. Dave finally spoke up, gulping."I'm down for it. I wasn't planning on going to the same place where my dad got squeezed to death by a hulking motherfucking mutant, but why not. There's always a first time for everything." Dave said, and took up a lawnchair, sitting himself down to inspect his gear. Kicking his feet up on a rotting wooden table, Dave took several minutes inspected each weapon in his arsenal, reassembling and disassembling his M24, cleaning his pistols, and lastly his revolver, Miriam. Lastly, he inspected his supplies in his backpack, made sure he looked good with his shades and jacket, and took a moment to unsheath his father's ornate katana, which hadn't been used since Jacob had killed Hennard. It's blade was gleaming in the sunlight, and the Enclave seal branded on it's blade on the handle stook out to Dave as sickening. Taking his trench knife, Dave scratched away until the seal was hardly identifiable, a tribute the men who had let his father go at it alone with friends who weren't even Enclave. Sheathing the blade again, Dave lade it at his side, watching the group intently.
So someone had finaly noticed that weston had vanished.Hopefully they could find him on the way to jeruselum,Mabey he could stop by his "House" as well to recover that repeater.It was to clumsy for normal use but at time like this having a kick ass .44 repeater came in handy."Weston vanished a while ago jacob and if we have time i need to get some more equipment from my house north of DC?".Without waiting for an answer he stood up and stretched.
"I know a back way in," Domingo said quietly. "I use it all the time to scavenge stuff from the lower catacombs, and I've made it as far as where Frederick Thomas was killed and where we fought Hennard using that entrance." He coughed. All of the cigars were finally catching up to him; his lungs must have been coated in enough tar to pave a small road and every time he coughed, his internal organs came that much closer to being hacked out his throat. He would have to consider quitting some time in the near future if he wanted to continue fighting alongside his comrades, because being brought down on the field in a coughing fit was no way to die.
"Anyways," Domingo said, "It's around on the south side of Jerusalem, there's a breach in the wall just wide enough to squeeze through in single-file. From there, it's a straight run to a destroyed supply depot. The depot has an emergency access hatch to the catacombs under Jerusalem, and from there we just climb through those and..." Domingo scratched his head a little, and looked at the Warrior Weapon of the group. "Err... What exactly was your plan again?"
Roland scratched his head and looked over at Domingo. "I'm guessing we attack Roarke and his cabal. Cut off the head and all that." The merchant walked over to Jacob and looked him in the eye. "I've survived a lot worse than some manic former Crusaders. I think I can handle the Last Legion after someone dropped a fucking building on me back in Austin, and that still didn't stop me. I'm in."
"I'm in."
Weston said. However, he was not inisde the same builidng the reast of the group was. No, no. He was right outside fucking Jerusluam. Yep. He just voltunreed for the horde. Great Job Weston, Great Fucking Job! This Med-X is really starting to get to you, you lack-jawed peice of shit!.
"Combat Experince?" Thre Horde requtier asked. He was a rather old man, problay in his 50's or something like that. But, he was'nt super old. He looked like he knew a thing or two abouyt combat.
"Stormed Jeruslam twice, sir. First time was before the Last Legion. Second time was when the Last Legion was attacking, sir. But, other then that, i've been apart iof a few Sweep and Cllears, looking for Raiders."
"Right, sure you Stormed Jeruslam. Name?" tge man asked, half scarsitlly.
"Weston FGoster, sir. "
"Ok, then. Seems that your in the Horde! Welcome aboard. Now, go to the little shack that is marked with a Gun. Go in there, and talk to the quarter master there. He'll give you some armour."
Weston looked down at his body. The guy did have a a point the only armour that Weston really wore was a combat helemtn. Some bits and peices of BRA armour would'nt hurt nobody.....
Leaving the tent, Weston looked around the camp. It was busy, to say the least. Bunch of people rushing around. Looking over in a open tent, Weston saw a game of arm wrestling going on. The next tent over, there was guys hitting up some Rad-Weed. Then, the next tent over from the druggie tent, was a bunch of new, scared youngsters. . Weston crossed into what seemed like a crossroads. Thats when he felt someone push him. Stumbling to the ground, Weston looked up to see this rather large, if somewhat short man standing over him.
"HEY, ASSWIPE!" the man, oblsuily drunk, shoutred.
"Wait, huh?" Weston responded.
"EVER SEEN ANY COMBAT.?!"
"More then what you've seen, problay." Weston responded in a smart-ass tone, while he was getting up from the muddy ground.
For some reason or another, that really pissed the other man off. Not like a pissed off that stayed with you for a few mintues and might lead to a argument, but, like a extermly pissed off type that causes a man to fight. The man started to throwe a punch, and weston raised his arms to block it. Ghat was'nt enough. Weston felt the huge hand pound into his face, knocking him back. So, if this bastard wanted to fight, so be it. The whole peroid of rafge that he had built up, ever since he was wounded, came out in that one moment. Thats when Weston lost sight, hearing, memory recollation for a full mintute. thats not to say he did'nt do anything. It's just that his brain couldnt, or did'nt want to register what he;d done. Next thing he knew,Weston was standing atop the dead body, a small crowd of people gathered around him. The mans head was preety much a bloody pulp, a arm was broken, and the man had two smashed knees. Standiong up, horrifed over what he's done, Weston pushed past the crowd and ran. Weston did'nt stop running for a while, at least until there was a line of trenchs. They were from before. Skidding to a stop. Weston looked around. And over there was the cave...and right there was where Domingos tank crashed into the tank...and...he was wounded here....Westons mind flashed with images from thiose few mintues of his life. A Vertibird, people stnading over him....A dog named cat....a cave...Wait, a cave? Weston looked for it and found it. Same Cave as before. Looking around, Weston entered the cave. Slowly, yes. would it take him a while to reach the spot where Jersualm was? Yes. But, for now, Weston just walked.and walked. and walked.
What?
Fireman
Stefanie leaned on Belton, observing the conversation. "Well," she said, "I just can't let you boys go in there and have all the fun." She grinned and winked. "I'm coming with" she said. The last time they'd gone to fight at Jersualem, she'd been shot and almost killed. This time would be different. She looked at the newcomer Surtr's indifferent face, masked by the visor he wore. Quick Draw had just smarted Jacob. Not a good move. Jacob was right though. We didn't need another gunslinging wastelander tagging along. That's not to say it wouldn't be bad having one. These new additions just needed to watch their mouths and not come in all high and mighty. It'd mucheasier getting along. Stefanie tightened her grip on Belton as she moved the hammer again, before slinging it across her back. She sat down on a boulder near the group, next to Roland, who gave her an elbow and a grin, intently listening in on the ideas they had of getting into Jerusalem. She noted to herself how much she was learning from these gus. Months prior she'd had no military training or experience, no idea how to use most weapons, and only the hand to hand skill taught to her in the pit fighting arenas. Stefanie hoped Weston was ok. She noted having not seen himin a while, even though Alexis, a.k.a. Captain Obvious, had mentioned it two or three times. Eh, he meant well. "So when do you think we'll be moving out?" Stefanie asked, to nobody in particular.
"We can go whenever everyone's ready. I'm not gonna hop off and leave everyone trying to get their shoes on and follow. We can leave at dusk if youw ant a time set on it. Gives a good twenty minutes to get sorted," Jacob said, cringing as he realized he was talking like Jackal. Jackal just sniggered. Irish mannerisms were so easy to pass on, and people used them without even thinking.
Jacob began going over his weapons, all of his concealed knives, and the dozen or so pistols in the various holsters stitched into his duster. Then he started going over Mother's Woe. The modified assault rifle was a strange-looking beast, with a stock looted from a GPMG, a scope looted from a sniper rifle and a bigger caliber barrel, 7.62mm. He checked the clip, which was almost empty after the battle with the Anterks. Thanking whatever powers were at work in the universe that he had remembered, he slid another expanded clip into place. He checked his bayonet lug and the bavonet fixed into it for any looseness. Still fine. Everything seemed in order.
"I'm ready," Jacob said, looking around at the others as they went about their own preparations.
Fireman0504
Stefanie stood up. "Lemme get some provisions and I'm all set," Stefanie said, heading toward the lift. She activated it and disappeared from view. About five minutes later she re-emerged. She had some extra plating around her shoulders and hips, as well as guarding her pelvis. She also had a small satchel. Inside were a few cans of Pork n' Beans, and some Anterk jerky. "I told Riley what was going on, he's tinkerin with some new weapon. No idea, but he said he'd be right up." Domingo peeked into her satchel, then chuckled. "What?" Stefanie laughed, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder, "a girl's gotta eat!" Jackal chuckled too, and Jacob shook his head. "Got anything good in there?" Dave said, approaching Stefanie. She recoiled her bag. "Hey hey, Davie, get your own yum yums," she said. Davie's eyes perked up. "You got devilled eggs?" he said. "No, not those yum yums," she laughed. Quick Draw and Surtr looked confused. They just didn't get the interaction here. Some of the most (in)famous names and most hardened killers in the wasteland, acting like brothers and sisters. Abruptly the laughter quit as "Uncle Jacob" yelled. "CAN WE FOCUS HERE?" he shouted, silencing everyone, but trying not to crack a smile at the same time. Stefanie snorted a slight laugh. Jacob really was proud of them, even going so far as to call them friends. Now was time for business though, and Stefanie and the rest of them knew that when it was time for business, Jacob Vaughton was the most serious businessman in the Capital Wasteland. "Ok," Stefanie said, "one thing before we go, almost ready." She popped a Buffout into her mouth and swallowed it. "I'm ready," she said.
Alexis grabed the last of his gear and holstered his weapons.There was a few things still to go through.He pulled on his boots and flicked the switch that activated the servomotors in his armour.He was set.Around him the rest of the group were doing the same and they looked like they were ready."Im set"
"I've been ready, grandaddio. Let's get a move on before I piss my pants early from being scared shitless." Dave said, shouldering his backpack and standing up from the lawn chair. He was young and cocky, but really just young and trying to live up to his father's name. He had something to prove to Jacob that he wasn't some jumped up waster who had sold a town into slavery and got punted by a giant fucking deer. No, today and tomorrow would define him for the rest of his life, and the people he meet in the years to come would remember him and his father's name, especially if it was their last breath. Dave, trying to get a feel for himself, twirled both of his pistols in either hand, catching both by the handle on the spin of his fingers and sliding them into his holster. His left automatically went back to the holster inside his jacket underneath his arm, where he felt the reassuring grip of his revolver, Miriam. His other hand attached his katana to the belt on his jeans, then grabbed a cigarette and an old lighter, which promptly lit the cigarette. Catching a no look from Jacob, Dave tossed both items to the side, obeying the fuzz without any whining.
Strauss was now working on repairing Impact. Well, a part of Impact. The hammer itself was disassembled in such a way you'd hardly think it was a sturdy weapon by looking at it. It didn't seem to deter Strauss from using it, however. He sat on a chunk of concrete debris, tinkering with the capacitor which was in a similar state of disassembly. As it turned out, the most integral part of Impact had rattled itself to pieces after he hammered an Anterk into mush. He made a mental note never to hit something so many times in rapid succession again. "Hang on, gimme a second." He called out to the rest of the group as he worked, swearing repeatedly over the course of ten or so minutes while he switched from tool to tool to fist (a solid whack can fix anything, after all) to a different tool. It took quite a while, but he eventually managed to fix it, giving a random cry of "EUREKA!" in celebration and then getting to work putting the hammer back together.
"That's wrapped," He muttered as he strapped the hammer to his back, dusting his hands off shortly afterwards. At this point, he began checking through his various bags and bandoliers for ammunition. He had enough - that was alright. He broke open his Paulsen to see it was fully loaded, then did the same with his Grenade Pistol, sliding a 40mm grenade into the vacant slot before holstering it. Aside from the explosives specifically designed to be launched, he had three frags, one pulse and one plasma, along with a bottlecap mine. He drew both his SCM Officer Swords to see that they were adequately sharp (he'd hardly ever used them since he found them as a matter of fact) before sheathing them once again and moving onto his D'Eagle, produced by the same manufacturer. Fully loaded, eight magazines to spare. That equated to a eighty-one rounds. That would be more than enough, and he'd be going up against people who would no doubt carry a lot of the same ammunition, so he wouldn't have to worry. Finally, he checked his Laser Rifle and was dismayed to see that the current cell charge was only 12%. He ejected the current MF cell and replaced it with a fresh one.
Then Conor went about checking Worthington's storage compartment. He didn't have to look twice - he flipped it open for five seconds, peeked around inside and closed it with a satisfied smirk. Just the right amount of supplies. He then did a quick check over the contents of his dumpster before slamming the top lid shut and locking it, instructing Frank to wheel it over next to the lift and leave it there. He watched as the Sentry Bot carried out its command before rolling back over to Strauss, rattling out a confirmation of completion. He was about to announce that he was done checking his gear when he heard Jacob shout something. Jacob? Shouting? Does not compute. He turned to face the rest of the group to realise that they must have been doing something that irked the vigilante. "Uh... I'm set to go, yeah," Conor said, meeker and quieter than he initially thought he'd say it.
Riley was finished. All that time he was working on multiplying his Tetra-Laser using spare parts and laser rifles. He attempted to saw off the barrel of one of the laser rifles.. but that made it explode about ten seconds later. He had two Tetra-Lasers now. I should sell it or something he thought, while looking at the rifle. He looked in a pre-war dictionary to find a cool word that meant four, and he found Tetra. Good enough. He walked towards the lift and heard some commotion upstairs, so he readied his rifle just incase.
The lift came down, and he got on. He pressed the button, and it went up. To his surprise, nobody was fighting. Good, he thought. "I'm back..." he said, and only Stefanie noticed. More people were here, three more to be exact. I hate introductions. He knew that Strauss might want a new gun, so he went over to him first. "Hey, Conor... do you want a new gun? I'll sell it to ya.. Do you want it for your robot? I'll install it!" he said. He was really acting like a merchant today. Huh.
Warren was a little disappointed. This was not the answer he had wanted, but he wasn't about to leave Sarah, Slug and the others to their fate of protecting that little piss ant town. He had lost some friends to those damn Raiders, and Marie had taken a major wound to her arm, something likely to stay with her till the day she died. Maybe now was a bad time, so he decided to wait until he could truly call on a favour. The Dusters could last a little longer; they were nothing if not adaptable, and by and large these Raiders, though possessing a bit more fire power than your average gang, still were not really master tacticians. Fortunate, really.
"Alright fine, but keep in mind I won't give up" Warren said, a grim determination set on his face. "If I see the opportunity to use leverage to assist with my little problem, I'll use at the first opportunity" He emptied the three bullets remaining in his gun and pocketed them, reloading the .44 with a fresh batch. "That said, these bastards shot first, and though the DC Wastes have been less than kind, I'm not about to see it shot to hell by high and mighty fucks like these Legionnaires" His little speech over, his eye was drawn to some Pork N' Beans lying near the corpse of a Legionnaire. His eyes flashed and he set on a brisk pace towards it, picking it up. He unsheathed his hunting knife and stabbed into it, opening it in a crude tin opener style before heaving it down his throat, the tomato sauce running down the side of his mouth. "Damn it I love Pork N Beans" He wiped his face and looked into it before throwing it away.
"Use that leverage and we might have to use brute force Warren. Two to the chest and one to the head is my thing, unless it's a dead-on headshot, or my bare hands. Silas there'll blow you the hell away with his rifle or revolver. If Stefanie doesn't beat you to death first. And if she doesn't, Conor would probably break you in two with that hammer. Unless Dave's already shot ya. Riley there can blow out your eyeballs with a thought. Alexis could mess you up with his hammer, and Jackal, well, he'd just plain old hack you to pieces," Jacob said. He rolled his eyes, then continued," We're a dangerous crowd, best not to make threats about leverage, or we'll respond with promises of violence."
To emphasize his point, Jacob chambered a round in Mother's Woe and his .223 Pistol. He looked Warren head to toe, nodded and went back to looking around the others. They all seemed ready, so he made a gesture in Jerusalem's general direction, then nodded to Alexis as he raised an eyebrow at Jacob. They'd be paying a visit to Alexis' place on the way out to Jerusalem. He just hoped Stefanie didn't set her heart on some payback house-trashing.
Leverage was something you didn't have when you were vastly outnumbered by experienced combatants, Surtr thought to himself, shaking his head at the exchange between Warren and Jacob. He was pretty much always prepared, as he tended to use what little he had in such a way as to seem he had an armory at his disposal. Though, he did wish his minigun hadn't been dashed apart by a yao guai a few months back. After a quick check of his weapons and his fuel gauge, the mercenary waited for his newfound 'friends' to make their preparations in silent observation. When the group seemed ready to get under way, he approached the hispanic with the tank and the metric fuckton of weaponry stored away, Domingo if he remebered right.
"Two questions. Cigs or cigars? And, got a gatling in that armored pickup of yours? Might need to mow Jerusaelem's lawn, if it comes to it."
"Let me come too!" River could have slapped herself for saying something so stupid. Why? Why would she ever want to go to Jerusalem ever? Sure, there was the promise of adventure, but River didn't want adventure. She wanted safety, security, quiet...
All of which are damn near impossible while the Legion's about and you live in the wastes.
"Th-that is if you wouldn't mind or anything... I'm not useless in a fight, and it's always good to have a doctor, and Doc Church wouldn't mind, he can handle things on his own, and... I'm gonna shut up now." River examined her shoelaces intently.
"Anyone willing to tag along is welcome to do so. I'm not going to turn another gun and another set of eyes away without good reason. Just keep in mind that we'll be fighting a professional army, on a par with the Crusade, the Brotherhood, and maybe even the EAF. We watch each other's backs. Don't expect us to have your back if you won't have ours. Don't look for a chance to gain leverage, don't go seeking glory, unless of course the opportunity is worth it. By that I mean shooting Roarke in the head if you get a chance. Most importantly, Warren, River, Surtr, welcome aboard. We hope you enjoy your stay among Heroes of Jerusalem," Jacob said, trying to sound cheery. It was kind of scary, seeing him with that grin on his face. It was like seeing a stone wall break out in laughter.
Jackal was standing a little off to the side, quietly utterring the Prayer to Saint Michael. He knew it was out of context, a physical battle and all, but it was soothing. That and Michael was the Patron Saint of warriors. Looking around, Jackal couldn't help but draw a parallel between Jacob and the Archangel. He wouldn't be surprised to find scars on Jacob's back that looked like wings had been shorn from his body at some point. That and if Jacob ever got in a brawl with the Devil, Jackal's money would be on Jacob, all the way.
----
Last Legion Colonel Nathaniel Roarke sat at a heavy oak table, resting his head in his palm. He had gone over the security holotapes of the Enclave attack on Jerusalem. Thirty soldiers caused so much damage. One of them, Jacob Vaughton, a name well-known to every soldier in the Crusade, stuck out above all others. The man in black, the Angel of Death. The man whose steel wings brought doom and slaughter wherever they cast their shadow. Every time Jacob's path crossed with that of the Crusade, the bodycount and collateral damage cost skyrocketted. Most galling of all Jacob's transgressions was, however, the killing of Roarke's three sons. Vengeance would be had when Roarke saw Jacob. He knew the Butcher of Fairfax couldn't stay away from Jerusalem. Ever since aligning himself with the Outcasts, Jacob had forever intertwined his own destiny with that of the DC Crusade. And the knot was about to completely unravel.
"So the Horde plans to attack at dawn. Ready the artillery. Let them cower before the roar of artillery again. Let them know that the God of War calls for their death. Bombardment will commence the second the sky lightens. Show these dogs why we cast them away the first time," Roarke said to an aide standing in the doorway. Roarke himself replayed the holotape, finally pausing at Jacob's face. Well, our time of reckoning is near at hand, Vaughton. I hope you won't disappoint. Roarke muttered to himself as he sank back into his thoughts.
Fireman
Stefanie knew that this was it. Now, just like before a fight in The Cell, all thoughts ceased to exist. No food, no sex, no laughter, no fun, no food, no jokes. Everything ticked into place. If anything was just a hair loose in her brain, it could mean death. The only thoughts in her head were of survival, of her weapons, of her body, of her opponents, and of her teammates. Whn being able to psychologically prepare for a fight, Stefanie transformed into an almost completely different person. Last time they were at Jerusalem, she was already wounded, the time before that she was captured by surprise. This time, she would be ready. Her smile was gone, her face losing much of the warmth, and happiness that her friends had come to know, recognize, and dare to say, even love, about her. Her eyes were intense, cold even. Her nose and mouth formed an almost natural sneer. Her muscles seemed to all tense up at once, and though she didn't look taller, one could swear she looked bigger. This was how it went before every high stakes fight she'd ever been involved in. She was here, so obviously she'd never lost. This was going to be quite probably the highest-stakes fight of all. She flexed her fingers slowly in her Power Fist as she looked around at the group as they began to move away from Bailey Crossroads. Jeeves was staying down in the bunker, watching the place, and the horizon, for their return. Stefanie looked at her surroundings, completely aware of any movement. God save any non-friendly person who tried to cross the group.
Warren frowned. "You're too tightly strung Jacob" He was fast developing a dislike of him, and he supposed that was a good thing, it wasn't good to like the more dangerous killers in the Wasteland. "I'm not making a threat of leverage, just making it known that if I can see an opportunity to assist with my little problem, I'll use it" He shrugged and kicked the can against the wall. "Even if it's just to be repaid for saving someone's life" He scratched his neck quickly, a sign he was getting irritated.
Jacob gave a single derisive grunt. This Warren fellow was starting to get on his nerves. Obsessed with his own problem. Everyone had problems, but this guy was really taking the piss. Trying to get people to help him in the most pretentious overbearing "you owe it to me" way possible. Jacob sighed and settled on ignoring him. Whether or not he saved anyone's life, Jacob was not going to help this prick without a very good reason. They had all started moving along after Stefanie, and much to Jacob's annoyance, Warren was coming with them. Ranik would have shot this idiot by now! Jacob thought to himself, fondly remembering Ranik's clear-cut no-nonsense way of handling annoying people. A 12-gauge injection of lead.
"So what is this little problem? Can't be so little if you want us on it." Jacob said to Warren, his tone daring the Wastelander to snap, goading him into giving Jacob that one reason to lash out. So far, Warren didn't seem to be taking the bait.
Jackal was getting nervous. Jacob was his friend, so he'd have the big vigilante's back any day, and Jackal was fostering a healthy dislike for Warren already. He doubted any of those present would fault him for it. But he was nervous, because any time Jacob was annoyed, or worse, angry, people tended to die in droves. So Jackal had drawn his Dadao and was pretending to sharpen the blade, just for the comforting, reassuring feeling of having a good sturdy weapon in his hand. He really liked this thing. The two-handed Chinese war sword had been in his possession since the fateful attack on Jerusalem where Dutch was killed. Jackal had taken a liking to the weapon the second he saw it, and had even used it to kill his old foe, Frederick Thomas. Yes, this weapon had memories of good times in it already.
Warren looked briefly at Jacob, studying his face. They were both grinding against each other, and he could sense Jacob's itch to kill. "Well, if you must know, I've left my wife, my brother, his wife and the others protecting a town up North from a group of dangerous Raiders" He started to follow the others, trailing behind them, but close enough so that Jacob could hear them. "We'd known one had moved into the area with all the burned out caravans that had been cropping up" He was now full in sway of explaining his story. "About that time, we got a distress message from a nearby town whose caravans weren't coming back and we knew that it had to be the Raiders, so sure enough we did our thing and arranged payment" He paused for a brief moment to take a breath. "The attack came the night we had arrived, and they were packing heavy" He kicked at the ground, causing a puff of dust to rise. "Miniguns, Missile Launchers, Chinese Assault Rifles, pretty powerful tech for Raiders, they must have found an abandoned armory or something" He kicked again. "I lost some friends, and Marie took some shrapnel to her arm, but we repelled them... barely" He sniffed and curled his fists tight. "So, that's basically my little problem, and I came back to this corner of the world to find some backup" He looked at Jacob. "Satisfied?"
Jacob considered what Warren had just said. It was a cause that Jacob would have gladly fought for had anyone but Warren been preaching it. Jacob wondered why Warren hadn't mentioned it sooner. If he'd said that and asked Jacob to come along and help him, rather than saying that they owed him their help if he tagged along to Jerusalem, Jacob would have gladly obliged. Hell, he'd have put it on his to-do list right after storming Jerusalem with the Horde. But Warren had come across all high and mighty, and rightly scuppered his chances of having Jacob by his side.
"Now, if you'd just said that and asked for help, instead of telling me you could call in a favour any time you wanted if you came to Jerusalem, I'd have happilly agreed. But we haven't quite clicked. Look elsewhere for sympathy, you're getting none from me. I'll swing by if I ever find myself headed that way again. I won't make any promises, and I guess you'll just have to deal with that," Jacob said. He thought of every serious battle he'd been involved in, and continued," We've all lost friends and family. You're no different. Don't act like we owe you anything, regardless of what you do."
Weston was now a good 20 feet inside the cave entrance when the opneing clooasped. It wasn't a natural clopase, no no, it was a man-made cloaspse. Somebody rigged it with expolsives. Shielding his face with his arersm ,Weston could feel little bits of rocks fly and imbed themselves within his arm. After several seconds of standing in the middle of what seemed to be a storm of dust, Weston looked at himself. There was problay a inch of dust everywhere that was'nt covered by his clothes, and his clothes itself were just coated with dust. Shaking himself off, and looking t his arms, Weston noticed that he did'nt really feel a whole lot of pain in them. Shurgging and contuined tio move down the tunnel complex, Weston came to a aburt stop. He forgot his weapons back at the Horsde camp.
"FUCK! GOD FUCKING DAMN IT! SHIT!"
Weston yelled, and, a little feral ghoul popped up fdrom the ground, speaking in a stero-typical british accent.
"Now, old cahp, would youplease stop giving such a racket? After all, me and my lads are having a spot o' tea here here. If your that angry over something, give a stiff upper lip and what not. Cheerio~!"
And just klike like that, hallocation ghoul was gone. However, to Weston, e was very, very real. Anybody else qwould prolbay be laughing and rolling on the ground, but, Weston was slient as a mouse. In fact, he even tried not to step on anything that will cause too much noise. And onward he pressed into the darkness, being illumantied by some fglowing mushrooms.
Walking alongside this ragtag bunch he'd just recently joined, Surtr tapped his fingers idley against the leather-wrapped hilt of his shishkebab. His eyes were busy staring at Stefanie's backside, though his mask made this difficult to discern. The girl didn't have his preferred proportions. He liked there to be enough bacon to burn, so to speak, but he had a weakness for strong women who could probably beat him to a pulp in a fair fist fight. It was a vice whose grip he rarely denied. 
Warren's latest, and longest, bit of chatter caught the pyro's attention. A tragic tale of a village in peril. Nauseating. He valued each and every settlement, every candle in the darkness, but he didn't like Warren's attitude any more than Jacob did. Perhaps it was best to let Warren's village die if he, such an obnoxious, ungrateful little pup, was the 'best' they had to offer. Still, a job was a job. 
"I'm willing to save your podunk little town, kid, but you'll owe me a favor- in caps."
Silas was quiet. He wouldn't help Warren, he knew that already. Silas would have saved the people in the town, there was no question of that. But he wouldn't sign on with Warren so that Warren's little group could do it for the townsfolk. Plus, Silas didn't like Warren's attitude any more than he liked Jacob killing Bren. It just didn't settle right with him. Warren wasn't the only one, though. This River girl seemed alright, if a bit awkward, but Silas didn't like this metal-head with the flamethrower. A little too cold and hard-hearted. That, and, although Silas couldn't tell, he was probably checking Stefanie out. Of course, Silas couldn't really talk on either count, as he wasn't going to sign up with Warren, and he had done the same thing that Helmet-boy was probably doing right now.
Silas sped up his gait slightly. He remembered that he had to talk to Jacob. However, before he got there, he caught up with Stefanie and handed her the sack of meds that he had gotten from scavenging. It was only after he left that he remembered that he could've put them into the trailer, but it was too late now. Silas approached Jacob and gently patted him on the shoulder to get his attention, then spoke quietly. "Jacob, I went an' got some meds on a scavengin' trip. Picked up a shitload fer this journey we're gonna be goin' on. However, I ran into someone else in the buildin': that Raider Maria, from up in New York. Suffice to say, she ain't breathin' no more. I dunno if yew plan on dealin' with the Claws, but that's one less fer yew to worry 'bout. An', before yew ask, no, I didn't feel too great 'bout killin' her, even though she was a murderer and she was the one who corrupted Bren first. The vigilante's life ain't one fer me anymore."
Warren looked at Surtr, and supposed it wouldn't be a bad thing to see those Raiders burn. They'd even done a little themselves. "Caps, always caps" He smirked at his own hypocrisy, his little band of holy fighters weren't exactly a free service. "Alright, how does 1500 sound?" He glanced at the flamer fuel lines on his back. Frowning, he dropped his eye line quickly and scratched absently at his hand. He would make a point of staying far away from this pyro monkey in a fire fight in the unfortunate circumstance that it quite literally became one if a fuel line was severed. "So, what's your name pyro?"
"Silas, feeling remorse isn't weakness. Showing remorse, now that, that's complicated. If that's how you do things, that's how you do things. As far as I'm concerned, my war with the Claws is over. Unless the new boss just turns 'em into another mob of raiders and low-lifes. And before you let Bren off and blame Maria for all his wrongs, I'd like to point out that there has to be that little seed of corruption there in a man already. All she did was let Bren's grow and thrive. You saw how blind he'd become to everything but himself and his conceited vision. He was a danger to us all," Jacob sighed. And yet, that didn't alleviate Maria of the blame. She was a Raider, lower than scum. Jacob blinked slowly and continued, "All the same, he wouldn't have become so twisted without her there to spread those little ideas of glory around him and the Claws. You did a good thing, Silas. Even if it sickens you to your stomach, you spared another victim from one of Maria's psychotic bursts. You saved another Bren from her twisted affections. Reasons be damned, you did the right thing."
Weston was still tip-toeing along the tunnel, one hand on the wall, the other hand was cleanced around a rock that sorta formed into a knife. Dealing with a few more talking ghouls that popped out of the ground and then went back into the ground, Weston soon left the un-devoklped strech and came across the Crusade portion of the base. Funny, how they never seemed to block off that area. Lights were strung up and down the hall waays, the Last Legions soldiers would run up or down them every once in a a while, travling in groups of two or three. Keeping his back to the wall, Weston looked from the side. A lone ssoldier this time was walking towards him. Taking a deep breath, Weston readied the rock knfie. Coming out from behind thwe asll, Weston jammed the improvised stabbing weapon into the Last Legion soldiers neck. It wa sjammed preety far, but, the soldier was'mnt exactly dead yet. Instead, he came back swining. So, the fight sorta went into a fist fight. Throwing a left hook, Weston knocked by the Last Legioniete. Recovering quickly, the soldier went in fior a knee to Westons face. Connecting, Weston was kncoked to the f;oor. Pushing himself up, Weston circled the wounded soldier, before head kciking him. Weston learned that trick from Stefinae, after he met up with her at Rivet Citty and a bar-fight broe out. Of coursre, it took him a while in order to do it without hurting his leg, but, he learned it. The soldier sutmbled back, and Weston went in for the kill. Forming his hand in a arrow, Weston lifted the soldiers neck up and crushed the unkonwon soldiers wind-pipe. Watvching qs the soldier gagged for air, Weston simoply took the Last Legion soldiers gun, a Thomposon, and took the soldier into a supply closet, where, as luck would have it, was a few clips of /45 ammo and a spare uniform. Putting on the uniform, which was a bit large but fit, Weston walked down the hallway. Trying not to gain the notice of any other Last Legion soldiers, Weston went nto a small bathroom area and waited in one of the stalls. He needed to think a little on what to do next. Removing the helemtn ,.Weston light a cgiarette. Checking the pcokets of the new- uniform, Weston found as map of the Jersulam area., inclduing te floor layout. Praying to whoever was listening, Weston stuided the map. He needed to get to the weapons room. Now, just where to find it...
What sounded like a whistle resounded inside Surtr's mask as Warren announced a sum. It might be a lie, he knew, but he could immolate that bridge when he came to it.
"Wealthy little podunk town, I guess. Call me Surtr," he introduced himself, more in the tone of a command than an informative statement.
Fireman
Stefanie looked at the bag of meds as she walked, with an inkling, but uncaring, that someone may be doing a visual study of her backside. She couldn't blame them. She knew Silas had, and she gave him a small grin as he handed her the med bag. He'd even gotten ahold of some Buffout. Perfect. She looked over her shoulder, where the new guys, Surtr and Warren, were making some sort of deal. She then looked ahead to where Silas and Jacob were having a discussion. Jacob, despite his ferocity, seemed reassuring to Silas. Nobody saw that side of him that often. Stefanie's own thoughts drifted to the Last Legion. Her enemies. They'd passed a gathering group of Horde wasters who'd said that the Last Legion was already shelling Horde positions, but that they were determined to displace them. She recalled what she'd seen from afar when the Last Legion fought the remnants of the Crusade. The blood-slicked breach in the walls, the whine of gunfire and artillery, the buzz of rippers and the clashes of steel. All the glowing eyes. Stefanie'd seen much in her short lifetime, and the thought or image of the red light eminating from their eyes didn't bother her. After all, beneath the armor and helmets and masks, they were still men. Men whose blood could still be spilt, whose bones could still be snapped, whose bodies could still be broken. Her friends, were more than men. They were more than flesh, bone, and blood. They had to be. She was taught my her last owner Maxwell, though he was a slaver, he'd taught her well, and refined her skills as a warrior. A man can be beaten. You must be immortal. When you doubt your immortality, and become mortal, you'll fail in a fight. His words echoed in her mind as she looked around at the group. Her friends were immortal, and they would not fail.
Cerebral Jack was ahead of the group, scouting. He didn't say he was scouting, but he thought it would have been obvious. Why else would he run up ahead of a group, lie low for a second, carve out instructions in the ground for the safest path, then start running again when the rest of the group was in eye sight? Well, he thought it was obvious. Anyway, he sighted a small Last Legion out post, three men at the least. Just them next to a small house with a radio in it probably. Un-slinging Sandman (Jack's Lincolns Repeater. Yes, I realize it's a stupid name) he took aim. He had a clear shot on two of them, with one inside the house next to a window. How the hell would he kill all three of them without alerting one that would use the radio to call for support? Thinking, he just took out his grenade launcher and slowly crawled with in range. Then blew them all to pieces. He loved his job.
"Surtr, I don't think Dave introduced you" Warren scratched his chin. "Or if he did I don't remember" Shrugging, he resumed to talking to Surtr rather than at him. "Alright, my name's Warren, but most call me Quick Draw" He would have held out his hand to shake it, but thought it would be awkward. "And I make good on my promises, we're getting 3000 from the job anyway" He knew it was hardly savvy to tell any Wastelander just how much money you had, since they were likely to heckle you, but Warren didn't heckle. He either leaves the deal, or he shoots if the first option is no longer viable. "So do we have a deal, Mr. Surtr?"
Roland walked over to Jacob and Silas and stood there quietly, rubbing his forehead. The gash he had recieved in Austin hadn't healed properly and a nasty scar had broken across his forehead. On top of that, his major concussion had jarred something in his head, and he was now afflicted with chronic migraines. Like right now. As a buzzing behind his eyes erupted and his brain floated in annoyingly hurtful pain, he adjusted his bloodshot eyes in Jacob's direction.
"That Warren guy's becoming a real nuisance," He said in a low voice. "As much as I would regret it afterwards, you want me to shoot him? Got a clear shot from here." The merchant had changed quite a lot from Austin, just not in obvious ways. He was easier to anger. He wasn't as sickened by the sight of blood. And, most jarringly, he was no longer afraid to pull the trigger on his fellow man.
Both hands unoccupied by his weapons, Dave moved along near the front of the group, keeping to himself. What was bothering him was why his dad had gone down here in the first place. From what Dave had learned during school, the Enclave had more than enough artillery to level the surface than the Crusade could muster for a response. Itching where his revolver holster met his arm inside his jacket, Dave scratched slightly as he stepped over an old corpse, noting how it was slumped against a wall with blood spattered over it. His bright orange goggles were still lit, although one eye had blown through with a stray round. His legs stuck out like chop sticks, and his arms were bent at the elbows, the upper arms leaned against the wall in the same slumped position. Dave took a moment to rip off the blood-encrusted Last Legion insignia patch from the man's shoulder pauldron, then pocketed it inside his jeans as a grenade explosion rocked the cavern. His hand immediately went to his revolver, but he decided not to waste the energy as Jack waved his hand that everything was fine. Getting a kick out of the fact that everyone else had done exactly the same thing, Dave relaxed his hands and continued onward, listening in as Roland offered to cap Warren for Jacob.
Jacob blinked, and then blinked again. Had Roland just offered to kill a man for the sake of reducing the aggro levols among the group? Jacob re-ran the last ten second's conversation. Yup, Roland had offered to kill a man for being annoying. Most worrying was the fact that he had offered to do so before Jacob had. That alone was horrifying, to Jacob at least, who saw Roland as an embodiment of the pragmatism he had long since lost. Jacob scratched his chin, considering Roland's offer for a second.
"Nah, better not, who knows how the other newcomers will respond to that," Jacob said, dissappointed that he had turned down an offer to silence Warren permanently. For a second, Jacob considered the fact that this merciful side was part of his mid-life crisis.
What next? Playing basketball with the younger members of the group? Going drinking with them until everyone was in a heap on the floor? A wardrobe refit to make himself seem younger? On that note, Jacob considered how depressing his black duster and combat armor were. Especially set to the background of his dark green cargo pants and grey t-shirt. He decided to pass all of that off as part of a mid-life crisis. Thus, he ignored it.
Jack walked towards the building he blew up not more then thirty seconds ago, whistling "I don't want to set the world on fire" before getting yelled at by Rolan to "shut his god damn trap". Bastard would probably shoot some one for annoying him. Anyway, as he continued walking, he saw a basket ball rolling towards him, fully inflated. Jack picked it up and started bouncing, in relatively good condition too. Looking eastward, he saw a basket ball hoop. It had no net, and was bent slightly in one direction, but Jack really didnt care. Throwing the ball into the net, he watched as it made a satisfying "Swish" sound.
Weston looked at the map that he had taken from the dead Last Legion soldiers pocket. It seemed, from what he could tell, that he was in level 14. He could either go down three levels and get some new weapons and ammo...or....
"Open up! I need to go!"
SHIT! Weston screamed in his mind. Grabbing his gear, Weston opned the door. There was a Last Legion soldier sarting right at him.
"Hey, your nott Bobbyy..." said the Last Legion soldier.
Shit. Times Two.
Weston felt a massive slug from the mans fist his his face. One, the guy was problay using brass kncukles. That, or he used to bna boxer. Because, either way, they really hurt. By really hurt, i mean almost knocked out hurt. Weston saw and heard the man pop out the bathroom door, yelling for help. A squad of soldiers swarmed around him. There voices grew into a bunch of scarrteed noises, at least to Weston. Then, he felt being lifted up in the air, the uniform he was wearing being ripped off. Then, everything went black.
Staff Sergeant John Adams turned slowly, to see a unit dragging a waster in Ballistic Raid Armor into the interrogation room. He hadn't been expecting a visitor, he just came into this little torture chamber to be by himself to think from time to time. He smiled as he looked at Weston. The waster was young and panicked-looking. He wouldn't take long to break, but Roarke didn't have much problem with people torturing wasters for the hell of it after they ceased to be useful. Roarke himself interrogated people from time to time too, and regularly beat prisoners to death with his bare hands after he had extracted all useful information from them. The soldiers rapidly went about stripping Weston down to his t-shirt and jeans, and tied Weston by the wrists to a railing running across the room as Adams nodded to it. Weston goraned as his toes barely touched the ground. Then they chained Weston's ankles to the floor.
Adams circled Weston, not saying a word as he rolled up the sleeves of his fatigues and began stretching.
"What the hell are you doing?" Weston queried, trying to keep a straight face.
"Stretching, getting limber. Don't wanna pull a muscle when I beat you to death," Adams responded as if he was talking about the weather. Weston's smile disappeared.
"Now, let's start simple. I won't ask questions twice, so please endeavour to remember what I ask. If I have to repeat myself, things can only get worse for you. Adams locked the door and continued., "I'll start with my bare hands, see where that gets me. If that doesn't work, we can move onto tools and such. Hammers, pliers, pipe wrenches. If that doesn't loosen your tongue, I can move on to scalpels, razors, drills. Failing that, we'll have to get inventive. Electricity, partial drowning, extreme heat and cold, all that shit. Once we're done making you talk to us, I'll kill you."
Once he had finished his little speech, Adams punched Weston in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Weston tried to double over, but instead just wrenched his wrists in their chains. He tried to kick, but his feet had been chained to the floor too. So he wrenched his ankles too. Adams smiled and punched Weston's ribs, eliciting a roar as he struck the old wound from the last time Weston had been to Jerusalem.
"Oh, hit a soft spot there, did I?" Adams said, suddenly more interested.
Before Weston could respond, Adams headbutted him and followed up with a kick to the groin. Weston groaned.
"Well, that should take your mind off that pain in your side anyway," Adams said, "Right, you were found in the catacombs. How many more are down there, and what is their intent. We didn't find any bodies, so you must be the only one who got separated from the group."
Without waiting for Weston to answer, Adams punched Weston's right eye, followed by a swift jab to his left eye for the sake of symmetry. He then punched Weston in the gut again, and elbowed him in the face, nearly knocking out several teeth. Although he didn't look it, Adams was strong, freakishly so. Adams stepped back from Weston, letting the Wastelander catch his breath, spit out a little blood and whimper as his nose and eyes began swelling.
"Now answer me. Lets not forget what happens if I have to repeat the questions," Adams snapped.
"Only...one....who....came...."
Weston breathed. Westons head hang limply, before Weston groned and hung limply in his chains. A Mizture iof blood and slavia was dripping out of the left side corner of his mouth. Weston kept only one eye open, his other one preety much closed shut due to the swelling. Coughing, Weston wacthed as a little bit of blood fell on his shirt. Weston the turned his eye back over to his intergooater. This wasn't going to be fun. Not. One. Bit.
"Just Surtr," the mercenary fire enthusiast corrected, "And yeah. We may have a deal, if we make it out of this alive."
He of course intended to survive the battle. His work was too important. Too few people seemed interested in truly enkindling a reborn civilization from the ashes of the one that was destroyed in the nuclear exchange. He didn't really count Moire Brown or the Brotherhood of Steel among them, which meant the number was even less than some might estimate. Moire lacks the will, and the Brotherhood just sits in their clockwork ivory tower, collecting technology for its own sake. Perhaps, he thought, these people he was travelling with might. They might just be fighting for their 'wastelander freedoms,' however. What a sad thing, to fight for something so small in scope.
Warren nodded. "If we make out of this" Warren didn't like the use of the word "may" but he sure as hell didn't want to risk pissing Surtr off as he had Jacob, because he needed the help. Taking time to think more about this, he realised that if something more useful were to cross his path he would disregard his previous actions in a second and work towards getting that "something more useful". He didn't fancy being lumped in with all the other survivors who had lost their families; He didn't want to lose what little he had. He reached up and tugged the Hunting Rifle to stop the bolt poking into his back and looked over his shoulder at it thoughtfully. I need to trade up, maybe for one of those sweet Lever Rifles from Maryland Warren had never been to Maryland, but his group once met a man named Tobar who had been on a boat on the Potomac. They had traded, and Tobar just so happened to be carrying a Lever Rifle at the time. The guy was keeping it for 'Lurk shooting however, and he wasn't looking to trade it, much to Warren's dismay.
Jacob walked with an easy step, relaxing, in spite of the impending battle. He flexed his fingers as he went, moving with his usual crushing force. His boots, cut from trusty T-51b Armor, from the still-twitching carcass of an Airborne Shock Trooper, produced a satisfying crunch as he moved from the grassy wastelands to the gravelly ground surrounding Jerusalem. Gravel laid around by Crusade HighCom to make it harder to sneak up on their patrols. He could see smoke rising from the Horde camp, dozens of camp fires. The sun cracked over the horizon, lighting up the distant hills. Jacob crunched his feet around in the gravel. The last time he'd been here, he'd lost a dear brother in arms and a powerful ally. He looked towards the remains of Jerusalem. This would end soon. It would rain blood tonight.
"One thing I remembered from my time as a regulator. Wounds will heal, scars will fade. But Glory is eternal. We'll be remembered for generations to come," Jacob said to the group, smiling.
"That is some scary profound shit from a hard-case like you, Jacob," Jackal said to Jacob, walking up beside the big vigilante and looking at Jerusalem.
Just as everyone lined up alongside them, they heard the all-too-familiar boom of artillery. Massive shells detonated among the Horde tents, screaming down on the Horde soldiers, raining fiery hell down on the conscripts and volunteers like obscene rain, scattering limbs, blood and timbers among the survivors.
"Well, looks like we got us some guns to silence folks," Jackal said, drawing his Dadao and spinning it in his hand as he moved forwards.
"Stay behind me if you wanna live," Jacob said, unslinging Mother's Woe and following alongside Jackal.
----
Adams circled Weston, throwing the odd punch at the Waster, eliciting a grunt of pain, and the occassional groan. He picked up a bucket of cold water he'd been filling and dumped a cup of salt into it. He dumped it over Weston's head and stepped back, scratching his chin.
"Salt water conducts electricity, lone soldier. You'll give away your friends. Well, I wouldn't call them friends if they're leaving you in here to suffer like this," Adams said as he picked up a cable from the wall and separated it into two lengths, thick sparks jumping between them.
He pressed the cables to Weston's stomach. Weston roared in pain as the current flowed thourgh him.
"That's it, let it out. Pain is all you'll know till you talk you dumb sack of shit," Adams sneered.
Weston could feel two spearte burn marks on his stomach. Then, all he felt is pain. Elecetriy moved across his body, lookinh for more places to go. Cleching And closign his hands repadtly, Westons riar flled the room. After Adams pulled away the two cables, it subsides for whimpering and crying from Weston. Semi-collpasing and closing his eyes, Westons eyes came back to life when Adams grabbed Westons hair and threw him around a little bit. Weston slowly spat out his words, each of the little sounds he'd make brought out blood and spittle.
"J-j-j-j- a-a-a- cob.Va-va-va-va ughton. H-h-h-h-he-he-'s coming!"
Weston finally manged to get out, befrore slumping in his chair, groaning with pain. Tears had gone past welling in his eyes. They were now running down his grime-sreaked face, leaving little trail marks. Weston then looked down. Two burns marks were on his shirt, and Weston could see his burned skin through them. Going back to groning and whimpering, Weston waited for the next round of his savage interogation.
Adams stepped back. He was one of the deserters who'd joined the Last Legion as Roarke advanced on DC. Adams had been at Fairfax. He had seen Vaughton tear through one of his squads like a raging god. He had seen him snap Rossi's neck, slash Duo's throat and tear Reno's lower jaw clean off. He'd seen him again during the DC Riots. Same man, deadlier, if such a thing was possible. Adams had never seen a man kill so many people so quickly. That knifework, hitting the weak points in power armor, the neck joints, that gap between the pauldron and breastplate, in behind the breastplate, under the arm. Piercing lungs, slicing throats. Vaughton was an animal. And he was coming. Those four small words struck terror into the hearts of every Crusader in DC. Because it alway seemed like he was coming for them in particular. And Adams had tortured one of Jacob Vaughton's friends! Adams stepped away from Weston, letting him fall to the ground.
Adams looked away and started pulling on his BRA. He needed to get up to where the Last Chancers were shelling the Horde camp from. He needed to get the hell away from these catacombs where Jacob Vaughton had slaughtered so many of his brothers in arms.
[[
Weston slowly stood uinglooked at the man who had toured him, who was running away. Weston did'nt give him the chance to let him leave the room. Picking up the chair and hurling it, Weston heard a bone-snapping crack. The man was now paralazed from the waist down. Falling to the floor, Adams started clawing at the ground, trying to get away. Grabbing his unifmorms cuff, Weston dragged him to where the two cables were. Touching them together, Weston stood over Afdams, a slight grin was etched on Westons face.
"I don't need fucking salt water, asswipe." Weston said, tonelessly.
Jaammming both cables into Adams eye sockets, Weston grabbed a another cable and cut it in half with a knife laying on a near by table. Jamming that cable into Adams mouth, Weston wacthed as the mans head quickly became nothing more then a charred peice of flesh, elctoured from the insdie out. Looking arond the room once more, Weston noitced a assualt rifle. Picking it, Weston checked the clip. Full of 30 rounds of goodness. Now to get to the armouy. The base was filled with confusin during the shelling, with soldiers running to and fro. Creeping out the room, still wearing his jeans and t-shirt, Weston made his way along the catacombs. First stop, armoury. Then Weston reallly looked at the gun. Same gun he's seen in a Crusade Outpost nearby. Something called a BPR. Weston cllooapsed the folding stock and went on his way, spitting out blood here and there.
Fireman
Stefanie put her hands on her hips as she observed Jerusalem from afar, for the third time. Standing in line, she listened to what Jacob had said. It had meaning. All her life she'd been looked at as a slave. She yearned for more. She didn't even break a grin as she thought of this. She could finally be somebody, assuming she survived the battle. She could make her parents proud. She put her hands on her hips and examined the scene. Explosions blossomed across the shanty towns of the Horde that sprawled before Jerusalem. Scattered groups of wastelanders and mercs returned fire with small arms and missile launchers. Jacob had ensured him that what looked like a full battle here was merely a skirmish compared to the bloodshed that would ensue tonight. Stefanie was ready. She popped in a Buffout and swollowed it, feeling a slight jolt that was all too familiar to her. She reached up and gripped the haft of Belton with her Power Fist, squeezing tightly as she drew the heavy weapon. Since leaving her home, she hadn't cracked a smile. She was prepared, mind, body, and soul. She'd seen bloodshed before, she'd seen battle, she'd even met death. Tonight, however, all would be dealt by her. Tonight, she would not fall. That was her mentalitly. Tonight Stefanie McRae was immortal, tonight, she was a goddess of war. 
Roland thumbed the last of his shotgun shells into the NeoStead's receiver before shutting the barrel again and looking at the artillery. The last time he'd seen such effective use of explosives was Ranik's crew back in Austin- and this time, no-one was point-blanked by a terminal velocity mini-nuke, either. The merchant-slash-warrior pulled the helmet of his salvaged power armor on, the same suit that had seen him through the Hennard conflict, and quickly looked over the HUD display. All systems were green, as far as he could tell, so he replaced the NeoStead on his back and strode over to Jacob.
"Just like Fairfax," he said calmly. He then looked out at the Warrior Weapon, the brother-in-arms that had shed blood alongside him the day of the siege of Fairfax, the day of their escape from the Enclave on the west coast, the day of the Battle of Jerusalem, as he watched the Last Legion's bombs drop. Then he uttered those famous Roland Rockfort words: "You ready?"
"I was born ready Roland. It's like everything since Germantown has been leading up to this. This last throw of the dice. This is the make or break for the Horde and the Legion. Whoever wins will grind the other to dust, take them so low they can never rise again. This is as close to total war as the Post-War world will get for centuries. I can only hope it's us and the Horde winning. I don't like the idea of being a wanted fugitive for the rest of my life if the Legion carry the battle," Jacob said, scratching his chin.
"Jacob, you're throwing out some scarily profound shit every time you open your mouth recently, and it's starting to worry me that it makes sense," Jackal said, raising what was left of an eyebrow as he looked over at Jacob before continuing, "We can't lose this one. I'm saying that in the sense that we're not allowed to lose, as opposed to losing not being a possibility. If this goes arseways, we're all up a certain creek, without a boat, never mind a goddamn paddle."
----
Roarke stood among his Last Chancers, waiting for the disorganized Horde "soldiers" to rush the breach. He wondered if they'd manage to scramble an assault before the artillery wiped them out. He smiled inside his helmet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his Field Ripper. He drew his Chinese Assault Rifle and waited for the pathetic Horde attack to begin.
"Well, it seems the dogs don't like the fireworks. Such a shame that they can't appreciate the beauty of a shell bursting in their ranks," Roarke shouted to his soldiers. There was a racous shout from every mouth nearby, which was taken up by more and more until it built to a deafening crescendo within Jerusalem's walls. This was good. Very good.
"Where is it?" Weston said, through clenched teeth.
In one hand, was a M1 Trench knife. In his other hand was clehcned a Crusade soldier. Well, Last Legion to be more exact. Gagging unfder the force of Weston pushing his thumb agiasnt his windpipe, Weston eased up enough. The Doctor slowly pointed towards a medical suppily cabinet. Weston rewared him with a stab in the throat. Jamming his knife as far as it could go into the man throught, Weston then horzaintlly pulled it out. The mans head was now half depciated.Slumping to the floor, with blood spurting out of its wounds Weston ignored the man. Raiding the medical supply cabinet, Weston found what he was looking for: Med-X. Taking one of the sryninges, flicking it and then taking a piecie of cloth nearby and wraping it around his upper fore-arm, Weston slowly eased the needle into his wrist. Pushing down on the top, Weston asighed with ease and slumped agiasnt a wall. Looking blanky at the celing for a few moments, Weston then stood up, grabbed his rifle and left the room.
Peering around the corner of a wall, the hallway looked clear. He was near the armouy. So, that meant one of tweo things. One: everybody was either near those artielly guns he could hear booming, or, everybody waas inside the armouy. Creeping towards the armourys day, Weston thought for a second.
Lockpick? Too long, don't have the right gear...blow the door hinges off? Nah, mus conserve ammo...wait!
Taking as many steps back as he could before hitting the wall on the other side, Weston took a running start at the door. Running as fast as he could, Weston promrly fell down flat on his face.
"Shittt." Weston mumbled as he was getting up. Trying agian, this time he was sucessful. Smashing through the wooden door (I'm assuming here,, there problay metal, but, this looks cool in my mind.), Weston did a roll before bringing up to bear. Inside was a lone soldier. The two had a mexican standoff for a second. Well, more like a Mexican Standoff. Weston shot first. Hitting the men in his arm that was holding the .357 Desert Eagle, the gun fell to the ground with firing a shot. The Rest was too easy. Stepping over the dead body, Weston proucded to search the area for Ammo for his gun. Then, he felt woozy. Really, woozy. And...sleepy. Falling like a sack of poatoes, Westion closed his eyes for a moments.
A nap would'nt hurt... he thought.
(He's passed out or something like that. He's not dead, don't worry!)
While most of the group had headed with Jacob.Alexis had made is way to the horde forces preparing for the attack.While there was no real leader of the horde alexis had a posistion of respecct among the majority of them and was rerasonably sure when he gave the order ey would charge."Men of the horde.Today we fight the largest battle this side of the apocolypse.We will destroy the last remnant of mankinds wirst foe in DC.The last remnants ofcrusade will be swept awaythe cround let out a momentus roar and with oneone body they charged towards the last legion forces's.Alexis was swept along with them and fel a momentus part of the history and saw men fall and others kill.The chaos was nothing compares to the first storm but there was more order,"For victory " he cried.
Dave replaced the shades over his eyes, then proceeded to make his way into the former warzone, stepping over numerous wrecked trucks, VTOLs, and other strewn about debris. His hand went inside his jacket as he drew his revolver, cocking the hammer and pulling it from the holster. Behind him, the others were spread out in various states, making their own path. The charge hadn't started yet, but Dave was hearing a lot of screaming and shouting, so the attack would come sooner or later. Dave honestly didn't care for the Horde; if any of them mistook him for an enemy, they'd get a .50 Heavy round to their head, and so would their buddies. To Dave, he'd kill anyone who wasn't already traveling with him; the Horde was no exception. The rumble to his left made him swivel as he realize the charge had started, and he was dead smack in the middle of it. A foolish Horde member saw him, mistaking him for an enemy. His rusty musket mis-fired, sending the weapon flying as the man stumbled backwards. As he regained his stance, Dave gave him a headshot, the man's head blown clean out. The lifeless waster fell backward as his midsection was blown out.. Dave whirled as he was stopped by Jacob, who tapped his assault rifle. Dave breathed for a moment, and nodded.
Strauss rested his Super Sledgehammer on his shoulder as he peered over at Alexis. "I thought I told that boy to lay off the drugs," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slowly. He'd just finished running a quick diagnostic on Worthington and his Sentry Bot, Frank, along with his own armour, before Alexis pulled that stuff with the crowd. He sighed, for a moment, as he peered up at what remained of Jerusalem after the two consecutive attacks against the base. He really could not help but smile slightly underneath his helmet. Odd as it may have seemed, but him knowing that he was - even if only partially, and to a miniscule extent - responsible for its current state gave him an empowering feeling.
He blinked as he heard small arms fire, shortly after the charge had started. Bit early, wasn't it? It then came to his attention that the shooting had taken place inside the mass of Horde soldiers. How typical. Without another word, Strauss broke off into a sprint, with Worthington and Frank trailing close behind him, towards the towering remnants of the base, alongside the mass of fighters, towards the Last Legion and into the fray.
Alexis hered the sound of a gunshot.Bit early he thought to himself,He then realised that the shoot had been from inside the mass of the horde.He ran to its firing point to see a man with his chest blown open lying in front of jacob and Dave.Alexis guestured to the body on the floor."alright one of you to did this.Im betting it was dave,I don't care,What i want to know is why did you do it".Strauss ran in behind alexis and answering his half formed question."One of these two shot a horde member.A nobody but still every life counts".
Roland arrived after Jacob and Dave, not one to be left out of combat while his friends shed blood around him. He found, sure enough, a Horde member had shot at Dave and Jacob had arrived soon after, followed by Strauss. Alexis looked like he was trying to (unsuccessfully) bitch out Jacob and Dave as the Horde ranks ebbed and flowed around them like the tide. Roland could barely hear him, but even from this distance the historian's voice grated on his nerves and lent force to an ever-growing migraine.
"Alexis," he said, exasperated, "I'm sick of your bullshit already." The merchant looked through his power-helmeted visor at the historian, possibly a full head shorter than him while Roland was wearing power armor. "So," he said levelly, "I'd suggest you take a little nap, just like al the other children here."
Alexis got a dumbfounded look on his face, but it didn't stay there for long. With a single, gauntleted hand, Roland wrapped his arm around the back of Alexis's head and brought the historian's face down hard, bringing his knee up at an equal (or faster) speed. The resulting collision broke Alexis' nose and put him out cold. A couple Horde looters had seen Roland commit the dastardly deed and had started to turn on him, but one long look (down the barrel of his NeoStead) got them back into the charge. "So then, gentlemen," Roland said, back to his normal, jovial self in an almost bipolar manner, "Let's get this attack underway, shall we?"
Weston slowly regained consuiness. Graoning as he pushed himself off the floor, Weson stechted his back, and picked up his Assualt rifle lying agiasnt a nearby wall. Picking up a nearby tactial vest that had several holders for Ammo, Weston put three maginzes in each of the areas for, well, magzines. Thats when he noticed something, a flit of movement. Pointing his gun towards it, Weston walked towards it.
"H-h-hello?" he called oput. No responese.
"H-h-h-elllo?" he called out agian. This time, he was met with a small laugh.
Felling something wet drip down from the celing, Weston looked up. And there was Hennard. Well, Hennards body. Dutch's head.
"Shit." However, Hennard was faster then Westons reaction time. Dashing towards Weston, after falling from the celing, Hennard-Dutch grabbed Weston and threw him agiasnt the wall. Thats when Hennard-Dutch began to speak.
"You know Weston, I never liked you. But, i consdier myself a gentlemen. I'll let you have a last drink. Tea?"
Weston was midly confused, to say the least.Here was Dutch and Hennard combined, offering a last cup of tea before he's killed.
"What the fuck?" was mall Weston could muster as a response at that moment. Sitting in a chair that came out of nowehere, Hennard-Dutch took out a teapot and pured the tea into a small cup. Weston was about to reach for it when Hennard Dutch lightly smacked him on his hand.
"It's hot, you'll burn yourself."
Cocking his head to the side, Weston used his eyes to look for a Wepon. Hennard-Dutch took a chair near Weston.
"Weston, you would'nt really kill your old friend, you you?"
"But your dead. Both of you?"
"Well, of course we are! Werwe just a figment of your imagntion. A projection of your fears. You see, your scared to die, and, your scared of being rejected by those close to you."
"...What?"
"You see, Mr. Weston, You left the group because you were scared that you would hurt something, yes?"
"Maybe...."
"Oh, don;t be silly. We know you did. Were a projection of your internal thoughts. We know what your thinking at all times."
Weston thought for a moment and was about to open his mouth to speak when Dutch-Hennard raised on of his massive hands and slicened Weston .
"And yes, we don't eally exist. You see, you think you see a combo of Dutch and Hennard. Instead, i'm really just a dead sioldier that you killed while you thought you were asleep. In fact, when this alloucation ends you'll see the rooms full of them!"
And, like that, Westons vision turned black, white and blurry. Looking around the room,. Weston saw several dead soldiers. One of them was sitting right across from him, laying agiasnt a wall, it's head with a fresh bullet hole. Then, the halloucation returned.
"See? Think about it Weston. Your mentally unstable! No bodyllikes that. Thats why you left, so then everybody would'nt figure that out. Your a pussy."
"What?"
"your a pussy. A wussy. A coward. chicken-shit."
"fuck you, i've been here 3 times before!"
"Not by yourself."
Dutch and Hennerd disapperd, and Weston was left alone, with 5 dead bodies. Shaking with mild fear, Weston cralwed into a corner. Pushing several crates together, he heard several men pounding n a door.
Great. he thought. Jamming a fresh Mag home, Westons vision went Black and white gian. Then, it went just white. His body kept working, just his vison just saw white.No noise, just a room of white to Weston. Calm, comfroting White. Just himself, in his zone. Life was good.
Jacob smiled as he watched Roland smash Alexis. Two seconds more, and Jacob would have done the same. Except he may have killed Alexis. Actually, Jacob kind of wished Roland had killed Alexis, trying to rally the Horde like that. Jacob's hand rested on his trusty .223 Pistol. He reconsidered. Executing Alexis might not be a good idea after all. Jacob turned around and faced down the breach, as it filled with Horde volunteers and Legionnaires. Jacob's mouth cracked into a crooked smile. He could feel the weight of the past years fighting the Crusade and it's remnants wash from him in a great, sweeping rush. He nodded to Roland on one side and Strauss on the other. Stefanie was already rushing forwards, outpacing them. Jacob broke into a run, long powerful strides catching up with the more diminutive Stefanie quite quickly. Roland and Strauss were charging along in great power armor assisted strides. Jacob fired Mother's Woe as he went, running throwing his aim off something fierce, but the bullets that actually hit made their mark.
Jackal was firing his Shotgun's underslung SMG as he rushed forwards, somehow keeping pace with Jacob. He really hoped he wouldn't put his back out or something. That'd be embarrassing. He crouched, lifting a corpse to his shoulder and using it as an ablative shield as he went. Jacob was doing his usual thing, moving in weird stacatto steps, ducking and weaving at odd angles, and somehow, the bullets just slid around him, as if the Last Legion guns weren't pointed at him. Jackal watched men and women fall around him as they approached the breach, but the press of bodies behind Jackal made him keep going. People at the back were shouting "Forward", while the voices at the front were calling for a retreat.
Charging up the breach, Jacob watched as Roland and Jackal and Strauss and Stefanie rushed up alongside him. Surtr and Warren and River rushed up too. Silas and Dave and Domingo charging up too. Jacob reached the first line of Last Legion soldiers, spinning on his heel, Jacob slammed the solid steel stock of Mother's Woe into the first face, splintering the soldier's BRA mask and cracking his head back. Jacob stamped downwards on the soldier's neck as he fell, finishing the job. Jacob slung Mother's Woe and grabbed an SCM Officer Sword. He gashed the next throat to come withing reach and stabbed the next chest. He spun low, hamstringing another soldier, then stabbed downwards into the soldier's chest as he fell.
Jackal laid about himself with his Dadao, hacking off legs and arms as he went, hacking off any head that came within easy reach. He moved like a whirlwind in the breack, his heavy-bladed weapon cleaving flesh, bome and armor with equal ease. Men screamed and went silent at his pasage, limbs lay shorn from their owners as heads rolled down the breach in the raging Ghoul's wake. Jackal lashed out yet again, splitting a Legionnaire's head in half. He spun back, slashing another soldier's chest twice, before whirling back towards the breach, striking a Last Chancer so hard his back was opened as Jackal's Dadao passed through his chest.
"Come on motherfuckers!! Get it while it's HOT!" Jackal roared at the top of his lungs as he whirled his sword in his grip.
Strolling out of the armouy while lighting a cigarette, Weston took one deep puff. If anybdoy bvorthered to look inside the said Armouy, they could find 11 dead Last Legionares. If any body bothered to look at Weston, they could see that he had a BPR strapped to his back, a tatical vest with three spare magzines for said Rifle, and two thomposns. Yes, Two Thomposn Submachine Guns. Looking closer, they might have noticed the fact thaTt Weston was now wearing a bullet proof vest underneath the said vest. They might have even noticed that Westons pockets were chock full of 30 Rounds stright Magzines for the two thompsons. Walking down the hallways, Weston ntoiced that they were empyty. Good. Finding a elevator, Weston pressed the button that said "top floor". Taking the easy ride up, Weston was then confrotned by Chaos. A Bullet pinged off the elvator door while he was exiting. Stepping on a platform above the main fighting, Weston easily cut down the few Last Legion sinpers that were raining down death upon the Horde's soldiers. Thstas when Weston took the postion for himself. Reloaidng both guns, bracing himself he called out to the Last Legion soldiers.
"HEY! LIMP-DICKS! THINK YOU CAN KILL ME? HUH? THINK YOU CAN WOUND ME? FUCK YOU!"
Weston shouted. Even if the Last Legion did'nt hear him or not, Weston opened fire with his thomposns. At the same time. Of course, it was wildy inactutare, but, most of the bullets hit where he wanted it to go. Stopping to reload, Weston crouched behind a nearby wall. Coming back out from that, Weston shouted agian.
"I'M THE FUCKING JUGGERNAUT, BITCHES!"Using his left arm to fire upon the Last Legionatres fighting at the breach, Weston used his right arm to fire upon a Last Legion soldier charging at him with a Ripper. Going back to firing upon the LAst Legion soldiers at the bbreach, Weston thought he caught a glimmer of his friends.
"FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF YA'LL!" Weston shouted gian, before going in for a reload and then more dual-weilding thiompson firing madness.
Silas Webb stood in the midst of a mass of men, gradually creating a field of dead bodies around him. Any Legionnaire that got too close was soon met with a variety of painful fates. Death by .44 Magnum and 5.56 rounds seemed to be the most common, although a quick stab or slash from his Bowie knife or strikes and kicks also worked their way into the mix. Silas stood in the midst of it all, adrenalized and almost euphoric as he fought off the Crusade splinters, screaming to his enemies, "Hell yes! This's a job fer a fuckin' cowboy!" This was usually followed by colorful phrases and statements such as "Fuck yew!", "Take that, bastard!", "I'll tell yer mother that yew did yer best!", and the ever-popular "Die!"
Fireman
Stefanie charged into battle alongside Jacob, Jackal, and Conor Strauss. The quartet pummelled Legionnaires by the dozen. Around her, she caught glimpses of the others. Surtr, Warren, River, Roland, Domingo, and the rest. She still had her mentalitly though. It was no time to lose it. She ducked the bayonetted swing of a Legionnaire and lashed out with a sidekick at a secind, sending a burst of fir into the air as his weapon discharged. She swung an uppercut from her Power Fist, into another. In a quick slam, she brought Belton down on his head, flattening the Legionnaire. With a dodge, she simultaneously slung Belton and rolled up, assuming a wrestling stance as a Legion Officer lunged with an SCM Officer Sword. Catching his arm, she twisted her hip into his thigh and swung through, tossing him over. She rolled up quickly, catching his head in her calves. With a sickening crack, she snapped them sideways as she stood up, bracing her shoulder into another Legionnaire, who was charging past toward Strauss. The unexpected shoulder block floored the surprised man and Stefanie was sitting on his chest in a moment, drawing her "Stabhappy" Combat Knife. She briefly noted the smiley face on the blade as she flicked it across the man's throat. Sticky blood sprayed on her as he gargled beneath her. She stood up, not even examining her work, and moved to the next target. The Legionnaire was about to club River with the butt of his R91, when Stefanie grabbed around his arms and head and sunk her knife into his abdomen. Flicking it upward and cracking his ribcage, then an equally quick and powerful stroke across, his intestines spilled to the ground as he sagged and fell beside them. Stefanie looked at River, who seemed visibly disgusted, and green around the gills. She stomped down hard on the gasping man's throat, as he tried to gather his innards. She flung her knife at another man, watching it crack the lense of his BRA helmet and sink into his eye socket to the hilt. She'd have to get that later, she thought as the man twisted and collapsed. His dying volley of shots cut down two wastelanders, but Stefanie paid them no heed. They looked like raiders anyway. Stefanie drew Belton again as she charged further into the mass of humanity that was destroying itself in the breach of Jerusalem. Stefanie was a rampaging goddess of war, immortal and unstoppable, killing at will within it.
While the rest of the group were off trying to breach the walls, Jack and a group of Horde soldiers were digging a way into Jerusalem. Or into Jerusalem's tunnels, that is. " Stop digging or I'll cut your fucking balls off by the end of this!" Jack was screaming at the top of his lungs. If he survived this, that is. Thinking like that would gut him killed, but he had been through worse. Well, not really, bu it helped to think like that anyway. If he were to die now, he hoped that some douche would remember that he had a girlfriend, and alert her of his death.
If Stef was a goddess of war, then Roland was either a holy warrior or a posessed one. Firing his NeoStead one-handed into the forehead of a charging Legionnaire, Roland watched as the spray blew up his arm to the shoulder, painting the appendage an unpleasantly bright shade of crimson. Grimacing at the prospect of having to wash himself of the blood, Roland took a Legionnaire out when the soldier attempted to take him out with a Field Ripper. Rolling out of the way of the whirring blade of death, Roland shoulder-blocked the man in a manner similar to Stefanie's recent attack, and brought up his fist. The blow caught the man in the ribcage, breaking two ribs and causing the soldier to double back in pain. Roland followed up with a swift low kick, sending the poor bastard sprawling to the ground. A final coup de grace to the back of the head brought the Legionnaire down for good.
The merchant spotted Domingo and El Oso rampaging across the battlefield a few hundred yards away, DOmingo firing the laser chaingun from the passenger seat and keeping the T-bar down in some uncharacteristically odd manner, either crushing them against the tank's wicked spiked plow or sundeirng them under its studded tracks. Yep, he doesn't need help. Roland thought as another Legionnaire came at him and fel, splattered, to the ground in a whirring cloud of buckshot.
'Click
'Click,click
"Shit!"
Weston quickly dropped back into cover before several Last Legion or Horde soldiers that were intdend for him hit his head. And that would'nt have been preety. Brining up a new magzine, well, his last magzine, Weston fired once more. Dropping one of his Thomposon's, Weston took aim, and fired in bursts.
"30....25....20....15.....10....5...."
click
Dropping his other Thomposons, Weston unslung the Base Persnoal Rifle, or, otherwise known as the BPR. He perfered BPR. Moving down the staircases to the Jersulam courtyard, a shotgun shell whizzed by him. Doing a complety unnesscary shoulder-roll to a nearby sangbag atrea, Weston took aim for one that was about to bring a Ripper down on what it seemed like Roland. Firing, The bullets hit the ma's back, most likely severing his spine. Ducking into cover, Westonm peered over the edge of it agian. Weston could see some of his friends, including Celberal Jack, Domingo and a few iothers. They were still at the breach, the poor fools.
"Shit..."
Then the Med-X side affect hit him. Cloassping behind his cover, Weston looked deasd to whoever passed by him, Instead, Weston was dreqming, Dreaming about if he had superpowers, what would he do. A Odd dream, yess. But, odd dreams come with odd times.
Dave fired three rounds in succession, almost flying on his back from the sheer recoil of the .50 Magnum Revolver. All three rounds slammed into a Last Legion Officer, literally tearing his chest apart. As the man fell to the ground quivering, a medic came up on him, big red crosses identifying him all over his armor. Dave kill him too. A fourth round served to enter as the base of the neck and exit at the back with an excess of blood and brains. As the man collapsed next to his dead comrade, Dave holstered his revolver and turned, expecting to find Jacob or Roland behind him again. Instead, he found a waster, a rather bulky one, slamming into him and throwing him into a military truck, cracking the glass as Dave fell moaning on the ground. Lying on his back, Dave felt an aching sensation as he struggled to move. His head felt very woozy, and his eyesight was less than coherent. The big wasters stepped over him, wielding a 2x4 with nails in it. However crude, one strike from the nails with force would both break the board and quite possibly kill Dave. As Dave fumbled to reach into his jacket and attempt to find his revolver holster, the waster straightened, then collapsed in a heap, a figure standing behind him with a big ol' super sledge. "Connor?" Dave asked. "Stefanie." The figure said, annoyance in her voice. "You don't look like a girl to me. Have you had plastic surgery?" Dave said, his state of being having been knocked down several meters by the truck throw. The next thing he received besides a hand helping him up was a punch to the face, then being helped up again by the same hand. His hands on his knees, Dave thanked Stefanie, then vomited for a few seconds.
Fireman
Stefanie slapped Davie on the shoulder as she turned to move away. That waster would've issued him a blunt labotomy, had she not intervined. Stefanie didn't know what the exact objective was, but she didn't really care either. Jacob had said something about killing Nathaniel Roarke. She figured he would. These wasters were lucky that they were here. They wouldn't stand a chance against the Last Legion without them. Stefanie didn't care too much about how many wasters were being slaughtered by the Legion. All she cared about was her friends. She waded back into the thick fighting, wide swings from Belton scattering soldiers before her. She danced through the seeemingly clumsy swings of her opponents and delivered death swiftly. These former Crusaders were some of the best fighters in the wasteland. Ordinary wastelanders were being torn apart. Stefanie and the rest weren't normal wastelanders, however. Stefanie had no idea who'd started this war, but the wasteland would be well rid of it. Despite the appalling losses, the Horde was pushing itself further into the breach in Jerusalem, the fighting spilling into the courtyard as the less numerous Last Legionnaires began giving ground. A fresh onslaught staggered the advance as reinforcements entered the fray, firing a volley into the mass that killed wasterlander and Legionnaire alike before charging in.
Stefanie met another officer amidst the melle. This one was more skilled than the first. Stefanie had countered his lunge as she had before, but this time, the man rolled out of it and Stefanie jumped back to avoid an upward swing of his SCM Officer Sword. She swung Belton around and the man ducked under, Belton finding a spot in some unlucky waster's chest and sending him flying. The officer spun low to swing at Stefanie's legs, and she jumped to avoid the swing. She felt the blade graze her midsection as she backed from another blow. Not deep but it drew blood, Stefanie paid it no heed as she switched from defensive to offensive. The officer continued to spin and hacked off the arm of a screaming wastelander, who was lining up a shot behind him. Stefanie was not going to die today. As he turned, she spun with a heel kick, the spur on her boot smacked through the BRA gas mask, and the man was dragged to the ground, dropping his sword and clutching his face. She wrenched it free and stepped back as the man ripped his helmet and gas mask off. The spur had gone clean through his cheek and into his mouth, and he spit out blood before rising into a tackle that bore Stefanie to the ground. She lost hold of Belton as the two warriors began more of a wrestling match than a duel. The officer grasped for Stefanie's throat, and she choked for breath as he applied pressure. She'd been in this situation before. She slapped the sides of the man's head simultaneously, the sound and force reverberating as his hearing dwindled. She slapped again and felt breath as he released the pressure. Rolling over, she felt him wrap his hands around her waist and saw the world tumble backwards as he flipped her over. She landed with a huff and turned, grabbing around the man's neck in her own chokehold, then releasing when she had no leverage. Rolling to her stomach, she dug her legs into the ground, her powerful calves and thighs giving her force as she pushed upward, lifting the man and slamming him sidewayswas. She straddled his stomach as he tried to sit up and caught his head in a reverse choke, wasting no time pressing her advantage. She applied pressure quickly, her bicep flexing as she choked the man, and she twisted her torso sideways, hearing vertibrae snap as the officer released his bearhug and went limp. She stood up and picked up Belton as another group of wastelanders pushed by her. She'd hoped somebody had seen that bit of work she'd done. It was a good kill.
Alexis was mad.There is a fine line bettween sanity and madness and alexis had triped over it,His vission was filled with images of dead bodys and burning wreckage,Most prominat among the bodys was the blank expresionless face of the man dave had shot and a smooking revolver.Sudenly the image of Rolands knee came towards him and he awoke.
Alexis was surounded by horde members.The charge must still be going on he thought,Picking himself up he joined the mass of people assualting jeruselum.His own friends and family were somewhere in that mass and he would find them.Shooting a legionarie in the head alexis felt a burning anger inside him.Not for the crusade or last legion but for roland,Alexis hated the way people treated scum like dave and jacob like somthing special.Scum like them existed all over the waste but the two of them were scum of a diferent kind,Jacob claimed to be diferent to raiders and scum like that but to alexis jacob vaughton was exactly the same as the raiders.Both of them had no sense of morals the only diference was that jacob claimed to be diferent.At least raiders were honest.
Regardless of that fact the crusade were more dangerous at this time and alexis regoined the charge.He would deal with roland when he had an army at his back.
Roland noted, between ripping out a Legionnaire's trachea and putting his fist through a Psychoed-up waster who took him for a Crusader, that Alexis had both regained his consciousness and "leadership" of the shattered, broken horde ranks within Jerusalem's walls. Shucking a few shells into the recievers of his NeoStead's twin barrels, Roland grunted. A crusader's knightstick broke across the back of Roland's helmeted head, and a quick backwards elbow jab threw the soldier to the ground with a collapsed windpipe.
It was almost a surreal moment for Roland. Ever since that blow to the Forehead in Austin, some memories of his training as an Institute assassin had begun to sneak back to him. When he was fighting, he would suddenly recall the best nerve cluster to strike in order to incapacitate his opponents, the weak points of combat armor, where to unload his ammunition into a wall, at what angle and from what distance for proper through-the-wall fatalities. It was both disturbing and euphoric at the same time, and Roland sometimes became disturbed by it. He had begun to spend long periods in the bunkhouse of the Grey Lady, locked away from the world with a bottle of whiskey, purging the memories of those he'd killed from his mind with the abrazives of harsh alcohol. Sure, it was a bad idea to bury sorrow with a drink that only made you depressed, but it seemed to work. Although the hangover, combined with the constantly overshadowing migraine buzzing at the back of his head, put him in a constantly dour, borderline-angry mood. When he'd had painkillers or morphine, sure, he felt better, but his cargo was damaged goods, to use a charming euphemism. He'd read enough copies of the DC Journal of Internal MEdicine to know that brain trauma was nigh-on incurable.
So, to stop his internal conflicts, he lifted up a Legionnaire one-handed and threw him into the Horde raiding party. Yeah, that felt better. Nothing like senseless violence to clear the mind of brooding and the like.
Jacob spun around, turning the Legionnaire's impact off with little effort, As the man staggered awayy, Jacob spun back to him, bringing up his boot in a quick, snapped front-kick, doubling the soldier over. Jacob's elbow came crashing downwards into the man's upper back. Dorsal Vertabra Three, the "Keystone of the Spine", split and broke under the force of Jacob's elbow and the world went dark for the Legionnaire. Jacob spun back towards the breach, backhanding an officer as he rushed towards him. Jacob had been lucky with that one. The man hadn't been ready, his sword low by his side. Unforgiving as usual, Jacob stamped down on the back of the officer's neck before he could rise.
Jacob nodded to Stefanie as she shouted something at him, then ducked as she swung her hammer. Jacob heard the distinctive crunch of a Super Sledge blasting through a human chest behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a soldier falling, a gaping hole smashed in his chest by the impact of Belton. Jacob nodded his thanks as he stood up, then pulled Stefanie from the path of an oncoming PFC, calmly driving his Ka-Bar up under the unfortunate Legionnaire's chin and into his throat. He felt blood splash over his back and turned to see Jackal standing over a headless Lieutenant.
"Eyes open Jacob. I won't be here to save you every time," Jackal said with a skull-like smirk.
"Nor I you, Jackal." Roland throttled a Last LEgionnaire that was creeping up on Jackal in stealth mode, ripping out his breathing mask's oxygen tube and punching him in the throat before hurling him towards a derelict trench where he lay still. The merchant smiled behind his helmet and moved on down the battlefield. "This portion looks like it's been cleared out except for the Horde idiots who are looting. Let's get moving."
And I thought I was brutal.River stared at the carnage Stefanie caused. It was there and then that River decided that she liked this girl. 
"Here." She tossed a stimpack to Dave, who still looked dizzy as all hell. "Don't die."
One little two little three little assholes...River hummed to herself as she shot at the Legionnaires. She LOVED this new gun! 
Four little five little six little assholes, seven little eight little assholes, watch their heads aspload.
Dave gladly caught the stimpak in one hand, showing off the pearly whites to give his appreciation to River. "I've been hit by worse." Dave said, his grin disappearing at the not so fond memory of the Anterk that had punted him. Jamming the stimpak into his arm and wincing slightly as it entered the open wound on his arm. Removing a bandage from his backpack, Dave quickly wrapped the dressing around his arm, then put his backpack on again. Drawing his revolver from the holster underneath his arm, Dave drew it from out of his jacket again, spinning it on his finger before catching it on the handle, aiming, and shooting straight through the unprotected neck of a Last Legionnaire who was about to bring his M1 Trench Knife through River's neck from behind. The man fell backwards, and River was none the wiser as she continued to fire her rifle. Revolver in hand, Dave limped past the young woman, briefly reminded of the General's daughter. A grin returning to his face, Dave turned to find a Last Legionnaire and another bulky waster grappling for control of an SCM APAR, struggling to seize the heavy rifle. Dave aimed and fired twice. The first round caught the waster in the stomach, punching a nice little hole in his midsection and dropping him as he groaned. The next shot grazed the helmet of the Legionnaire, sending him spinning as the APAR hit the ground, it's trigger going off and firing the weapon. Rounds caught several wasters and a legionnaire in various parts of their bodies, some of them fatal. Dave promptly fired a third round into the dazed legionnaire, then pulled the M1 Trench Knife from his boot leg. It was a nice knife; basically a KaBar rip-off. Sheathing it in his boot to replace his old one he had left at the shack, Dave turned to find Alexis staring him down from across the battle, anger flashing in his eyes. Grandpa wants a fight? Dave thought. Maybe it was because Alexis had got a nice little strike from Roland. Anyhow, Dave would have to pick himself carefully. If the Horde won this one, and Alexis used that influence of his, Dave could be missing a head if there was enough of them wasters swarming him.
"BOOM! Kneeshot!"
There was, quite literally, a quiet boom as Strauss swung his Super Sledge, appropriately, into a Last Legionnaire's kneecaps, producing a brutal snapping sound as he fell to the ground, his legs contorted in unnatural ways. Strauss took the liberty of plunging the bladed end of the massive hammer-haft into the soldier's face, kicking his body before moving onto the nearest of his comardes, slamming him square in the chest with the weapon and sending him reeling. A Horde soldier who really didn't look much older than fifteen suddenly emerged from the ground and started jumping on said Last Chancer's chest, before shooting him in the head with a .32 pistol and moving on, firing pot shots in the general direction of a large mass of the opposition before being cut down by automatic fire himself. Strauss swore as he realised he'd allowed himself to be distracted, making himself an open target, and glanced around to notice that nobody was attacking him. With a sigh of relief, he suddenly heard something scraping against the armour plating on his back.
He span around to find himself face to face with what he presumed was a Last Legion soldier in looted Power Armor, still adorned with the colours of the old Airborne. In his hands was an ornate-looking Officer's Sword which he presumed was the Praetorian variant. Strauss dropped his hammer and backed up as another strike came, before drawing one of his own swords. 
"Come on! COME ON!" He bellowed. He aimed a clumsy thrust with his sword, which the Last Chancer counteracted by simply whacking his wrist out of the way and lunging in for the kill. Strauss managed to lift his other arm in defense reflexively, and the blade hardly scratched his Pip-Boy. Huh. Guess they are built to last.
The two of them circled one another, with Strauss occasionally going on the offensive only to be battered away almost effortlessly. "See, asshole, I'm the one with training," The Legionnaire lectured before headbutting Strauss after a riposte, "you may as well just give up and die now because I'm going to win eventually no matter wha--" He was interrupted pointedly by an RPG hitting his back, sending him flying over Strauss' head. The Wastelander gave a thumbs-up to Frank, who resumed mowing down the enemy left and right with his minigun, flanked by Worthington who did much the same, before moving onto his own next target.
Waking up just in time to see somebodys body hurling through the air and hitting the wall behind him with a loud Thump, Weston pushed himself onto his feet. The Fighting was spilling out into the courtyard and it was getting way more intense. The Horde actually manged to get a foothold within Jersulam. Imagine that. Ducking behind the sandbags just was several Last Legion soldiera ran by him, Weston creppet along the outer, well, outskirts of both forces, before winding his way back towards the Horde forces. Stopping and taking what looked like to be a Ski-Mask from a dead Horde member, Weston wore it. Streching his back, Weston grabbed somebodys combat knife and moved into the fray. With his BPR Rifle strapped to his back and Knife in hand, Weston caught a glimspes of his friends. Moving towards them, Weston was confrotnmed by a Last Legion soldier. Going in for a slash in the neck, Weston mis-judged it and stumbled forward. The Last Legionare cam forward with a jabbing attack, but, Weston Stabbed the man's arm. Howling in pain, the Last Legion soldier attemped a kick to Westons side. Taking it in the same spot where his gut wound was, Weston drew that mans .357 Desert Egale and exucted him.
"WWHAT!"
He shouted. Jacob Vaughton..r was that somebody else? Looked at him funny for a moment before they went out there rampage. Weston counited to use the .357 Desert Eagle/Knife combo. Althought the DE was terrible in Close Range due to the reciol, it still was preety good to use. Putting it to a Last Legions soldier's heasd that was attacking a nearby Horde Soldier, Weston fired a single round. Blood sparrted onto Westons and said Horde mebers clothes, but, the adavnce contiened. As it should. As it should/