Newbie..
Posted: Wed Dec 22, 2004 6:13 pm
Hi all... I'm brand new to the DAC forums... what's up? =) Sounds corny enough... *ahem*. Well, what really got me interested in DAC were the fanfics I read on the site... being a fan of the Fallout universe and having way too much time on my hands... I thought I'd join the forums and have a go at creating my own fan fic. Apologies in advance if any are necessary, and do provide criticism so I can improve on my skills. ^_^
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The story focuses on the events after the ending of Fallout Tactics AND Fallout 2, assuming the best endings for both games (personal sacrifice and the expansion of NCR, hope that's not too much of a spoiler). I know of the lack of cohesion between the FT universe and the original 2 games, but I'm choosing to follow the universe as FT views it as the protagonist of my story is from the east coast chapter of the BoS. Hope this doesn't ruffle any feathers... okay... enough, let's get this circus on the road! =)
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S.Initiate Paul R. Cohen, BoS, stood with his arms folded across his chest as he contemplated the contents of his personal locker. He had been standing that way for quite a while, oblivious to the curious glances by passing Brothers and the odd Scribe. Cohen was a young man of twenty-one years, five feet eleven, weighed in at a 160 pounds and had a lithe build as opposed to a muscular one. He had pleasant features, tanned skin with hazel-grey, intelligent eyes and wore his dark brown hair in what had been described to him more than once as a "pre-war GI crew-cut", whatever that meant. To him, his hair worn short was less an incovenience as opposed to hair worn long, which would more often than not dangle in front of his eyes just as he looked down a gunsight. He had a small frown on his face with one uplifted eyebrow while chewing on his lower lip as was his habit whenever he was in thought.
It was Christmas eve in the wasteland, and the Brotherhood, even with their devotion to technology still recognized this pre-war season's celebration, and had generously given liberty to all personnel not on patrol or guard duty. Cohen's current dilemma was whether or not he should leave the base fully armed.
Prior to the Vault 0 campaign, this would not have been a problem. All Steel Brothers were required to be armed at all times. However with the rise of the Brotherhood in the area, and the subsequent alliance of all races, peace had broken out to the point where the Brotherhood had evolved into a quasi-peacekeeping authority rather than a purely militaristic one.
The 30-year change had wrought a somewhat more liberal view in the Brotherhood, for better or for worse, and as a result a Brotherhood soldier who discharged his weapon in anger had better give a good reason or face charges. Cohen did not expect any trouble as he was visiting the town of Colorado Springs, which had been reopened in the years following the alliance. However, rumours had also arisen about a resistance cell that operated covertly in Springs. While they would not be so insane as to openly assault a well armed squad of Brothers, a single soldier would be fair game. Cohen silently cursed his incompetent squad leader who had led his squad through a veritable lake of radiated water. Only the fact that Cohen had previously taken some Rad-X by mistake before THAT mission allowed him to pass through untouched. Otherwise, he would be with the rest of his squad in sickbay right now.
The Resistance was a band of outlaws who had chosen to defy the new Brotherhood. Bandits, riffraff and the like consisting of all manner of creatures except robots who had chosen to live a life of taking what they could rather than under the unity of Brotherhood rule. Somewhat like the raider bands of old, they conducted caravan raids, plundering of towns, and more. However, unlike the raider bands they were united, having a rank structure and operative procedures very much similar to Brotherhood tactics. This was a result of a few high-ranking Brothers (now known as Outcasts) who had chosen to defect in the vain hope that they could have a better life outside the Brotherhood.
As it was, they did indeed pose a very serious threat to the Brotherhood's aim for peace in the region. On a more immediate note, it posed a threat to Cohen's well-being as he took liberty.
Finally, Cohen reached in and took out a laser pistol. He charged it, and hooked it and the holster onto his body armour. Having done so, he took out his leather jacket (taken off a dead resistance member) and put it on, covering the pistol and his Brotherhood insignia. With a little luck, no one would even peg him as a Steel Brother and he'd be able to enjoy his liberty as he normally did... playing poker.
Cohen passed out of the main gate of the bunker, waving a casual hello at the initiate on duty and saluting the guard officer. He walked over to the mechanic's building and signed out his squad's humvee. Then with a cloud of dust and a chirp of the tires he headed out.
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"Alright, son. You want to tell me what happened?"
Cohen sat on a metal chair at a matching steel table and looked at the General who asked him that question. He had never even met a General in person before, and here was one, speaking to him easily, even conversationally.
"I don't know, sir. It all... it all happened so fast."
"Just take it easy, son, and start from the beginning."
Cohen had arrived at the outskirts of town without any difficulty. At 1900 hours, the sun had just set and he managed to hide the vehicle in a convenient gully, and had even covered it up with dead branches. He had then trekked for the 20 minutes that it took him to get to the first establishment on Main Street.
He walked down the street quickly, passing by the bars and noting that not many Brothers were in town. That wasn't surprising, considering Colorado Springs' reputation for notoriously conservative town councils that had banned hard liquor. Ordinarily, Cohen wouldn't even have considered Springs until he heard about the first class poker games that the Springs Hotel held on the sly in their basement.
Arriving at the Hotel, he saluted a senior Knight that had just arrived with a lady on his arm. The Springs Hotel was a posh place, and anyone below the rank of Knight was not welcome in the luxurious lobby, or anywhere in the hotel, for that matter. The Knight returned the salute with a casual wave in the general area of his forehead and a slight smile.
Huh... I suppose he has reason to be happy.
Cohen waited till the officer had disappeared into the hotel and hurried into a side alley. Halfway down the alley he arrived at a door and knocked on it three times with a steel-clad fist.
A slot opened up and a pair of cold eyes looked Cohen up and down. Then the slot closed and the sound of locks being opened could be heard. Cohen passed through with a nod at the doorman along with a 5 ringpull tip. He then walked down the small corridor and into a room with a baize table and 4 people already sitting round the table.
"I thought you weren't coming," remarked a tall, well-built man in the uniform of the town militia.
"I nearly wasn't, but then I figured if I didn't take your money from you, someone else would," replied Cohen with a grin.
"Fuck you, asshole," said the guard with obvious affection.
The guard was Sergeant Malarkey, a senior militia member of Springs. He and Cohen had become buddies when Cohen and his squad had pulled guard duty for Springs in the first quarter of the previous year. It was Malarkey who had brought Cohen into the game at the hotel.
Steel Brothers ordinarily would not have been welcome at the game, as not many of them played poker and even less played well. Cohen was the exception, as Malarkey had found out the hard way one night and had vouched for him. The games were honest, and one of the requirements of the management was that players would be prepared to lose large amounts of money with good grace. Cohen, being a good player, often won more than he lost, but when he did lose, he didn't cry in his soup about it.
Cohen took off his leather jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. No eyebrows were raised at his armour or his weapon. It was prudent to go about in such a manner in the wasteland. In fact, they would have been more surprised if he wasn't armed.
Several hours later Cohen got up and stretched. He had won an unusually large amount of money, cleaning out everyone at the table including Malarkey. It was bad form to count your money at the table, but he reckoned he had at least 10,000 in Brotherhood Dollars and about half as much in Ring Pulls. Being the winner, he paid for the drinks and wished the other players good night, and left.
Cohen stepped out the door into the cool night air. He was considering getting his ashes hauled... it had been awhile, and he felt the urge. However, with all that money on him, he'd be a fair target for a roll, so after a moment's thought he decided against it and started back for the Humvee.
Just beyond the town's boundaries he caught a glimpse of movement in an old abandoned barn. Cohen's senses flared as he reached for his Wattz. Rolling behind a pile of oil drums, he peeked over the top and looked at what he was facing.
Four men dressed in black leather armour and hoods came out of the barn brandishing weapons. Cohen couldn't make out the weapons in the dim light but part of the answer came in the form of a hail of bullets that bounced off the drums. Drilled by the weeks of training in the Brotherhood as well as experience, Cohen dove to the ground, poked his pistol out the side furthest away from the approaching men and fired. His shot took out the last man in the tight group of four and the raider slumped over, dropping whatever he was holding in his hand.
With his senses working overtime, Cohen observed in slow-motion that what the raider had been carrying was a grenade. A frag grenade. Consternation broke out and one of the raiders kicked the grenade back into the barn they had come from. With a scream of despair, the leader of the raiders started to turn and run while the other two, including the one who had kicked the grenade, stared at the barn in seeming fascination. The last thing Cohen saw before turning was a flash of bright light, but he didn't hear the explosion.
It's true, he thought. You don't hear the one that gets you.
---------------------------------
The General waited until he was sure that Cohen had finished. Then, with a small smile on his face, he got up from where he was sitting and knocked on the door. A Paladin walked in.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Paladin, I am hereby promoting Senior Initiate Cohen to Junior Squire. He will be transferred from his current squad to Paladin Alain's Hammer Squad as a replacement for their energy weapons expert. I am recommending that he also be given a detailed debriefing on the results of his encounter at Colorado Springs, and will foward a Citation of Commendation to Paladin Alain. Finish your debriefing of Squire Cohen, and then forward him to his new quarters with his equipment. I have pressing matters elsewhere, but I will submit my report to General Karkoff before the end of the day."
"Yes, Sir," said the Paladin, coming to attention and saluting. The General returned the salute crisply, patted a very stunned Cohen on the shoulder, and marched out of the room.
------------------
The story focuses on the events after the ending of Fallout Tactics AND Fallout 2, assuming the best endings for both games (personal sacrifice and the expansion of NCR, hope that's not too much of a spoiler). I know of the lack of cohesion between the FT universe and the original 2 games, but I'm choosing to follow the universe as FT views it as the protagonist of my story is from the east coast chapter of the BoS. Hope this doesn't ruffle any feathers... okay... enough, let's get this circus on the road! =)
=================
S.Initiate Paul R. Cohen, BoS, stood with his arms folded across his chest as he contemplated the contents of his personal locker. He had been standing that way for quite a while, oblivious to the curious glances by passing Brothers and the odd Scribe. Cohen was a young man of twenty-one years, five feet eleven, weighed in at a 160 pounds and had a lithe build as opposed to a muscular one. He had pleasant features, tanned skin with hazel-grey, intelligent eyes and wore his dark brown hair in what had been described to him more than once as a "pre-war GI crew-cut", whatever that meant. To him, his hair worn short was less an incovenience as opposed to hair worn long, which would more often than not dangle in front of his eyes just as he looked down a gunsight. He had a small frown on his face with one uplifted eyebrow while chewing on his lower lip as was his habit whenever he was in thought.
It was Christmas eve in the wasteland, and the Brotherhood, even with their devotion to technology still recognized this pre-war season's celebration, and had generously given liberty to all personnel not on patrol or guard duty. Cohen's current dilemma was whether or not he should leave the base fully armed.
Prior to the Vault 0 campaign, this would not have been a problem. All Steel Brothers were required to be armed at all times. However with the rise of the Brotherhood in the area, and the subsequent alliance of all races, peace had broken out to the point where the Brotherhood had evolved into a quasi-peacekeeping authority rather than a purely militaristic one.
The 30-year change had wrought a somewhat more liberal view in the Brotherhood, for better or for worse, and as a result a Brotherhood soldier who discharged his weapon in anger had better give a good reason or face charges. Cohen did not expect any trouble as he was visiting the town of Colorado Springs, which had been reopened in the years following the alliance. However, rumours had also arisen about a resistance cell that operated covertly in Springs. While they would not be so insane as to openly assault a well armed squad of Brothers, a single soldier would be fair game. Cohen silently cursed his incompetent squad leader who had led his squad through a veritable lake of radiated water. Only the fact that Cohen had previously taken some Rad-X by mistake before THAT mission allowed him to pass through untouched. Otherwise, he would be with the rest of his squad in sickbay right now.
The Resistance was a band of outlaws who had chosen to defy the new Brotherhood. Bandits, riffraff and the like consisting of all manner of creatures except robots who had chosen to live a life of taking what they could rather than under the unity of Brotherhood rule. Somewhat like the raider bands of old, they conducted caravan raids, plundering of towns, and more. However, unlike the raider bands they were united, having a rank structure and operative procedures very much similar to Brotherhood tactics. This was a result of a few high-ranking Brothers (now known as Outcasts) who had chosen to defect in the vain hope that they could have a better life outside the Brotherhood.
As it was, they did indeed pose a very serious threat to the Brotherhood's aim for peace in the region. On a more immediate note, it posed a threat to Cohen's well-being as he took liberty.
Finally, Cohen reached in and took out a laser pistol. He charged it, and hooked it and the holster onto his body armour. Having done so, he took out his leather jacket (taken off a dead resistance member) and put it on, covering the pistol and his Brotherhood insignia. With a little luck, no one would even peg him as a Steel Brother and he'd be able to enjoy his liberty as he normally did... playing poker.
Cohen passed out of the main gate of the bunker, waving a casual hello at the initiate on duty and saluting the guard officer. He walked over to the mechanic's building and signed out his squad's humvee. Then with a cloud of dust and a chirp of the tires he headed out.
-------------------------------------
"Alright, son. You want to tell me what happened?"
Cohen sat on a metal chair at a matching steel table and looked at the General who asked him that question. He had never even met a General in person before, and here was one, speaking to him easily, even conversationally.
"I don't know, sir. It all... it all happened so fast."
"Just take it easy, son, and start from the beginning."
Cohen had arrived at the outskirts of town without any difficulty. At 1900 hours, the sun had just set and he managed to hide the vehicle in a convenient gully, and had even covered it up with dead branches. He had then trekked for the 20 minutes that it took him to get to the first establishment on Main Street.
He walked down the street quickly, passing by the bars and noting that not many Brothers were in town. That wasn't surprising, considering Colorado Springs' reputation for notoriously conservative town councils that had banned hard liquor. Ordinarily, Cohen wouldn't even have considered Springs until he heard about the first class poker games that the Springs Hotel held on the sly in their basement.
Arriving at the Hotel, he saluted a senior Knight that had just arrived with a lady on his arm. The Springs Hotel was a posh place, and anyone below the rank of Knight was not welcome in the luxurious lobby, or anywhere in the hotel, for that matter. The Knight returned the salute with a casual wave in the general area of his forehead and a slight smile.
Huh... I suppose he has reason to be happy.
Cohen waited till the officer had disappeared into the hotel and hurried into a side alley. Halfway down the alley he arrived at a door and knocked on it three times with a steel-clad fist.
A slot opened up and a pair of cold eyes looked Cohen up and down. Then the slot closed and the sound of locks being opened could be heard. Cohen passed through with a nod at the doorman along with a 5 ringpull tip. He then walked down the small corridor and into a room with a baize table and 4 people already sitting round the table.
"I thought you weren't coming," remarked a tall, well-built man in the uniform of the town militia.
"I nearly wasn't, but then I figured if I didn't take your money from you, someone else would," replied Cohen with a grin.
"Fuck you, asshole," said the guard with obvious affection.
The guard was Sergeant Malarkey, a senior militia member of Springs. He and Cohen had become buddies when Cohen and his squad had pulled guard duty for Springs in the first quarter of the previous year. It was Malarkey who had brought Cohen into the game at the hotel.
Steel Brothers ordinarily would not have been welcome at the game, as not many of them played poker and even less played well. Cohen was the exception, as Malarkey had found out the hard way one night and had vouched for him. The games were honest, and one of the requirements of the management was that players would be prepared to lose large amounts of money with good grace. Cohen, being a good player, often won more than he lost, but when he did lose, he didn't cry in his soup about it.
Cohen took off his leather jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. No eyebrows were raised at his armour or his weapon. It was prudent to go about in such a manner in the wasteland. In fact, they would have been more surprised if he wasn't armed.
Several hours later Cohen got up and stretched. He had won an unusually large amount of money, cleaning out everyone at the table including Malarkey. It was bad form to count your money at the table, but he reckoned he had at least 10,000 in Brotherhood Dollars and about half as much in Ring Pulls. Being the winner, he paid for the drinks and wished the other players good night, and left.
Cohen stepped out the door into the cool night air. He was considering getting his ashes hauled... it had been awhile, and he felt the urge. However, with all that money on him, he'd be a fair target for a roll, so after a moment's thought he decided against it and started back for the Humvee.
Just beyond the town's boundaries he caught a glimpse of movement in an old abandoned barn. Cohen's senses flared as he reached for his Wattz. Rolling behind a pile of oil drums, he peeked over the top and looked at what he was facing.
Four men dressed in black leather armour and hoods came out of the barn brandishing weapons. Cohen couldn't make out the weapons in the dim light but part of the answer came in the form of a hail of bullets that bounced off the drums. Drilled by the weeks of training in the Brotherhood as well as experience, Cohen dove to the ground, poked his pistol out the side furthest away from the approaching men and fired. His shot took out the last man in the tight group of four and the raider slumped over, dropping whatever he was holding in his hand.
With his senses working overtime, Cohen observed in slow-motion that what the raider had been carrying was a grenade. A frag grenade. Consternation broke out and one of the raiders kicked the grenade back into the barn they had come from. With a scream of despair, the leader of the raiders started to turn and run while the other two, including the one who had kicked the grenade, stared at the barn in seeming fascination. The last thing Cohen saw before turning was a flash of bright light, but he didn't hear the explosion.
It's true, he thought. You don't hear the one that gets you.
---------------------------------
The General waited until he was sure that Cohen had finished. Then, with a small smile on his face, he got up from where he was sitting and knocked on the door. A Paladin walked in.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Paladin, I am hereby promoting Senior Initiate Cohen to Junior Squire. He will be transferred from his current squad to Paladin Alain's Hammer Squad as a replacement for their energy weapons expert. I am recommending that he also be given a detailed debriefing on the results of his encounter at Colorado Springs, and will foward a Citation of Commendation to Paladin Alain. Finish your debriefing of Squire Cohen, and then forward him to his new quarters with his equipment. I have pressing matters elsewhere, but I will submit my report to General Karkoff before the end of the day."
"Yes, Sir," said the Paladin, coming to attention and saluting. The General returned the salute crisply, patted a very stunned Cohen on the shoulder, and marched out of the room.