Andronicus23

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Old Longfellow - The Hull

“It’s good we got Avery, but we need to start preparing the town. That sounded like the last bit of diplomacy we would get. We should get all those projects we had in mind going with the vertibird stuff. Do you still have people good at working on the Hull and other engineering?.”

Longfellow scratched his bearded chin a bit in contemplation, "Not sure really. The Mariner ain't around no more since she left to go find the Red Death. And nobody's really taken up the mantle to keep up the hull. I can maybe get a few strong backs together for lifting and the like, but we could use somebody who can tell them what to do and how to build it up better for protection."

“Rose couldn't have just disappeared,” he said slowly “What if they somehow forced her to run off into the Fog? If she moved quickly, she could have run off in the short time we couldn’t see her. I’m going to check for tracks. They could lead us to the cultists. Can either of you help me?”

"I probably need to head back and make sure everyone is alright. If they grabbed the girl, they might have done something else while we were distracted. Corinne might be able to help you though if its tracking you're after."

--

Castner kneels in the dirt and starts to look for signs of what might have happened. Even without Corrine's help, it would have been hard to miss what he finds. There's a large set of tracks imprinted in the soft earth near the hull leading up to where Rose disappeared. Corrine would likely be able to identify them as Gulper tracks, albeit abnormally large ones. Although given what they've seen so far, its not too surprising. The tracks lead off back into the Fog but its hard to say which direction they go or how far in. The only other thing of note is that there's no sign of blood anywhere to be found. (Roll passed)

War Never Changes

Legatus Aurelius and Vulpes Inculta - SAC HQ Bunker Operations Room

The Legate listened intently as Barnaky laid out the strategic situation and explained in detail each of the fronts that The Cult was being engaged on. As Barnaky spoke, Aurelius couldn't help but admire his tactical knowledge, and appreciated the fact that here was a leader whom he could compare to Caesar as a warrior-king, not merely an elected official playing at one like President Kimball Jr. had been. He understood quite well why Lucius had chosen to work with him as an ally.

"That's the situation in a nutshell", Barnaky said, "If you have questions I'd be pleased to answer them."

Aurelius paused for a few moments, studying the large map projected on the wall and mulling over each of their strategic options. Vulpes remained silent, understanding that his place as Primus Frumentarius was second to the Legate's command over the eastern legions, he was there in an advisory capacity only.

"Overall strategic command of this operation falls to your command Lord," Aurelius began, "You're people have been fighting the cult for longer than we've even known they existed, and you best know their strengths and weaknesses. I will defer to your judgement for the duration of this operation, this Caesar has willed as well. That being said, were I given the preference, I would choose to advance my legions along the central front and push to Indianapolis. With our forces joining yours already there, we should be able to turn the tide of the siege and capture the city in short order. From there we can push onward like a spear through to Columbus. That should allow you to redeploy some of your Knights to Detroit then, where I suspect they will be badly needed. Thanks to your railway, all four of my Legions can be deployed quickly and we can use surprise to our advantage, as I doubt they will be expecting The Legion's forces to be arrayed against them so soon after the NCR war."

"Wisely," Aurelius explained, "Caesar ordered more than half of The Legion's total strength to be held in reserve while the NCR invaded. Each of the legions I've brought with me, the Fifth, Second, Twelfth, and Seventh, are at full fighting strength and did not engage with Kimball. In addition to the six legions that fought off the NCR invasion, we have another three full stength Legions waiting in reserve. Of those three, we can bring the Eleventh Legion up if the situation becomes dire here, but I don't expect we shall need them."

Walking up to the map, the Legate pointed towards the northern front and Detroit,

"I don't wish to leave your men in the North without our support however, to that end I would suggest that a detachment of the Legio II Victrix serve as an auxiliary force to your forces pushing into the Republic. Caesar has requisitioned the support of Great Khan mercenaries who are riding east as we speak, a small force of a few hundred riders but they're well armed and good fighters. We can attach them to the Legion detachment and send them north as well."

"Do you have any objections to this plan Lord?" Aurelius asked, "And you Vulpes? What is your opinion?"

"If Lord Barnaky approves, then I have no objections. My only concern is that as the Legion advances east, we have adequate knowledge regarding the terrain but more importantly the enemy we are facing. With that in mind Lord Barnaky, I would ask that my Frumentarii be briefed by your Inquisitors on the nature of the cult and effective ways to counter them. A psychological war may be improbable to fight against madmen, but not impossible. All men fear something: perhaps we can supply it to them."

"On that note as well," Aurelius interjected, turning to Barnaky, "I would inform you that Caesar has ordered me to show no mercy to these cultists. Civilians will not be harmed, but those tainted by the Cult, and any who serve it...we will be crucified. They can howl to their abomination of a god when they're up on a cross...we'll see if it answers them then."

(OOC: I mentioned the Khans mostly just as a reminder that they're still around. If anyone has objections I can do away with it.)

Director Thomas Milburn, Sanctuary Hills(?) - Inside The Institute

Thomas heard the distinctive crunch of broken glass beneath his feet as he approached the scene. Like a pre-war detective walking up on a homicide, he approached the figure of the young girl splayed out on the pavement with both cold indifference and investigative deduction in mind.

“Oh my God!” Mr. Able yelled as he exited his car, “Oh God I didn’t know she was there Tom. Is she alright? Oh Jesus...”

Someone else from the neighborhood screamed, and a crowd started to gather as Thomas knelt down next to Catherine,

“I...where am I?” The young girl wondered aloud in a haze, “I’m...I’m sorry Mr. Milburn I guess...I guess I just didn’t see the car coming out.”

“It’s alright Catherine. I can take the pain away easily. You’ll be good as new soon, I promise.” Thomas smiled kindly as he gently caressed her forehead.

“U4-88, recall code Cinderella.”

Catherine’s eyes suddenly deadend and she went limp on the pavement.

“Tom what happened, what’s going on?” He could hear Nora yelling, “Shaun go back inside! Now!”

Without looking away from Catherine, Thomas simply said,

“Override current environmental response. Return to starting points. Authorization code: Omega 4 3 Ark.”

The expressions on all the neighbors and his wife immediately went blank, and they walked back to their homes without another word uttered between them. Thomas meanwhile continued studying Catherine’s now lifeless form. He pushed his glasses up and noted the injuries to her head and the oddly self-inflicted scratches along her neck.

“What got into you?” He whispered with a mixture of confusion and pure scientific curiosity.

The sounds of approaching metallic footfalls came from further down the road, and soon a trio of Gen-1 Synths was lined up in front of Thomas,

“Hello Father. Do you require our assistance?”

“Yes. Take Catherine here down to Robotics and have Dr. Loken, personally, run a full diagnostic on the unit. Let him know that it's a Class C Abnormal Autonomic Behavior and ask him to log it. Once that’s done, send a team up here to gather all the event log data from each of the units and send it off to Advanced Systems as well. I want them to go line by line and figure out what just happened here and why. Understood?”

“Certainly Father.”

“Go then,” Thomas waved his hand dismissively, and the Gen-1’s immediately began putting Catherine’s body onto a stretcher and carrying it out of the Sanctuary Hills experiment area.

“Odd..but not entirely unusual..,” He muttered to himself as he tried to think through every possible faulty programming scenario in his head, each one seeming more far fetched than the last. He let out a sigh and looked upwards, letting the artificial sun beat down on his face. A sardonic chuckle escaped him, “Even here, in my sanctuary I still can’t escape from work.”

War Never Changes

Desmond Lockheart and The Director, Sanctuary Hills(?)

Desmond awoke to feeling of a warm sun on his face and the sounds of cheerful birds chirping. He could hear a lawnmower in the distance, and along with it came the familiar smell of freshly cut grass. His confusion was only amplified as his eyes adjusted and he saw well trimmed green lawns, white picket fences, and tidy homes lining a freshly paved street.

He realized then that he was sitting in a lawn chair up against a patio table in the middle of one of the many lush green backyards. Reclining across from him was a man dressed in plaid shorts, loafers, a short sleeve collared shirt, and sunglasses which screamed suburban life. For a brief moment, Desmond assumed he was in a dream until he looked down and saw his necrotic hands. He was never a ghoul in his dreams.

“Hello Desmond,” The man said as he turned to him, “Enjoying the weather?”

The voice was instantly familiar to him and his memory of the previous events in the Third Rail came flooding back swiftly,

“Thomas. Well I suppose I should be surprised. Where are we exactly? I can guess I’ve been shanghai'd to The Institute, but this...well. Is it a simulation?”

At that moment, a Mister Handy floated up to the pair carrying a metal tray with two drinks,

“Lemonade’s here sir!” The robot proudly exclaimed, “Made it myself and quality-assured by the missus haha!”

“Thank you Codsworth,” Thomas smiled as he took one of the drinks. Codsworth offered the other to Desmond, and the old ghoul hesitated, but finally clasped the cold drink in his hands. He waited for Thomas to take the first sip, and then slowly raised the glass to his own rotting lips. He was surprised to find how delicious it tasted and he couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise.

“It's not a simulation, not a virtual one in any case,” Thomas finally replied, “Everything here is real, down to the last blade of grass. The sun is artificial of course and there’s some illusion at work when it comes to the backdrop, but aside from that its an exact copy of my home. Sanctuary Hills.”

“And the people, they’re..”

“Synths yes. Exact copies of each of my former friends and neighbors. They’re memories and neurological makeup taken directly from the bodies of those in Vault 111. The cryogenic stasis they were placed it kept their corpses thankfully very fresh, which is the only thing that made this possible. Their programming has been altered slightly of course so that they’re stuck in the same loops over and over again, to ensure they don’t break the illusion here.”

Desmond looked around the neighborhood and observed each of them going about their business. It was hard to imagine at first glance that they weren’t real. As he panned around, he could see into the window of the home they were in the backyard of, and spied a woman with dark hair. Next to her, he could see the top of a young boy’s head.

“You even copied your wife and child…” Desmond couldn’t help but let out a subdued gasp.

Thomas fell silent for a few moments.

“Yes, I did. Although the child wasn’t my doing really. My son, my real son, created him for me as his way of...making amends for the lost time. He asked me to look after the child before he passed. So I decided to create this place as a way to do that. It allows me, if even briefly, to recapture everything I lost. I love it and hate it in equal measure. Everytime I return here, I swear that it’s the last.”

“How tragic,” Desmond replied matter-of-factly as he leaned back in his chair, “So can I ask what the fuck I’m doing here? You didn’t kill me, so I assume you want something from me.”

“I could say the same. You’re not an easy man to get to Desmond. If you wanted to evade capture, you could have. You walked into the Third Rail knowing that Goodneighbor had long ago stopped being free. Everyone there is a Synth. The illusion of resistance against The Institute is kept up there only for appearances, and to lure in those who still want to fight. Remnants of The Railroad...The Brotherhood...The Minutemen and so on. You wanted to be captured so I assume you’re looking to get something out of an arrangement as well. The Great Game boring you now?”

“Maybe,” Desmond nodded as he took another sip of the lemonade, “Maybe I’m tired of doing this over and over again. Maybe I thought I might finally be able to work with one of my rivals instead of kill them.”

Thomas smiled, “I could use your help Desmond. Back in the day you were the best intelligence agent The British had to offer. Got the DIA out of many a tight jam and served your country, and ours, with distinction. The Institute is just coming into its own on the stage and we’ve already discovered that its much larger and more complicated than we anticipated. Nations have formed that are far more powerful than ourselves. We need information before we can figure out what to do about that.”

“So you need me to lead up your intelligence agency hmm? Can’t say I disagree...it’s the smart choice. Those egg-heads of yours might be smart, but they’re amateurs compared to what we had,” Desmond leaned back smugly in his chair, “But I don’t really see what's in it for me. The country I served is long since blown to hell and I’m not feeling all that loyal to an armed university.”

“I figured you might say that...so what if I told you I could get you something you’ve wanted for a long time. What if I could cure your ‘condition’?”

“Not sure why I’d want to do that,” Desmond shrugged, “Ghouldom isn’t a fucking walk in the park, but it has its perks. Immortality for one. Immunity to radiation for another. Kinda comes in handy this day and age you know?”

“Assume I can offer that along with the promise of a cure.”

Desmond narrowed his eyes, “Keep talking Thomas..”

“It's why I brought you here,” Thomas motioned his hand around, “Why I demonstrated this to you.”

“Synths. So that’s your plan. Build me a new body I supposed, hmm? Alright, I’ll bite. And what exactly is stopping you from controlling me like a puppet once I agree to that?”

“If I wanted that, I could just kill you, scan you, and build a copy and program it to follow my orders to the letter. Let's be frank here Desmond. That’s not what I’m after. I need your mind and I need it whole and unspoiled. A Synth can do many things...many, many things. But despite the appearances, its not wholly up to the task of matching the human mind. It's the one advantage we have over them. There are flaws and limitations that are only perceptible to those that have intimate knowledge of their workings. I’m going through all this trouble for a reason, not because I find it fun. I’m offering this to you in exchange for your help because I know it's the one thing you’ve been unable to get. I know why you’re always wearing that fake wig and mustache. Its because your longing for the old days is almost as great as mine. What I’m offering you is the same thing I’ve found here in this place….a small piece of that.”

Desmond sat back and let out a throaty chuckle, “Figured I might have made the right choice….alright you’ve got a deal. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. Just like the old days then. So, what exactly do you need my help with?”

“There’s a group I’m very interested in learning more about. Perhaps even working with if the circumstances permit it. But from what I’ve heard we need to be very precise...and very careful with how we go about it. I think you’ve run into them before as well….in Maryland.”

“Oh?”

“A group called: The Cult.”

War Never Changes

Legatus Aurelius of Phoenix and Vulpes Inculta - Brotherhood Territory

The interior of the steam locomotive that was transporting the Legate and Vulpes, along with a cadre of Praetorians and High ranking Centurion officers, was well furnished with the comforts that would be expected of foreign dignitaries. To men of The Legion on campaign, it was certainly a step up from the usual accommodations of a Legion military camp, but their interest was not in frivolities or sight-seeing, The Legate's single-minded ambition was to treat with Barnaky as soon as possible and establish a coordinated plan of attack.

"The iron horses of The Brotherhood are certainly impressive," Vulpes remarked to the Legate as he stared out the window of the train car at the plentiful fields of Nebraska laden with crops and the bounty of what would no doubt be a fine harvest, "Imagine what we might do if we could move Legions East to West with such haste and such ease as they do. I cannot help but marvel at the possibilities."

The Legate shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Hmm. Perhaps...although I'd much prefer a good steed beneath me than a abomination of metal and fire."

"It can't be helped. If we're to organize the offensive, we need to link with Barnaky as soon as possible. Meeting with him directly to plan it reduces the chances of error and miscommunication. And if we're to represent Caesar's banner, it is the proper form to meet him face to face to show our commitment to this alliance."

"I do not disagree. Besides, I am eager to meet this great leader of The Midwest and see him for myself."

"As am I..." Vulpes once more stared out the window. He thought back to his short stay at the diplomatic meeting in New Vegas. Barnaky was...not what he had expected. He wasn't entirely sure there was a man of flesh there at all and not one of metal.

A few hours more journey had them pulling in to the station at Omaha, and The Legion officers disembarked on to the platform. In usual fashion, the Praetorian guards, regally adorned with crimson plumbed helms and finely crafted armor and shields, exited first and with drilled precision formed a protective ring around The Legate. They likely needn't have bothered given The Brotherhood's own security preparations, but it was their duty to protect the household and person of Caesar. As The Legate was representing Caesar in absentia, they would show Aurelius the same unwavering devotion they would give to him.

Following Aurelius, came the Senior Centurions and finally a contubernium of Veteran Legionaries, whose vexallarius proudly held aloft the golden bull standard of Legio I Arizona. Vulpes, while present, had disembarked with the Praetorians, and was garbed as one of them: not wishing to draw attention to himself.

Aurelius stared out into the curious crowd, intrigued by the sights and sounds of the Midwestern throng. He nodded approvingly at the young soldiers to-be in black and at the power-armored soldiers that ensured the citizens kept a safe distance back. Feeling the need to say something, The Legate stepped forward and addressed the crowd,

"People of The Midwest. I am Legatus Aurelius of Phoenix, Commander of the Eastern Legions. Caesar has ordered me to help you drive the hated Cult from your lands and ensure they are sent screaming back into Tatarus. Know that I do not come alone, and that twenty-five thousand Son of Mars march behind me!"

With the crowds elated cheers, Aurlius could hear Vulpes's voice coming from one of the Praetorians ahead of him, his voice slightly muffled by the covered helmet he wore,

"I did not know you were in the custom of giving speeches Legatus. A fine one. I daresay even Queastor Titus would be envious of your words."

"Hm. I felt it appropriate. Now we shouldn't tarry. Praetorians! Move out!" He shouted the command loud enough for all to hear.

After a short time, the Legate's retinue was taken to a convoy of waiting vehicles, and they passed through the impressive city of Omaha. Unexpectedly however, their journey took them away from this center of population and out into the country. Soon they had arrived at what appeared to be an old pre-war military base, and The Legate and Vulpes both assumed that this must be the fabled "Vault 0" or at least had some connection to it. As could be expected, the base was heavily fortified and run like a well oiled machine. They expected nothing else from The Brotherhood in that regard.

Once inside, Vulpes removed his helm and fell in behind his Legate in his official role now as Primus Frumentarius, the need for disguise had passed. Both and he and Aurelius both were led into what their Brotherhood escorts referred to as the "Operations Room" and saw the robotic construct that was Barnaky, or perhaps controlled by him, waiting along with the applause of his own staff to greet them.

"Legate Aurelius", Barnaky said warmly as he extended his hand, "Welcome to Omaha, your reputation precedes you...it's good to finally meet you!". He then added, "Please forgive the robot, I've found using this form is easier for others to, well, relate to than other methods. How was your trip?"

"Comfortable and expedient, thanks to you my Lord," Aurlius replied as he accepted the robot's offer of a customary handshake with some hesitation. He wasn't sure what to make of Barnaky's stand-in just yet, but was equally surprised by the Lord of The Midwest's informal tone. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but a royal audience and elaborate ceremony had been tossed around in his head. He rather preferred it this way however, no need for pomp and circumstance between warriors.

"I would introduce to you as well, Primus Frumentarius Vulpes Inculta, leader of The Legion's Frumentarii." He continued.

"An honor to meet you once again my Lord," Vulpes said with a bow, "Our brief time in Vegas was unexpectedly short. I'm afraid the treachery of the NCR dogs made certain of that."

War Never Changes

OOC: Next post will be for The Legion once Tib does the lead in for them.

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle

"Pleased to meet you, Brother", Stahl said, extending her hand to Kyle, "On behalf of the Midwestern Order, I welcome you to our lands." she then added, "Please come with me. You and I, and the other rescuees will take the first Vertibird. My associate will travel with the prisoners."

"Likewise ma'm," Robert replied as he returned the gesture. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her title of 'Inquisitor' just yet, but decided that it didn't matter for the time being.

"I guess this is where we part ways," Robert gave a sharp Brotherhood salute to Harkness, "Ad Victoriam, brother." It was hard to contain just how proud he was to once more be saying that phrase with pride.

"SQUAWK!"

The sound of that annoying fat crow caused Robert to briefly glance upwards and, of course, there was that damn thing sitting atop one of the blades of the vertibird. He was about to mention something to the Inquisitor, as a joke perhaps, about the constant harassment of the birds in this town, but something inside him seemed to stop him from doing so, and he forgot the matter entirely shortly thereafter.

After a briefing time in which the vertbird was reloaded with some of the raider prisoners that had been captured, along with himself, the vertibird took off once more and they were in the air and they were well on their way. Stahl turned to him again.

"We'll be at the forward command base in Indianapolis in about fifteen minutes", Stahl said, "After what you've been through, I'm sure you'd like a hot meal and some sleep before we interview you...they are also sending someone from Omaha to speak to you directly..but if you have any questions, i'll answer as best I can."

Robert sank back in his flight seat, a bit uneasy at the notion of just what sort of interview he'd be under, but he still maintained his composure, "Brother Harkness cleared up some of my questions already," he instead replied, "And I'm sure the rest will be cleared up in good time. The only thing that I'm wondering right now, however, is how much your Order knows about the East, and what has happened there, and how much I'll be expected to fill in the blanks."

The Commonwealth - Goodneighbor, The Third Rail Bar

"Whats a guy got to do to get a decent drink around here? Charlie, you been watering down the drinks again?"

The voice of an exceptionally drunk patron of the Third Rail called out to Whitechapel Charlie, the cockney robotic barkeep of the seedy little underground pub.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're implying...but I think its best you shut yer gob or take a walk...your choice mate."

"Fuck that Charlie, get me a decent drink or I'll turn you into scrap, how does that sound?" The drunkard began reaching for a hidden gun underneath his dirty jacket coat, but stopped when he felt the cold steel of a barrel pressed to the back of his head. This was followed shortly by the icy voice of a stranger. A ghoul from the sound of it.

"I think that sounds like you've got quite the attitude on you. Best drop that before I splatter your brains all over the good brandy."

"Watch who you're threatening there pal...I'm a made guy in the Triggermen." The drunkard threatened.

"Triggermen? Ooo, is that the name of your boy scout troupe? Sounds fucking adorable if you ask me."

"Why you little..." The drunkard spun around but before he had any time to react, the stranger cracked his head good with his pistol, sending the Triggerman crashing to the floor of the pub. By this point, the commotion had caused quite a few heads to turn in the Third Rail, but after seeing that the situation had apparently been resolved, they all quickly went back to their drinks as if nothing had happened. It was just another night in Goodneighbor.

The stranger stepped over the now comatose drunkard and took his place at the bar, "Don't suppose it would be possible to get a passable scotch here..."

"Probably can manage passable..." Whitechapel Charlie replied, and he hovered over to pour him his drink, "Appreciate the help mate. Ham will be down in a jiff and throw that pile of garbage out soon. Blasted Triggermen...everthing's gone to shit since ol' Hancock got himself offed. If he was still alive, you can bet nobody would be stupid enough to pull that kind of stunt in the Third Rail.....by the way, what's your name? Can't say I've heard too many accents like yours around these parts."

"Desmond Lockheart," Desmond took a swig of the scotch and exhaled deeply, "Not the best...but not bad either. As for the accent...I'm not exactly from around here. Just passing through on business. I'm looking for someone actually."

"Looking for someone? Well maybe I can help you out," Charlie offered, "Normally I'd charge for information..but seeing as how you got me out of that tight spot back there..."

"Doubt you'd be able to help me," Desmond chuckled, "The part I need help with isn't locating him, its getting to where he's at. You see I already know where he is."

"Oh, and where's that?"

"The Institute."

Charlie was stunned to silence and so was everyone within earshot it seemed.

"Hmm. Seems to be a common occurrence wherever I go. You'd think I'd just shot a man dead.." Desmond mused, and he took another drink of his scotch.

"Not sure who you're after mate, but I think its best if you forgot about it. Certainly aren't going to get much help from anyone in The Commonwealth if you're trying to go against The Institute. Not anymore at least..."

"So I've gathered. To be honest however, I couldn't give a rats anus about fighting The Institute or freeing you knuckle-draggers from whatever tyranny you think you're under. I'm only here to complete The Great Game. My list is growing shorter every year, but I can already tell this one is going to be much harder than Calvert was to put down. Especially if that cowed journalist's information was correct."

"Well I suppose not giving a toss is better than the alternative..." Charlie sighed, "Color me curious, what is your plan exactly?"

"Simple....wait for him to find me," Desmond shrugged, "Hence my stunt here. Damned if it isn't already working too. You can all drop the act by the way, I'm not an idiot."

A tense silence filled the bar, and the patrons, all of whom were previously enjoying their drinks, conversation, and good company had fallen utterly quiet, their faces transfixed with blank stares leveled at Desmond. There was not a soul in the bar that was not looking at him now, and even those who had previously appeared to be passed out or drunk off their asses were now sitting upright and giving him the same blank look as everyone else.

"Thought so," Desmond sighed and finished off his glass. He spun around on the bar stool to face the eerie expressionless crowd.

"I'm sorry sir, but I had no choice...never could have had a choice as a matter of fact.." Charlie apologized, as he slunk away from the bar counter.

A soft clapping emanated from the back room of the Third Rail, and a red haired woman in a white and red jumpsuit stepped out,

"Well now, he told me you were good...but I didn't imagine you'd be that good. I'm impressed. what gave it away?"

"Nothing really. I didn't know for sure until your clockwork people here stopped moving. They gave themselves away. Not that it really matters though... So can I guess that your name's Cait? The Irish broad that's my quarry's new squeeze? From what I hear, you've moved up in the world. Pit fighter to Institute Merc huh? That journalist in Diamond City had quite a bit to say about you...nothing nice by the by."

"One in the same," Cait replied with an exaggerated bow, "And little Miss Pipsqueak yaps too much. She should know she's not supposed to be talkin' outside of school. That was part of the arrangement."

"Hmph. Fair enough. So he sent you to kill me then? Figured maybe I might have bitten off more than I could chew this time after I talked with the journalist. If I'd only gotten here a few years earlier...he'd still be on ice right now and it would have been a cinch to cross him off my list. Instead he's got an army at his back now. Oh well, its all part of The Game. Kill and be killed and all that bullshit."

"If it were up to me you'd have been dead the moment you stepped inside The Third Rail, but...Thomas wanted me to bring you in alive."

"So he's taking me to the one place where I could never reach him? Tsk tsk, that's not the sort of decision that makes a good player of The Great Game. He's going to end up dead sooner rather than later."

"I think you'll find an SRB cell isn't a place where you're going to be pulling any sort of stunts. But you're welcome to try."

"I suppose we'll find out. So then, how are we getting there? Have you got a Vertibird shoved down your knickers or are we going by magic carpet?"

A mischievous smile crossed Cait's face, "Not exactly..."

Desmond then experienced a rare moment of genuine shock as his eyes and ears became filled with a bright blue light and a loud crack of energy.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Salem Clinic

“Help me. Where is Lorelei?”

"Shush, don't strain yourself," Arthur said gently, the man was obviously still suffering from the potent mix of shock, dehydration, and radiation sickness, "I'm not quite sure who this Lorelei woman is...but I assume you must care for her greatly, I can only hope the feeling is mutual..." Arthur joked, trying to inject a little humor into an otherwise bleak situation. He did however, turn to the rest of those in the clinic and added in a lower voice, "Does anyone know someone by that name? I daresay it sounds familiar...but I can't place my finger on it. Is it someone in town? We should notify them if so..."

As he then stated his intent to treat the man with various medications, Frieda jumped at the chance to assist,

"I'll get those!" Frieda burst out, and quickly fetched what he'd asked for. After bringing him the needful items, Frieda leaned in close, and Arthur could hear the anxiety in her voice,

"I should have been more careful," she muttered, leaning close towards Arthur's ear. "I didn't think about putting on gloves or anything, and I..well, I touched him, with my bare hands. What do I do? Am I going to get sick?"

"Its quite alright Frieda," Arthur whispered back, as he tried to calm her, "You needn't worry. Any radioactive particles he might have picked up from the ghouls wouldn't be enough to harm you. The condition of Ghoul-dom, thankfully, isn't contagious in and of itself either, and would instead require a tremendous amount of sustained radiation exposure to turn someone into one of those....unfortunate husks of humanity."

Arthur looked more closely at Frieda's eyes, as if studying her, and he couldn't help but make a diagnosis,

"You look tired Frieda, perhaps my..aid..might be wearing off? I could give you another...but I think its best if you get some hard earned rest when you get the chance. If you wish to remain here at the clinic I understand, however, you're welcome to use my quarters upstairs if you would like to rest without interruption. Once I get our friend here stabilized, and barring another Deathclaw attack, I think we'll be able to finally breathe a bit."

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

The Institute - Day Two

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Sanctuary Hills, The Commonwealth

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@NecroKnight

Z9-23

A disguised Z9 sat amongst the ruins of Sanctuary Hills, having only arrived in The Commonwealth hours before. She'd been ordered by The Directorate to take a small team and hunt down the location of the Beryllium Agitator. The Enclave had not yet responded to their inquires, and time was of the essence. They could wait no longer.

Coursers were not meant to blend in, but Z9 only needed to pass for a wastelander at a glance. The rest of her team consisted of three specialized Gen-3 SRB operatives, and each were armed and armored in slightly better weaponry than your average wastelander, but none of it was Institute based. In keeping with the lockdown protocol, no trace of The Institute's involvement could be known.

The individual they were waiting for, colloquially known as "Trashcan Carla" was a merchant who had previously been a cooperative informant for the SRB, and she'd often passed intelligence reports and sightings of escaped synths back to them. As a well connected merchant in the north-west Commonwealth, they were hoping she would be able to provide some insight on the matter of the agitator.

As she and her pack brahmin approached, Z9 stood up and walked over to greet her,

"Carla," She began, "I'm afraid we require your assistance once again. Rest assured, you will be well compensated as always. Nothing has changed in that regard. We've heard some intriguing reports of a valuable piece of technology having been recovered by Commonwealth scavengers. It may be making the Caravan rounds as well. Its known as a Beryllium Agitator. Have you heard of it?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Mr. Mysterious Cultist - Outside The Hull

"It's a pile of bones! This...this could be anyone you dug up! It doesn't prove a single thing you just said." She turned to address the harborfolk on the hull and around the gate. "That woman we carried in, who looks like Avery, who sounded just like Avery, I saw her...perish. She got hit by a bullet, and blood flew out and..."
Corrine turned back to the cultists. "Y'all have been operating in shadow -- in Fog -- and done nothin' but antagonize, threaten, and...well, and kill, or try to kill! Maybe this is Avery, and maybe you murdered her, yerselves, or..."

"I need more than just her trinket. These bones don't prove a thing you said. 'sfar as I care, the woman inside Far Harbor is Avery."

There was an uneasy silence for a few moments, as the armored cultist seemed to stare at Corrine. With his face hidden underneath the marine helmet, it was impossible to judge his mood or to even guess what he might be thinking.

A sudden voice called out from amongst the robed throng of cultists. Directed squarely at Corrine,

"How dare you question the Grand Zealot's word! He speaks for the Prophet! You're nothing but a...."

The armored leader simply lifted a hand, and the voice immediately gave way to silence,

"I understand," He said finally, as he lowered his hand, "You have no reason to trust us. No reason to believe what I say. I can see that you're still coming to terms with what happened back in that clearing. In your eyes, you saw a member of your community, a friend, die. Perhaps in some way that even brought you closure, because even as she fell, you knew that you would finally be able to bring her home. Finally, she would be free of the terrible cult that had ensnared her."

As he spoke, the cultist made his way over to Zelda, and extend his gloved hand. Zelda hesitated for a few moments, but she finally relented, placing the locket in his open palm with a trembling hand.

"You don't want to give her back," He continued, as he walked back over to Corrine, "You think she's back where she belongs, and you'd rather fight than give her up again. That's good. The will and desire to fight for one's family is the purest emotion one can experience. Far be it from me to deny you that triumphant realization." He began to roll the locket over in his hand and then opened it up, staring at the worn and beaten image within.

"You should know, however, that I have that same desire as well...." With a resounding snap, he closed the locket and offered it to Corrine.

"Keep it, and Avery as well," He motioned to the open coffin, "I leave you to decide what you wish to believe. Either believe that your friend left your community to seek a greater purpose elsewhere with another family..and died for it..or believe that she died long before she could ever make that choice. When and if you make it, I only ask that you consider my request again. Until then...we return to The Mother."

"HOLD IT!" Yelled a voice from the hull. Standing on the parapet, was Rose, holding a hunting rifle aimed straight at the cultist, "You aren't going to leave until I get some goddamn answers." Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was struggling to hold the gun steady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THE SYNTHS!" She cried out, "Where's DiMA? Where's Nick Valentine? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?"

"Nothing. As I said..." Came the calmed reply from the cultist.

"LIAR!" She yelled back, "....won't let you leave. Can't let you leave..."

Rose squeezed the trigger, but the expected shot didn't come. Instead, her attempt was met with a dull 'click'.

"Wha..." She looked down confused, and let out an enraged scream before tossing her rifle to the ground, "I'll kill you..." She seethed, "I swear it..."

At this, as if at a signal, one of the Fog Condensers nearest to the spot on the hull near Rose began to flicker and sputter. Within only a matter of seconds it had died with a final pop of electricity that sent a shower of sparks cascading to the ground around it in spectacular fashion. The fog that had been previously swirling around it coalesced and began to wash over the hull like a breach in an invisible wall. The thick fog rolled in, and covered the spot where Rose had been standing. No one was more surprised than she was, but she didn't move, but instead remained rooted to the spot.

She disappeared into the Fog, and there was silence for the briefest of moments, before the Fog Condenser once more gradually spurred to life, although it was obviously barely functioning now. The Fog condensed around it once more, and then rolled back and away from the town. However, something was wrong.

Rose was gone.

The mysterious cultist turned back to Corrine once again, unfazed,

"Your town is living on borrowed time," He said, "Tell your people that they must make their choice soon. Far Harbor can not remain as it is. Someone must make them choose..."

With that, the assembled group of Cultists turned and walked back into the fog-covered ruins of old Bar Harbor, melting back into its protecting envelopment and leaving the denizens of Far Harbor questioning what they should do.

War Never Changes

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, HWY 3 Bridge

"THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Robert looked astonished as he saw that the crazed cultist woman was pointing directly at him, babbling some inane words about being 'soulless.' The MWBOS soldiers around him quickly apprehended and cuffed the strange woman however after ensuring that she didn't have some sort of bomb on her.

"Her eyes," Robert remarked to Harkness as he recovered from the shock of his first real encounter with a devoted member of the cult, "She had to be utterly insane. And what was she babbling about? Abominations and Ug-Qualtoth? I mean I've seen some crazy things in my time with The Brotherhood: chemed up raiders...even the President-loving zealots in The Enclave, but that...that was something else."

SRB War Room, The Institute

"Play the footage again."

"THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Director Thomas Milburn and Dr. Alana Secord stood watching the large screen inside the secure SRB War room. Agents manning terminals analysed and replayed the footage over and over again, trying to figure out what exactly had just transpired.

"Again."

"AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT...S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

"Sir, she's pointing directly at the Synth. I don't know how to explain it other than..."

"Again." Thomas cut her off abruptly.

"Yes sir."

"S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing..."

"The easy explanation is that she just got lucky. Or, more likely, she has no idea what she just pointed at and might as well have picked any member of The Brotherhood..." One of the agents offered.

"Agreed. Its a coincidence, nothing more." Another threw in their opinion.

Thomas simply folded his arms together and lowered his head in thought,

"Its possible," He said finally, "Of course we know next to nothing about these cultists, so its also possible that they've somehow found a way to identify Gen-3's from humans. In either case, the important thing will be to observe how The Brotherhood reacts to this."

"I can have a retrieval team on standby if needed sir," Alana said.

"That won't be necessary, not yet at least. Not until we know more about what just happened. In the meantime however, closely monitor the situation. Lets find out what they do with the cultist, or if they even take her accusation seriously."

"Yes sir."

"Keep me informed of any developments. I've other things to attend to for now," Thomas said as he left the war room and then walked out the secure door leading to the SRB facility. As he crossed into the concourse, he was greeted by a welcome familiar face.

"You called darlin?"

Cait stood there armed and geared up in her red and white military jumpsuit, a modified Institute pistol was strapped to her hip along with several plasma grenades.

"That I did," Thomas said with a smile. He ran his hand along her face. He remembered when he had first met her, battered and bloodied as she was fighting daily in the Combat Zone. They'd been through much together since then. He had saved her life, and she, in turn, had saved his more times that he cared to count. He would need her help once more it seemed.

"An old 'friend' of mine seems to have arrived in The Commonwealth, and he's already searching for a way to reach me. Are you up for a hunt?"

"Always," She replied with a devilish grin.

Fallout: Chaos (Retired)

I'm just waiting on a response from The Enclave right now.