We Walk The Thin Line. [Official Fallout Role-play]

[Retribution]

​

It wasn't your typical morning or wasn't it going to be your typical day. New Vegas held a cauldron of loathing scum who did nothing but kill or cheat for money and fame. And a gang of those loathing scum bags had decided to double cross their carrier, their own personal courier who worked so hard for them. No one in the town of Goodsprings expected a shoot out to happen but when they heard the chattering thunder of the 5mm miniguns shooting up old Doc Mitchel's place they went hiding. When the gang was finished mowing down the poor old house they all laughed, there must have been at least 5 of them. Just the goons who did the dirty work for their boss. Their gang didn't have a name but they loved to use big guns. But apparently the idiots forgot that the man they thought they had killed was a ex-Ranger, a science experiment that never got to see war and he was pissed.


"A-ha! I bet he's deader than a dead rat!"


One of the idiots spoke, his high pitched nasal voice was soon turned into a gasp when thunder from within the house sounded. But the gasp wasn't from that it was from seeing his stomach and small intestines splattered on the ground before him. He had a large gaping hole from where his stomach use to be. The male dropped dead to the ground while the others started to reload their guns.


"That son-of-a-bit-guh!!!"


Kathuum!! A second cannon like shot thundered in the air and the male who had shouted found himself crawling to his lower half after being blown into two. Four more left but they were now starting to run. The man inside the shredded house kicked down the shattered door with a big sick grin on his face and large sniping cannon known as the GM-JP AR Hybrid. The large gun was brought up by the bare chested ex-Ranger, the weight only can be handled with someone with great strength. His enhanced eyes looked through the scope and with a flick of a finger he switched the gun into "Rapid Fire" mode. He planted his feet hard into the ground and he waited till the men were at least a good few hundred yards away and that was when he unloaded the clip in a series of loud, powerful shots. Kathuum, Kathuum, Kathuum, Kathuum!!


The men all dropped to the ground missing large portions of their frail bodies. The gun itself smoked from the barrel and quickly the bare chested muscular male discharged the massive magazine. They forgot that the male that once worked for them was a super soldier of sorts. That shooting him with 5mm bullets would be near pointless against him. They forgot that he dealt with heavy weapons but more so cannons rather than spraying lead down the field. They forgot that he said...and he said this with a gravelly voice just like he's talking now..


"You don't f**k with Lance Walberg or I'll f**k you up. I'm coming for you Mr. Fontaine..."

 

[Riddle78]

A man crouched behind the sandbag barrier in the old Mormon fort in Freeside. The man wore a black and gray combat helmet,and a similarly coloured high tech suit,reinforced with polymer plates. In his hands,barrel propped on the sandbags,was a truly unique rifle. It was nearly as long as he was tall,and was a hodge-podge of wires,wood,metal,and flickering lights. To the unfamiliar,they'd say it was a laser or plasma cannon,but anyone with a clue about energy weapons would very quickly realize that it was an obscenely powerful mass accelerator cannon.


The man was Carlos Markeer,gun for hire. Currently,he was working for the Followers of the Apocalypse for next to nothing. He figured that if he built up some goodwill with the group,other people would be willing to hire him for his other services. While he was an accomplished marksman,his true passion lies with security,be it circumventing it,or reinforcing it. But,he had to get the attention of the benefactor of the New Vegas Strip for that,if he wanted to get anywhere.


So,in the meantime,he cleared it with both The King and Julie Farkas to hire himself out from time to time as a bodyguard for people who sought protection through Freeside. The grounds were simple: A quarter of his pay goes to the Followers,and another quarter goes to The King. This way,everyone in Freeside prospers. He didn't want to end up like Orris.


The reason why he had his BigMAC pointed at the gate was because the local thugs of Freeside thought it was a good idea to attack the fort. Whenever they come in,all it takes is one shot to get the entire mob to run. He doesn't even have to hit them. All it takes is the bright flash,and otherworldly thunder of the weapon's report to scare them off. The fact that the recoil knocks him on his ass doesn't even come into play.


All was quiet,so far. Either the thugs finally got the hint,or they were planning. The thought made Carlos chuckle. Planning? Them? They're too high on Buffout or Psycho for shit like that. Still,complacency breeds contempt,and he kept vigilant. Seconds later,one of the researchers set down a mug of coffee beside him. The researcher was a bespectacled giant with blonde hair. "Here. Figured you could use something to drink,Carlos." The researcher's voice was slightly nasaly,and his body language screamed of him trying to hide something. All Carlos had to do was look at him out of the corner of his eye to see this.


"What's eating you,Gannon?" The researcher chuckled,and said,quite unconvincingly, "Nothing,Carlos. I'm always like this around...People." It was Carlos' turn to chuckle. "You've been throwing me looks ever since I moved in." Arcade simply rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Using the opening,Carlos set the butt of his rifle in the dirt,and pulled out his Three Shooter with one hand,and used his other to pick up the mug of coffee,and drank deeply. It was bitter,but it was good refreshment,otherwise.


Taking the opportunity to speak without Carlos' constant interrogation,Arcade decided to ask, "So,where'd you get those guns? Never saw anything like them before. Well,I saw rifles similar to that,but that one? Looks like it can drop a Deathclaw and keep on going." Carlos smirked behind the rim of his mug. That's it? He was just curious about my guns? Carlos set down the mug of coffee,holstered the Three Shooter,and picked the BigMAC up once more. "Built 'em myself. You're right about the BigMAC,here. Made it from Auto-Gauss parts,plus extras. The Three Shooter's a custom job,too. Twelve gauge sawed off. Close quarters weapon. But where'd you see an Auto-Gauss,Gannon? I thought you Followers types didn't like weapons tech."





Arcade froze for the briefest of moments,and said, "I-in a book. Old military thing. The pre-war army had some great field treatment practices. That book was a dead end,though." "Hmm." Carlos was unconvinced. Gannon was always a bad liar. And Gannon could probably tell that this was so. He hurriedly excused himself,and left Carlos covering the gate with his weapon of mass destruction.

 

[The Kaosophile]

Malachi started up the ladder, excited to get to test out his experimental weapons in real-world scenarios, his new power armor was ill-fitting, so it chafed when he put his hands on the first rung. Note to self: get armor fitted. He jotted in his Pip Boy.


"Mal, wait!" a voice called from behind him.


"Archie! What's up?"


"You know I hate it when you call me that"


"And your point is..." Malachi said, Judah Kreger was like a father to Malachi, since his actual parents died fighting off a group of Mariposa Supermutants when Mal was five.


"My point, Mal, is this" Judah said, holding out a strange object...

"The pulse gun? I thought it was broken." Mal said, confused


"Henry didn't want you to lose it, but he's the one who... lost it" Judah said with a wink


"You are the best, Judah" Mal took the device


"I don't know what you're talking about, boy. But I do know this, you're a good man, do well out there"


Tears welled up in Malachi's eyes, and suddenly he was glad to have on the power helmet "I will" was all Malachi could say, so he then holstered the weapon and climbed the ladder up to the wasteland. The sun was bright and the mountainside was green outside Jacobstown.


Malachi Stanislauski Braun began the day and a half journey to New Vegas with extra time and extra caps.

 

[ninbinz]

Spoiler

The sun was piercingly hot, the heat was so intense he could see it shimmering in the air like some sort of wraith burning the sweat from his skin and drawing the moisture from his body. Gallius cleared his throat and spat the plegm into the dust, to his left he could see the telltale black shape of a Bloatfly floating above a pool of nuclear waste. The tepid smell of the fumes wafted towards him on a stray breeze. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and pointedly looked away. On the horizon he could see the rising shape of the water tower that perched on the graveyard hill over the small town of Goodsprings. Rumors told of a man who walked away from the place after having a bullet a placed right between his eyeballs, others said that this was the birthplace of the Mojave hero who made his gamble and won the jackpot.


They had made good time from the town of Primm, the journey was relatively quiet except for a horde of Radroaches, a few Bloatlies and a precocious little lizard that was stealing food under the cover of night. Beyond those small hiccups their route had been a relatively boring one. One he had joined on his way out of New Vegas after losing a hefty amount of caps through the usual avenues; casino's thieves and bars. Nothing he hadn't planned for. Soon enough he'd be 500 caps richer.


Hey Gal!! Look its your little friend on the rise there!


Gallius bristled at his newly acquired but shrugged jibe off to peer at the cliff to his left, sure enough there was the irradiated spawn of Satan himself. The Gecko that had been plaguing him all the way from Primm stood there staring at him as if it were preparing a last ditch final confrontation that would transcend legend. Gallius on the other hand was more than annoyed and simply cocked Bessy. He pulled up her barrel until he reckoned it aligned with the little monster's skull and waited. Some seconds later the scaled beast announced it's intentions with a guttural croak, that was more than enough of a cue for Gallius and with an easy squeeze of his finnger around the trigger he sent a burning hot .357 magnum round rocketing through the Gecko's head.


Bout time you killed that wretched piece of brahmin dung their Gal!


He bid farewell to the merchant and his guards and headed to the Prospector Saloon where he ordered a glass of vodka.

 

[Retribution]

Lance made the choice, he was going to New Vegas and kill the whole lot who decided to turn on him. He sat on his bullet riddled couch with all of his gear laid out before him. He strapped on the armored knee guards and stood up while grabbing his Ranger duster. He flung his arms into the sleeves and threw it over his back before popping the collar. He picked up his equipment bag and threw around his shoulders and buckled it into place. His elite riot armor was already fitted to his muscular body and the guns below him on the table were about leave with him. He placed his GM-JP model pistols into their holsters on the bottom of his back, then strapped on his holster holding his Ranger Sequoia around his waist. He picked up his AA-12 automatic shot gun and gave it a look, he sighed and placed it back down before picking up his GM-JP Assault Rifle, he held the large weapon in his arms and quickly loaded a 30 round clip of 5mm bullets into the gas powered gun. He clipped it to his chest before grabbing the AR Hybrid, the gun that single handedly killed five men with miniguns.


The heavy gas powered accelerator with a full zoom scope was attached to his back. The man was ready, ready for war and he only needed on thing and that was a drink. He walked across the wooden planks of his shredded home and headed for the door. Before he left he grabbed his riot helmet, the gas mask, night vision helmet had a dent from being hit by a bullet but Lance didn't mind it. He grabbed it and clipped it to his utility belt before walking out the non existing door. He felt the heat his his face but it didn't bother him, he had grown use to it thanks to the basic training in the N.C.R. military. The ex-Ranger headed for the Prospectors Saloon and nodded his head to the folks outside he knew.


~"Sorry about your house, Lance. -- Yeah sorry, Lance!"


"Don't worry about it gentlemen, I'm just glad no one is hurt."


~"We're fine, we're fine. Hey, there's a new comer inside, dressed in full leather, perhaps you can have him tag along with ya!"


Lance listened to the man who was speaking, closely. A new comer he said, Lance thought to himself that maybe it would be a good idea to get a companion. The man opened the door and walked in the saloon. He quickly scanned the place with his baby blue eyes until they landed right on the leather armored man. Lance quickly made his to him, his military steel toed boots making heavy thuds upon the wooden planks. His equipment jingling and jangling as he grew closer. Lance took the barrel of his gun and budged the man in the back before clearing his throat.


"Welcome, stranger. I'm Lance DeWitt Walberg, pretty much the only Law here in Goodsprings. I know just about everyone in this small town but you're a new face. How about you tell me who you are and what's your business is."


Lance held on to his assault rifle, tightly, the ex-Ranger made super soldier stood there calmly. He didn't want this fine sir to be just another thug from New Vegas thinking he could change the world. No, Lance was about tired of the people from New Vegas, tired of the Legion, tired of the raiders that run the desert. Lance would kill them all if he had the ammo and the caps to do it.


[The File is the GM-JP Assault Rifle.]<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_09/49952-4-1365713925.jpg.d5839b409aab669e1e6def822ea5bd84.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="6883" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_09/49952-4-1365713925.jpg.d5839b409aab669e1e6def822ea5bd84.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

 

[ninbinz]

Gallius had taken up a seat next to a table near the bar, far enough that he wasn't required to banter with the barwoman but still close enough he could still send her a smile and gesture for another beverage. The place looked dilapidated from the roof right down to the floorboards. It was charming in a way, he liked it. Quaint and quiet, much like the ranch not three days away, had he the time or the inclination he might have spared some time to visit the place and pay his parents the repect he knew they deserved but couldn't bring himself to five them. The shame of avoiding all this time was too much and he couldn't face the graves of his parents. He sighed and swallowed the remaining contents of his glass before gesturing for another tot to tide him over before he would set out for Primm once more.


He was just about to take a swig when the door open, he wasn't facing it so he couldn't see the man searching the bar for him. He could however hear the creaking wood that told him the man was coming towards him. He was about to turn and see who had just walked in but just then he felt a slight pressure nudge against the hard leather of his armour, he lowered his head and looked into his distorted reflection as it warped with every minute movement his body made. He sighed and turned around to find the barrel of a very scary gun looking down at him with undisguised impunity, he raised an eyebrow at the weapon.


"Welcome, stranger. I'm Lance DeWitt Walberg, pretty much the only Law here in Goodsprings. I know just about everyone in this small town but you're a new face. How about you tell me who you are and what's your business is."


Gallius pointedly shrugged the gun away from his shoulder, turned back to his drink and took a long sip of the clear liquid. It burned its way down his throat, he neither moved nor spoke until the burning had subsided, there was at least a few seconds interval.


My Mam always told me; Son, don't pay no mind t' people who don't pay no mind to manners, they's bad people if'n they cain't ask to take a seat afore pointin' a gun at yer back.


He turned back to the rude man and leered momentarily at him.


Now, afore you go blastin' a big ol' whole right through mah back, how's about you come an' sit down, point that there boomstick away an' we have us a nice cordial conversation, as opposed to splatterin' all my guts over this nice table hm?


He took another sip of his beverage, the ice had diluted the alcohol but it still contained some heat when he emptied the glass and gestured for another pair of glasses. The old woman nodded solemnly to him and brought a half empty bottle around accompanied by a pair of shot glasses. She held out her hands and he paid her the appropriate amount and gestured for the man to take a seat. Both Bessie and Husband lay on the table next to him, the stranger had no need to worry, Gallius didn't carry a pistol of any sort though he did have his eye out for a particular pistol. It would mean next to nothing to him now though, his life was in the hands of another man, not the most ideal of circumstances.

 

[The Kaosophile]

(I'm gonna go ahead and say Malachi left a day before, okay?)


Malachi arrived at the large junk gate to Westside, greeting the guard on his way in, he had switched into his incognito attire, as some folks aren't too keen on the Enclave, his current outfit consisted of an armored Vault 22 jumpsuit, a desperado cowboy hat, and authority glasses. His power armor was hidden in a nearby stash Mal secured years ago, and he felt oddly comfortable now that he was less encumbered by his heavier gear. Mal stopped by at Miguel's to buy some extra rounds and offload some junk he had picked up along the way, then headed over to the Freeside gate, careful not to alert Tom outside the Co-op. The two of them were not on the best of terms. Upon entering Freeside and letting a few of the Kings know he was here for some extra security, nothing major, just a helping hand(gun) if things went wrong. I wonder if Archie is still at the Fort? Malachi thought, heading in that direction. He spotted a few thugs outside, obviously up to no good, so Mal unholstered the Q-38, keeping it lowered, in case this went well This can't go well... "Oi," Mal shouted, walking towards the men, "What are you doing, waiting around the Mormon Fort all suspicious-looking?"


"What's it to ya?" One retorted. The rest of them, thinking this was clever, responded with laughter


This is going nowhere fast. In an instant, the witty one was a blob of goo on the ground. "That." Mal answered simply, switching his aim to the next nearest one. "Leave... Now"


The other goons looked at each other in silent council, then they all pulled out their guns, "There's only one of you, and... uh, eight of us" one said.


"Seven," Mal replied, pulling the trigger "Need we continue? Or will you get the hell out while you still have your current atomic structure?"


"You bastard!" a 10mm grazed Mal's thigh, mostly deflected by his armor.


"Six..." another pile of goo, "Five," this one was killed by the sheer force of the plasma, collapsing to the ground "F*ck it," Malachi said, letting his plasma rifle drop and be held up by its shoulder strap. Pulling out his Enclave Tesla Pistol, Malachi fired off the last few shots much faster, leaving one running for the subway car gate in the center of town. "Why didn't you do that earlier?" Mal asked himself, shaking his head. He reloaded and holstered his weapons, knocking on the gate and calling through "Beatrix? You on duty? It's Malachi, I took care of the junkies," he waited for a moment, "Could you help me with the gate?"

 

[Retribution]

@ninbinz


"I don't drink, but I'll join you."


Lance detached the assault rifle from his tight fitted armored chest plate and placed it on the table before taking off his pack and sitting the large, short barreled sniper cannon against the table. He dropped the pack on the floor next to him and sat down in a seat near the man. He could already feel that this man was a type of character that held secrets of sorts. So before Lance spoke once more he took his Ranger Sequoia and placed on the table as well, this hand cannon only belonged to Rangers of the N.C.R. and this man had one.


"I'll have a water. So where you headed?"


The female bar maid brought the leather duster wearing man a glass of fresh cold water filled with ice. Lance took the full glass and drank it till he felt the stingy sensation of the coldness. He kept his baby blue eyes at the man, sizing him up, sizing his weapons and using his military trained man to make predictions. Small beads sweat trickled down the side of his head, and so he took another drink of his water before sighing.

 

[Riddle78]

Carlos was about to call out to Julie that he was going out to find someone to escort around Freeside when he heard the unmistakable sound of plasma discharge on the other side of the gate. Just one. Plasma? Did the Van Graffs send someone to deal with me? There was a muted comment,followed by muted laughter,followed almost immediately by another plasma discharge. Not the Graffs. They'd be efficient about it. Carlos relaxed for a moment,knowing that whoever was firing on the Freeside thugs had the leg up in firepower,and more than likely armour,too.


After a few more plasma discharges,and a few gunshots,he heard the sound of thunder on the other side of the wall. That's a new one. Who the Hell is it out there? The thunderclaps were in rapid succession. Texas Red seems to have picked up Mjolnir... A knock on the gate interrupted his musings,followed by a muffled call for his Ghoulish partner,Beatrix. The man obviously knew her. She was on break,at the moment. Probably chugging a bottle of vodka at the Wrangler. "She isn't here. Keep your weapons holstered as I open the gate,unless you wanna be unmade." Carlos stood up,clipping on the BigMAC's strap as he went. Letting it drop on the strap to hand on his shoulder,Carlos approached the gate,drawing his Three Shooter. He gave a nearby metal cord a mighty heave,raising the gate to the Fort a foot or so. With the same hand,he deftly let go,raised his arm,gripped once more,and heaved again. The net result was another foot.


In just a few heaves,Carlos raised the gate for the old Mormon fort,revealing a man in an armoured Vault jumpsuit,with a plasma rifle dangling from a strap on his shoulder,and a high-tech looking pistol on his hip. Behind his were some mutilated corpses,and a couple puddles of radioactive green slop. The intact corpses were obviously Freeside's thugs. Some of them bore localized scorch marks,and the flesh around them looked cooked. The others bore plasma burns. Pistol must be a lightning gun. Carlos examined the man more closely. He was fairly tall,and had the toned form of someone who underwent training. This guy's a professional. But whose professional?





Carlos waved the man in,and when he complied,he lowered the gate. It struck the ground with a dull thud. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't cause any problems here." His triple barreled pocket shotgun wasn't pointed at the newcomer anymore,but it wasn't exactly pointed away from him,either. "Security is my business. Zeke! Cover the door. I'm escorting our guest." One of the Followers guards nodded,and took up a post behind the sandbag barricade,bringing a lever action rifle to bear,resting the long barrel on the sandbags.


Carlos approached the newcomer,and said, "Carlos Markeer,freelance security specialist. With the current workload,and state,of Freeside,miss Farkas has asked me to escort all armed guests in the fort. I hope you don't mind." I hope he isn't trigger happy...

 

[The Kaosophile]

A man answered, not at all Beatrix, though this was not unusual since she started working nights at the Wrangler. "...escort all armed guests in the fort. I hope you dont mind." Malachi ignored the man's obvious disinterest in whether or not he did mind "Not at all, not at all, I hope you don't mind I left one running," Malachi grinned at his own sarcasm "Malachi Black, engineer. I came to pay a visit to Jules-- sorry, Julie Farkas, we bounce ideas off eachother every time I roll into town, we've known each other a while," Malachi nodded curtly to a blonde haired figure over by one of the tents, but the man didn't seem to notice, or simply ignored Mal. "Actually, it was Arcade over there who introduced us, Archie and I both grew up out near Navarro, but came here when our parents were killed while out scouting..." Malachi had practiced his speech many times, it held just the right amount truth, but didn't let on too much. Having arrived at the tower where Julie Farkas stayed, Malachi turned to his 'escort' and said "Now unless you need anything else..." He trailed off, not wanting to be rude, but Julie was becoming more than just a colleague recently, so Malachi was eager to see her and tell her of his recent exploits. Normally, were he not so distracted, Malachi would have noticed something odd about Carlos' movements, something almost mechanical... Not to mention the obviously custom Auto-Gauss, technology not unlike his own YCS/216 that was with his extra equipment.

 

[Riddle78]

Carlos nodded,and said, "Just as soon as I get some confirmation." He pulled out a small,pocket sized device from a secured pouch on his belt. It was an old,beat-up Pip-Boy 2000. He pressed a couple of buttons,and turned the knob a bit,until he found the proper frequency. "Miss Farkas,this is Markeer. You have a guest identifying himself as Malachi Black?" After a brief moment,and a sqwak of static as someone picked up,a female voice rang through.


"Of course,let him in. He's a friend." With a nod,Carlos replied, "Confirmed. Just making sure. Out." He killed the connection,and pocketed the device. "Sorry,but I take my work seriously." He holstered his Three Shooter,and said, "You're free to go in. Enjoy your stay with us,in security." With a final nod and expert's examination,he confirmed that the man didn't want to be a threat...But could very easily become a threat if provoked. Still wondering where he got a thunder gun and a plasma rifle...





Walking back to his post,he called out, "Zeke! I'm headed to do my rounds out in Freeside. Let someone know if they ask." The man nodded as the stealth-armour clad security expert approached the gate. He pulled on the draw cable again,and quickly dove past when he had clearance,gate slamming shut behind him.


Quickly grabbing his rifle,Carlos began to walk to Mich & Ralph's,taking care to approach every corner and possible ambush site slowly. This post was another one of the King's demands. Keep away from where his boys set up shop,to avoid taking their business. Besides,the more well-off people tend to use the entrance by Mick & Ralph's.


Carlos didn't have to wait long. Someone came in,wearing a suit,with nothing more than a .22 at his hip. He looked like he thought he was king shit. Carlos waved the man down,but he wouldn't stop. "Sir!" His statement was simple,but forceful. He wheeled around,looking annoyed. "What is it,chump? I didn't come here to chat with the poor." Carlos shook his head. "Do I look poor to you? Yes,the people in Freeside are generally poor,but many of them are also desperate. I'm a security specialist,and I happen to be for hire. For six hundred caps,I can guarantee your safety from here to any other secure location in Freeside,so long as you follow my instructions to the letter." The man scoffed. "I have a gun. What do these urchins have? Pool cues?" Carlos cracked a wolfish grin,and replied.


"Yes. They also have guns of their own. Of quite a larger caliber than that sorry excuse of a gun you have. They also have sledgehammers,and some wear armour. There's a reason people like me exist here. So,your choices are pay me to escort you,or take your chances alone. Are yo uthat much of a betting man?" The gambler looked more than a little spooked. "So,if we have an understanding,where we headed?"





The man handed over the payment,which Carlos taken the time to count out as he slid it into his bag. "One short." The man sighed and flicked the cap over,which Carlos caught and slid into his burlap coinpurse. "The Strip." Carlos nodded,and said, "Alright. Stay close,and hold onto my belt. Yelp if you see someone approaching behind us,or lining up a shot from anywhere." The man looked like he was about to argue,but wisely decided against it.


When they started off,Carlos stated, "I have an arrangement with the Kings,a local gang that acts like a police force. So long as they get a quarter of my pay,we're friends. They offer the same services I do,but from the other door,to the North. I need to drop by their headquarters to deliver my payment. It's along the way." The man didn't argue,and they proceeded.


They didn't encounter any resistance. Carlos and his charge reached the King's School of Impersonation,and he delivered his dues to the King,who accepted it with grace,and sent them on their way. However,after that...





"Hold it." Carlos saw,down the street,a large congregation of Freeside's thugs. They were mostly lined up,facing a downed King. The other Kings had weapons trained on the thugs,but they knew that if they did anything,the thugs would have ample time to execute the wounded man. "Get down,and put all of your weight on my back." "Wha--" "DO AS I SAY!" The man shut up immediately after that,and Carlos took a kneel. Thankfully,his charge complied.


Carlos aimed down the BigMAC's scope,and flicked on his EM filter for his eyes,highlighting the major nerve clusters of every human in view,and other concentrations of electrical power. Lining up a shot,Carlos flicked off the enhanced vision,and inhaled deeply. He held it for a moment,then began to exhale slowly. After that,he took the shot.


The 40mm bullet left the barrel. In its wake was a cone of plasma,created by the energy imparted by the hypersonic projectile. The giant bullet struck the first thug in the line. Then the next. And then the next. And it just kept on going. In the end,seven men were dead,with holes blown into them so wide that they were blown into two pieces. At the far end of the street,the round impacted with the reinforced wall that separated the Strip from Freeside,and shattered,leaving a very noticeable crater.


Next came the sound. The sound the weapon made was terrific,and utterly inhuman. A piercing electrical whine,the crack of a sonic boom,the howl of Jupiter's winds,he squelching and tearing of flesh being rent,and the obscene BANG! of the round impacting and shattering on the concrete-and-steel wall that measured dozens of feet thick.


The recoil would've normally put Carlos flat on his ass,but with his client acting as a counterweight,he simply jerked back a considerable amount. He motioned for his client to sit up as the Kings opened fire on the remaining two thugs,and rushed to retrieve their fallen brother. Carlos cracked open his weapon,and slid in a new round before closing it and asking, "Can you still hear me?" His client nodded mutely. His expression was one of pants-shitting-terror and surprise.


The Kings were aware of Carlos' weapon,but few have seen it in action,and many were making utterances of disbelief as he walked by. When they reached the cordoned off region in front of the gate,Carlos turned to his client,and said, "End of the line. Sorry for the scare,but such is the job." The gambler nodded,and bolted for the gate to the Strip,flashing a passport to the Securitron gatekeeper on his way past. If he were any sifter,he'd be wind in my hair.

 

[ninbinz]

Gallius gave the stranger's weapons an interested once over and made a pointed note of his pistol, something most men know that the officers don't go without. In fact the pistols are a great way of knowing who's actually an N.C.R. officer and who isn't. He sank another shot into his stomach, cleared his throat and leaned back to relax.


Well, I'm headed off to Novac via Primm and Nipton, see if I can't avoid undesirable parties along the way. I don't want to risk Deathclaws and the like near Sloan.


Gallius smiled, he looked the stranger up and down again, this time he noticed the man's armor, it was worn with use and age but it was well kept, it spoke of a man who found it harder to let go of old habits than most folk.


I'm Gallius, yer N.C.R. buddies 'n' those in the know call me Gal. I don't reckon you heard a' me though.


He might hate the nickname but it stuck and if people were looking for a guard between Goodsprings and Novac all they had to do was ask for Gal and they'd have a reliable guardsman and guide to wherever they needed to go. He wasn't famous but his name often traveled around certain circles, he was known for being reliable and trustworthy, not likely to shoot you full of holes and lark of with your belongings.


You lookin' for an extra hand on yer journeys?


He asked, there wasn't any harm in asking. The man did look like he could handle himself, the caliber of his weapons aside, there was something in a man's face that told you if he was hard man or a soft one. He shifted in his seat somewhat, he was at a loss for things to say, he'd only stopped into the Prospector's Saloon to wet his whistle some before he began his long trek once again. The route itself was one he knew very well, he often made pit stops at Primm and the N.C.R. outpost to see if he could pick up any extra work but he didn't dawdle around Nipton, especially after it was raided and burned down by the Legion some time ago. The place was perfect for nasty people who didn't mind the smell of dead people and dogs. Few people traveled through that town and only with a full compliment of guards, the area was a rat warren waiting to happen.


Beyond the usual vermin, the Powder Gangers were a real problem, they still hid along the main road hoping to ambush an unwary caravan or use their numbers to ambush single travelers just for the boots on their feet and the water on their back. Heck even they knew his name, which was sayin' something. He'd had a run in with them some time back, they stole husband from him and he wasn't about to let that slide, with Bessie in hand he managed to track them to a large copse of stones and one after another he put a bullet in each of them until he found Husband. By then there was only one left and he let the rat go, true; it did make his life a little harder for a spell but he managed to hammer it into the erstwhile fugitives that he wasn't one to be trifled with. His few friends often said he had the devil's luck avoidin' so many bullets.

 

[Retribution]

Gallius gave the stranger's weapons an interested once over and made a pointed note of his pistol, something most men know that the officers don't go without. In fact the pistols are a great way of knowing who's actually an N.C.R. officer and who isn't. He sank another shot into his stomach, cleared his throat and leaned back to relax.
Well, I'm headed off to Novac via Primm and Nipton, see if I can't avoid undesirable parties along the way. I don't want to risk Deathclaws and the like near Sloan.


Gallius smiled, he looked the stranger up and down again, this time he noticed the man's armor, it was worn with use and age but it was well kept, it spoke of a man who found it harder to let go of old habits than most folk.


I'm Gallius, yer N.C.R. buddies 'n' those in the know call me Gal. I don't reckon you heard a' me though.


He might hate the nickname but it stuck and if people were looking for a guard between Goodsprings and Novac all they had to do was ask for Gal and they'd have a reliable guardsman and guide to wherever they needed to go. He wasn't famous but his name often traveled around certain circles, he was known for being reliable and trustworthy, not likely to shoot you full of holes and lark of with your belongings.


You lookin' for an extra hand on yer journeys?


He asked, there wasn't any harm in asking. The man did look like he could handle himself, the caliber of his weapons aside, there was something in a man's face that told you if he was hard man or a soft one. He shifted in his seat somewhat, he was at a loss for things to say, he'd only stopped into the Prospector's Saloon to wet his whistle some before he began his long trek once again. The route itself was one he knew very well, he often made pit stops at Primm and the N.C.R. outpost to see if he could pick up any extra work but he didn't dawdle around Nipton, especially after it was raided and burned down by the Legion some time ago. The place was perfect for nasty people who didn't mind the smell of dead people and dogs. Few people traveled through that town and only with a full compliment of guards, the area was a rat warren waiting to happen.


Beyond the usual vermin, the Powder Gangers were a real problem, they still hid along the main road hoping to ambush an unwary caravan or use their numbers to ambush single travelers just for the boots on their feet and the water on their back. Heck even they knew his name, which was sayin' something. He'd had a run in with them some time back, they stole husband from him and he wasn't about to let that slide, with Bessie in hand he managed to track them to a large copse of stones and one after another he put a bullet in each of them until he found Husband. By then there was only one left and he let the rat go, true; it did make his life a little harder for a spell but he managed to hammer it into the erstwhile fugitives that he wasn't one to be trifled with. His few friends often said he had the devil's luck avoidin' so many bullets.

I shall make a reply either tonight or Monday. Weekends are usually my busiest times of the week.