Breach Outreach Headquarters terminal entries

The **Breach Outreach Headquarters terminal entries** are a collection of terminal entries from the Breach Outreach Headquarters in *Fallout: The Frontier*.

## Alatar's Terminal

**Location:** This terminal is located on a desk at the foot of Altar's bed in his room.

Property of Alatar Crowley. I'm probably not in right now, so kindly don't make any unapproved edits. Lookin' at you, Razi.

### Crusaders Story (Published)

Of God and Glory - Alatar Crowley, Breach Outreach Senior Reporter

While other major powers may have been breathing down the Frontier's neck for some time now, a relatively new player has entered the fray. The Crusaders are a force that as far as iconography goes is quite clearly related to the Brotherhood, but in what capacity?

Well, the answers are readily available to those who seek them. Crusader Warden Howell stands vigil at the forcefield that gates off RobCo Tower, their base of operations in the Frontier. When approached by our reporters, he seemed to speak with measured caution. When we began to ask of the group's history, however, he seemed elated at a fellow seeker of knowledge expressing interest.

While the conversation we had could very well fill an entire history book of its own, the key points are that a Paladin known as Tasha Weaver survived the Battle of Helios One in Nevada, and made her way to New Canaan. Recovering from her injuries and finding a new lease on life, she and other likeminded individuals broken by their time in the Brotherhood converted to Mormonism, and began to enact what they believe is God's will.

Yet as the good book itself says: the return will come as a lion, not a lamb. We all know the fate of New Canaan. The reports from out east, about a ruined town of salted earth and butchered corpses. And we know that Tasha Weaver, quite clearly, has survived. And it just so happens that she's found the man responsible for the fall of Helios One, Elias Blackthorn, right here in the Frontier. And it seems her goal is to temper her Crusaders of Steel in his blood, and forge a new society where their God's word is law.

Time will tell if they find success, or if their tragic history will repeat itself.

### Legion Story (Published)

Blizzard of the Bull - Alatar Crowley, Breach Outreach Senior Reporter

The Legion is a curious case. Any NCR soldier will tell you of their savage brutality, a ravenous horde baring down the gates of hell. And yet... When you look to the Legion, what do you see? I for one, see familiar faces. I see old friends, old enemies, old drinking buddies. I see scavs that are tired of wondering if the next NCR patrol they see is going to gun them down in the streets they've walked since they were children. I see... The Snowblind.

To those who don't remember, the Snowblind were a tribe that lived to the far north, quite close to Ostia in fact. A group of professional marksmen who used blizzards to their advantage in raids. The bane of many caravans, and frequent auctioneers at the Junkflea slave market. But around the time the Sandlot fell, they became more paranoid. Reclusive. And when the few slave traders still passing through to Junkflea got taken out by sniper fire from the airport, they shut themselves off entirely.

We heard little of the Snowblind for months. I believe that, in error, I had even reported them as wiped out at one point - a statement that is both innacurate yet true at the same time. At some point during the NCR's early occupation of the airport, several Frumentarii of the Legion came to the Snowblind. The many months that were spent in seclusion were now spent training in military tactics. The Snowblind's proclivity to markmanship and using effective camoflage and stealth only served to their benefit - and now we find ourselves deadlocked in the bitter war that ravages our home.

Still... It's hard to argue what happened to the Snowblind wasn't a good thing. Under the Leadership of the enigmatic Legate Valerius, they've become a much more civilized and helpful bunch, no longer sacking caravans to get by. Even the rather liberal ideals of Valerius have improved interaction with Scav communities, such as their respectful treatment of slaves.

Rumor has it that the Legate may even permit women in combat roles in the near future - an unthinkable concept to the Legion of the homeland. A concept that's even had some make the argument that the Legion may be the ideal choice for the Frontier - after all, for the most part they've been here as long as we have.

### NCR Story (Published)

Not California, Right? - Alatar Crowley, Breach Outreach Senior Reporter

If you find an old world map, state lines and all, when you look for Portland... What's the state it's in? Not California, right? Quite interesting then, that we find ourselves under near-hostile occupation by the New California Republic. As much as I'd love to give you a straight answer, they seem less than keen on interacting with the reporters of the Breach Outreach.

But of course, why would they want to speak to us? After all, we reported on their senseless massacre of Bright Town. We report on the smouldering wrecks of vans shredded by tank fire. The collateral damage from the occasional vertibird bombing run. The ever-growing tally of scav lives lost to people who came and occupied the land we've lived in for generations.

If I sound bitter, forgive me. It just pains me to see so many senseless deaths over the years. From the fall of the Sandlot, the Bright Town Massacre, the night the Branded vanished, and all these wretched mutants that popped up in the last decade... Sometimes it feels like this land is cursed, doesn't it?

If the NCR is looking for their salvation, they're in the wrong place.

## Bob Frost's Terminal

**Location:** This terminal is located on a desk at end of Bob Frost's room.

Property of Bob Frost. Why are you reading this. I'm gonna fire you if I catch you doing anything at my desk besides leaving submissions/resumes/complaints/gifts.

### The Divide Story (Published)

A House Divided - Bob Frost, Breach Outreach News Supervisor

Life is such a fickle thing, is it not? Entire new nations can form so quickly - look no further than the NCR and Legion themselves. Likewise, entire nations and tribes can be ghosted away, like our own Sandlot communities and the Branded. But... none of these even begin to compare to the loss of The Divide and the communities that called it home.

Located in the shifting sands of the Armagosa Valley, a small town called Ashton grew to prominence in the mid-20th century when it uncovered a massive watershed. To the communities of nearby Death Valley, this was a godsend. The hottest place in the United States now had ready access to drinking water. Mining operations moved in, in neighboring Beatty, Gold Centre, and Chloride City.

At the same time, the US Military had begun testing nuclear devices in the empty desert near Sugar Bunker... Tests that would cause radioactive particulate to drift as far east as Colorado. Looking to avoid poisoning people several states away, the US allegedly moved their entire stockpile near Ashton, where it lay untouched for years... or so it would seem.

A new city was built to house massive amounts of US troops, and the land's seemingly perpetual sandstorms provided excellent cover for the nuclear silos located there. They dubbed this town "Hopeville". However, US military personnel were not the only ones present.

A contingent of hippies and Chinese American citizens moved into the region as well, protesting the warmongering of the United States as well as eliciting conspiracy theories that the military had switched over to subterranian detonations in conjunction with Poseidon Energy, looking to create a rumored "ultra ore" that would completely outclass Uranium in both energy production and weaponization potential.

It's funny, isn't it? All of this information would never have been brought to light if not for collaboration between surviving members of StarveSec and the Dionyte tribe, two groups that occupied the Divide, descended from the American Troops and interred protestors... both of whom have very few survivors, ones who happened to be elsewhere the day of the calamity.

Now, onto the relevant information.

2277. The same date as the first battle for Hoover Dam, in fact. The NCR and Legion forces are engaging one another in Hopeville. Perhaps the NCR thought itself able to seize a decisive victory. Perhaps the Legion had been toying with technology they didn't understand. Perhaps a third party, tired of their petty wars, wanted to show them what true war looked like.

Regardless, the outcome was the same. Silence across several states. A sudden shift in wind. A loud, calamitous roar as the earth itself buckled and split. A towering nuclear cloud, visible even from Portland. A disaster to outclass the Great War itself, as thousands upon thousands of warheads all detonated simultaneously. And the storms? They whip that particulate into a frenzy, constantly showering the remains of the Divide in enough rads to ghoulify anyone who sticks around for too long... And unleashing horrible demons from the earth that can shred a deathclaw in seconds.\*

\*(Author's Note: All reports on the current state of the Divide come from an unreliable source who only calls himself "Ulysses", who also claims the calamity there was the work of a single individual. Do remember to take the word of anyone who walks around the Frontier in a sleeveless shirt with a hefty grain of salt - as they're likely not the most stable mind.)

The truth is, nobody knows what happened to the Divide besides the people who once lived there. And with us unable to discern where those same people are living nowadays, the secrets it held may forever be lost, lest some brave or foolhardy adventurer dive into the midnight sea of that great scar on the earth.

What we do know is that thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands died that day. The people who lived there now number in the hundreds at most. And most importantly... Almost none of the people who venture into those shifting sandstorms ever emerge.

### Branded Story (Published)

In the Court of the Crimson King - Bob Frost, Breach Outreach News Supervisor

Though younger readers may not remember the old tribes of the land, the older and more attentive of you may recall that we're soon approaching the anniversary of the night the Branded vanished.

For those unaware, the Branded were one of the many tribes of scavs occupying the Frontier. While many are known for their unique quirks, the Branded had a particularly brutal tradition: they would drill bolts into their bones, and graft metal plates onto their own flesh, and incorporate Power Armor frames into their own bodies as cybernetic exoskeletons. If one passed through their village, you could always smell the unmistakable scent of charred flesh.

While this may sound terrifying and torturous, the Branded themselves were quite a friendly bunch, openly welcoming newcomers into warm huts filled with good food. My own grandfather, rest his soul, considered himself a Branded... but I digress.

The Branded didn't even believe in death as a punishment. Outsider or tribe member, if you broke one of their laws you would be brought before The Crimson King himself - a towering patriarch of the tribe who earned his leadership by grafting a Protectron's head over his own. Those found guilty of crimes would be tied to a post as he used the robot's laser to sear their crime into their skin, branding them forever. After such a ceremony, the merry tribe would once again begin feasting and drinking as a celebration: as to them, a new branding was a joyous event.

But long gone are the joyful laughs echoing in the hills. The clang of steel rods hitting iron plate as they train. Now all we have are the whispers of ghosts and the shrieks of ghouls. The Crimson King's Court, far into the wilds of the Frontier, is naught but ruins and half buried swords with their blades pointing to the sky in defiance.

Nobody truly knows where the Branded went. Some of the tribe's old friends claim that the burial mound and concrete slab marking their grave must have come from another old friend of theirs - a pre-war vault dweller who put his brain in a robotic shell. He called himself "the Starved Rider", but they had dubbed him by another name: "the 21st Century Schizoid Man". Regardless of his title, or his existence... One has to assume he either felt great love for the tribe of fellow cybernetic men... Or great regret for a role played in their fate.

### NCR Legion War Story (Published)

The Price of War - Bob Frost, Breach Outreach News Supervisor

War, war never changes.

An old saying passed down through the years. Many, including ghouls who remember the Great War itself, attribute the quote to a Galaxy News National anchor who uttered it right as the feed died.

Regardless of origin, the statement remains true. War really does never change. One can liken the war right here in the Frontier to any other conflict. After all, the ones who suffer the most are the residents of the land. I've seen a lot of friends die in recent years. I've seen some join the Legion. Hell, I've seen some join the NCR. But I haven't seen a day where gunfire isn't echoing down the streets, where Vertibirds aren't seen scouring the streets for a target, be it a Legionary or one of you getting medicine for your kids.

I wish I could tell you it'll be okay. I really do. But that's not how war works. One side is going to come out on top, and that could mean anything for us. It could be slavery under the Legion, or it could be a new age of peace. It could be prosperity under the NCR, or a regime led by a warmonger. Our children could end up becoming fanatical Crusaders, or respecting the world we were given too many chances to save. All that I know is that our destiny isn't in our hands anymore.

And if you try to take it into your own, be careful. The snow's soaked up too much scav blood as is.