Author's Notes: Just a few snippets I wrote up for here that appearantly it was suggested I make...
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Untitled Prototype/Fallout snippets
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Author's Notes: Just a few snippets I wrote up for here that appearantly it was suggested I make room for them here. This was just something I wrote up quickly. I don't have any kinds of plans for a long story.
*******
''War. War never changes,'' said the man as he sat at the counter of Outpost 188. The morning light was already peering over the Mojave horizon as the various residents of the trading post readied themselves for the day.
''What are you talking about?' Veronica Santangelo , Brotherhood Outcast, asked the man she was sitting next to. He was a rather odd sort, dressed in some sort of hooded jacket and in pre-war jeans. She could make out a rather angular jawline but little else under the shadows of the hood. He was in his late twenties, she guessed.
''It's nothing. Just a phrase I heard once,'' The man shrugged. Veronica noticed he had no food in front of him. Which was rather odd as everyone around the Trading Outpost had been eating breakfast at this point. Maybe he was just a late eater?
It had been over a month since she had last left the bunker and had been wandering the Mojave ever since. It was still pretty much the same as ever, except she had been seeing more and more of Caesar's Legion moving in. Often she would see banners and crimson uniforms in the distance, as if heralding another grand clash with the NCR at the Hoover Dam.
There was a big battle coming. Veronica had no real attachments outside of the Brotherhood, she was certainly no friends with the NCR, but even she preferred them over the misogynistic slavers of Caesar's Legion.
She had been thinking about traveling to Vegas to work as a tinker. Employment probably shouldn't be too hard to find in that city. Few people had her skills with mechanics. Perhaps she could even find a way into the Strip proper?
Speaking of traveling….
''I don't recall seeing you with the Gun Runners's caravan,'' Veronica inquired. She took a stab at some of the Brahmin steak and chewed at it.
''That's because I'm not part of the caravan,'' The man told her. He turned his head a bit, allowing her a better look at his face. He was handsome, she guessed. She might have appreciated him more if she was into men.
''Really?'' Veronica looked him over. ''I don't see a gun or weapon on you. Did you really walk the wastes unarmed?'' she asked.
''Sure did,'' The man paused to examine a splinter that seemed to be lodged in one of his fingernails.
That was rather impressive. Either this man was lying or he was incredibly lucky to have not encountered anything dangerous in the Mojave. Veronica knew just how unlikely that was, having traveled the place for months.
''You're not bullshitting me are you?'' she asked, a rather suspicious tone in her voice.
''No bullshit,'' The man gave a faint smile.
''Well…where are you heading then?'' she asked.
''Vegas,'' The man told her.
''Vegas? You looking to get on the Strip?'' she asked.
''Yes, but not to gamble or visits whores,'' He added the last part quickly before she started to say something.
''Work at Freeside then?'' she asked.
''No, just there for nostalgia,'' The man told her. He seemed wistful.
''You've been there before?'' Veronica asked.
''Many years ago,'' He told her. He was hiding something, she decided. But he didn't seem to be quite malevolent.
''Well I'm heading there as well. Maybe we could travel together?'' she suggested.
''Are you sure? I'm not exactly a people person,'' he pointed out.
''I can handle that. And you don't have to worry about me slowing you down. I've traveled on the Mojave before,'' Veronica indicated her ballistic fist, hooked unused at her thigh.
The man looked at her briefly, as if trying to make up his mind.
''Fine. What's your name?'' he asked.
''Veronica Santangelo,'' She told her. ''Now what do I call you?'' she asked.
''Mercer. Just call me Mercer.''
''Right then. What could possibly go wrong?'' Veronica smiled.
*******
''War. War never changes,'' said the man as he sat at the counter of Outpost 188. The morning light was already peering over the Mojave horizon as the various residents of the trading post readied themselves for the day.
''What are you talking about?' Veronica Santangelo , Brotherhood Outcast, asked the man she was sitting next to. He was a rather odd sort, dressed in some sort of hooded jacket and in pre-war jeans. She could make out a rather angular jawline but little else under the shadows of the hood. He was in his late twenties, she guessed.
''It's nothing. Just a phrase I heard once,'' The man shrugged. Veronica noticed he had no food in front of him. Which was rather odd as everyone around the Trading Outpost had been eating breakfast at this point. Maybe he was just a late eater?
It had been over a month since she had last left the bunker and had been wandering the Mojave ever since. It was still pretty much the same as ever, except she had been seeing more and more of Caesar's Legion moving in. Often she would see banners and crimson uniforms in the distance, as if heralding another grand clash with the NCR at the Hoover Dam.
There was a big battle coming. Veronica had no real attachments outside of the Brotherhood, she was certainly no friends with the NCR, but even she preferred them over the misogynistic slavers of Caesar's Legion.
She had been thinking about traveling to Vegas to work as a tinker. Employment probably shouldn't be too hard to find in that city. Few people had her skills with mechanics. Perhaps she could even find a way into the Strip proper?
Speaking of traveling….
''I don't recall seeing you with the Gun Runners's caravan,'' Veronica inquired. She took a stab at some of the Brahmin steak and chewed at it.
''That's because I'm not part of the caravan,'' The man told her. He turned his head a bit, allowing her a better look at his face. He was handsome, she guessed. She might have appreciated him more if she was into men.
''Really?'' Veronica looked him over. ''I don't see a gun or weapon on you. Did you really walk the wastes unarmed?'' she asked.
''Sure did,'' The man paused to examine a splinter that seemed to be lodged in one of his fingernails.
That was rather impressive. Either this man was lying or he was incredibly lucky to have not encountered anything dangerous in the Mojave. Veronica knew just how unlikely that was, having traveled the place for months.
''You're not bullshitting me are you?'' she asked, a rather suspicious tone in her voice.
''No bullshit,'' The man gave a faint smile.
''Well…where are you heading then?'' she asked.
''Vegas,'' The man told her.
''Vegas? You looking to get on the Strip?'' she asked.
''Yes, but not to gamble or visits whores,'' He added the last part quickly before she started to say something.
''Work at Freeside then?'' she asked.
''No, just there for nostalgia,'' The man told her. He seemed wistful.
''You've been there before?'' Veronica asked.
''Many years ago,'' He told her. He was hiding something, she decided. But he didn't seem to be quite malevolent.
''Well I'm heading there as well. Maybe we could travel together?'' she suggested.
''Are you sure? I'm not exactly a people person,'' he pointed out.
''I can handle that. And you don't have to worry about me slowing you down. I've traveled on the Mojave before,'' Veronica indicated her ballistic fist, hooked unused at her thigh.
The man looked at her briefly, as if trying to make up his mind.
''Fine. What's your name?'' he asked.
''Veronica Santangelo,'' She told her. ''Now what do I call you?'' she asked.
''Mercer. Just call me Mercer.''
''Right then. What could possibly go wrong?'' Veronica smiled.
The sun was at its early peak, illuminating the roads below. Veronica liked it when it was morning; it cast a rather unique crimson glow over the Mojave. It gave the otherwise desolate wasteland a certain beauty to it.
''I've been hearing stories you know. About Vegas.'' Veronica mentioned. It had been about an hour and Mercer had so far really said nothing at all. They were walking down the cracked and devastated highway. She had heard stories about pre-war roads that linked the cities in Nevada. She often wished she could have seen what it would have been like back then.
''What kind of stories?'' he asked.
''About a year or so ago, apparently. Mr. House started to resurface. Everyone thought he was dead.'' Veronica explained.
''House…yes, I remember him. A pre-war business tycoon. A pioneer in robotic and weapons industries. They saw his defenses saved Vegas during the war.'' Mercer mused.
''Personally I think it's just a load of bullshit. It's just some pretender warlord using the name using the name to scare the locals into submission.'' Veronica theorized. It was something she had often idly thought about when she first heard about it. The Brotherhood had of course taken note of the resurgent Securitron army, but opinions as to House differed McNamara was still on the fence and they hardly had time to extensively investigate since the NCR's movement into the area.
''The Securitron army is still operational.'' Mercer pointed out.
''All that could mean is that whoever this guy is he just found a way to reactivate them. I mean, House has to be long dead of old age, even if he survived the bombs. Nobody can live that long.'' Veronica pointed out.
''Yeah, nobody,'' A thin smile spread itself across Mercer's face, as if enjoying some private joke known only to him.
''Well, nobody human anyway. I heard Super Mutants are immortal,'' Veronica mentioned.
''They live forever, allegedly. They still die when you shoot them,'' Mercer noted.
''Oh, you've killed one then?'' The woman asked. He certainly didn't look like a soldier.
''More than one yes,'' Mercer clarified.
''Not many folks can say that,'' Veronica mused. Privately she wondered if he was lying, but that didn't seem to likely. Mercer hardly seemed like the boastful type of man. She had seen enough arrogant jackasses at the bunker to know what that type of person was like.
''Say, where are you from anyway Mercer?'' Veronica asked. ''You don't seem NCR.''
''Why do you want to know?'' he asked, a hint of guarded curiosity in his voice.
''Oh, I'm just naturally curious. It's a little trait of mine,'' she explained wryly.
''I'm from East,'' He told her.
''You don't seem Legion,'' It was true. He hardly seemed like one of Caesar's goons.
''Far East,'' He clarified.
Really? He was from the far eastern part of the continent? She would be impressed if that was true. Crossing the wastelands from the East to the Mojave was a pretty impressive feat for just one man. She didn't think he was lying. If he was trying to protect his past then he would go for something less ludicrous.
''So, what's it like Far East then?'' she asked curiously.
''Same shithole as here,'' Mercer told her.
''Did you ever encountered the Brotherhood on the East Coast then?'' she asked. She had heard stories about the Brotherhood Chapter in the Capitol Wasteland, Whispered condemnations really.
''The Brotherhood of Steel?'' Mercer inquired.
''Yeah, that's the one.''
''Never met them. Never had any reason to,'' Mercer shrugged.
''Well, what do you think of the Brotherhood then?'' Veronica asked.
''Neutral. I am indifferent. I know they are recluses who hoard technology, but they've never bothered me and that suits me just fine,'' Mercer commented.
So at least he wasn't prejudiced against the Brotherhood, she thought. That was a point in his favor at least. She didn't the Brotherhood wasn't all a group of shining white knights, but she still thought of them as family.
''Well, what's your opinion on the NCR?'' she might as well talk about local politics as she had little else to do.
''Better than most local warlords I've seen pop out over the wastes. They've got good people and bad people, same as the rest. I've never had any real trouble with them,'' the hooded man mused.
''They're pretty expansionist though. I heard they had a huge war with the Brotherhood.''
''People kill each other all the time. As long as I'm not caught in the crossfire it's not really my business.'' Mercer told her.
''What about the Legion?'' Veronica asked
Mercer chuckled. She didn't expect that.
''What's so funny?'' she asked.
''A bunch of Raiders aping a tradition they don't understand. They're not a Legion. They're a Vandal horde with Roman military trappings and delusions of grandeur.'' Mercer told her.
''What do you mean about that?'' Veronica was curious.
''Pre-war history. Well old pre-war history,'' He corrected himself. 'Unless you have about a half-dozen majors in Ancient Western History you won't understand.''.
''Oh. History stuff then. Gotcha,'' Veronica noted.
Then she spotted movement up the road. Small creatures, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Geckos of a sort. They had often plagued this part of the road and were a problem for small groups of travelers.
''Don't look now but we've got company. Just Geckos though. You ready for a fight?'' Veronica asked.
''I'll be fine,'' Mercer told her.
The first Gecko moved forward, waddling as it reached out with short stubby claws. Veronica aimed her ballistic fist right at its face. The pressure plate connected and the shotgun roared, blowing off the head of the thing. Its compatriot received the same treatment as it rushed forward to attack her.
Having finished off the Geckos around her Veronica turned around to see Mercer standing over the pulped bodies of two dead Geckos while holding a third Gecko by its neck as it struggled at hack at Mercer with its claws.
''This things always look so silly with the way they walk,'' Mercer seemed amused by its struggles. Veronica was privately amazed at his utterly carefree he was while holding up a giant mutant lizard by its neck.
''Hey, Mercer are you going too…'' she gestured to it.
''Oh, yeah,'' He quickly snapped the Gecko's neck and tossed it away. Then she saw another shape emerge over a nearby hill. It was big, a full head taller than either her or Mercer and it had a pair of massive bladed claws. Veronica knew full well what it was, having lived in the Hidden Valley.
''Deathclaw!'' she shouted and tried to push Mercer out of the way. No way he would survive fighting a Deathclaw unarmed. But she was too late. The Deathclaw's talons tore right into Mercer's back, driving in so far that she saw the tips emerge from his stomach.
Then she saw Mercer whirl around, talons ripping free. Then her companion punched the
Deathclaw right in its face. The thing hurled back hard right into a nearby boulder before colliding with a sickening crack before flopping the ground, its face pulped and body twitching.
Mercer walked over, positioned himself over the Deathclaw and leapt down, driving his elbow right into the skull of the mutant creature. Its head popped under the strain of the blow and Mercer got up before dusting himself off.
''Are you okay?'' Veronica gaped at him, trying to look at Mercer's stomach. There was no blood or a wound.
''Just fine. It took me by surprise that's all.'' The man told her. What had happened? She thought. Was it a trick of the light?
''How did you do that?'' she asked, glancing over at the Deathclaw.
''Do what? The people's elbow?''
''You punched out a Deathclaw! How the hell did you do that with your bare hands?'' she asked. That she was sure was no trick of the light.
''I drink lots of milk and exercise plenty,'' Mercer smirked.
Well that was certainly not expected. At least now she understood why he had been able to survive in the wastes. Apparently he had some sort of enhanced strength and durability. Was he some sort of cyborg? She had heard of some kind of implants like that although they were meant to be ludicrously rare pre-war things.
''Ah, now let's continue on. The day it still young,'' Mercer paused to kick a Gecko corpse out of his way before he strolled down the road again.
''I've been hearing stories you know. About Vegas.'' Veronica mentioned. It had been about an hour and Mercer had so far really said nothing at all. They were walking down the cracked and devastated highway. She had heard stories about pre-war roads that linked the cities in Nevada. She often wished she could have seen what it would have been like back then.
''What kind of stories?'' he asked.
''About a year or so ago, apparently. Mr. House started to resurface. Everyone thought he was dead.'' Veronica explained.
''House…yes, I remember him. A pre-war business tycoon. A pioneer in robotic and weapons industries. They saw his defenses saved Vegas during the war.'' Mercer mused.
''Personally I think it's just a load of bullshit. It's just some pretender warlord using the name using the name to scare the locals into submission.'' Veronica theorized. It was something she had often idly thought about when she first heard about it. The Brotherhood had of course taken note of the resurgent Securitron army, but opinions as to House differed McNamara was still on the fence and they hardly had time to extensively investigate since the NCR's movement into the area.
''The Securitron army is still operational.'' Mercer pointed out.
''All that could mean is that whoever this guy is he just found a way to reactivate them. I mean, House has to be long dead of old age, even if he survived the bombs. Nobody can live that long.'' Veronica pointed out.
''Yeah, nobody,'' A thin smile spread itself across Mercer's face, as if enjoying some private joke known only to him.
''Well, nobody human anyway. I heard Super Mutants are immortal,'' Veronica mentioned.
''They live forever, allegedly. They still die when you shoot them,'' Mercer noted.
''Oh, you've killed one then?'' The woman asked. He certainly didn't look like a soldier.
''More than one yes,'' Mercer clarified.
''Not many folks can say that,'' Veronica mused. Privately she wondered if he was lying, but that didn't seem to likely. Mercer hardly seemed like the boastful type of man. She had seen enough arrogant jackasses at the bunker to know what that type of person was like.
''Say, where are you from anyway Mercer?'' Veronica asked. ''You don't seem NCR.''
''Why do you want to know?'' he asked, a hint of guarded curiosity in his voice.
''Oh, I'm just naturally curious. It's a little trait of mine,'' she explained wryly.
''I'm from East,'' He told her.
''You don't seem Legion,'' It was true. He hardly seemed like one of Caesar's goons.
''Far East,'' He clarified.
Really? He was from the far eastern part of the continent? She would be impressed if that was true. Crossing the wastelands from the East to the Mojave was a pretty impressive feat for just one man. She didn't think he was lying. If he was trying to protect his past then he would go for something less ludicrous.
''So, what's it like Far East then?'' she asked curiously.
''Same shithole as here,'' Mercer told her.
''Did you ever encountered the Brotherhood on the East Coast then?'' she asked. She had heard stories about the Brotherhood Chapter in the Capitol Wasteland, Whispered condemnations really.
''The Brotherhood of Steel?'' Mercer inquired.
''Yeah, that's the one.''
''Never met them. Never had any reason to,'' Mercer shrugged.
''Well, what do you think of the Brotherhood then?'' Veronica asked.
''Neutral. I am indifferent. I know they are recluses who hoard technology, but they've never bothered me and that suits me just fine,'' Mercer commented.
So at least he wasn't prejudiced against the Brotherhood, she thought. That was a point in his favor at least. She didn't the Brotherhood wasn't all a group of shining white knights, but she still thought of them as family.
''Well, what's your opinion on the NCR?'' she might as well talk about local politics as she had little else to do.
''Better than most local warlords I've seen pop out over the wastes. They've got good people and bad people, same as the rest. I've never had any real trouble with them,'' the hooded man mused.
''They're pretty expansionist though. I heard they had a huge war with the Brotherhood.''
''People kill each other all the time. As long as I'm not caught in the crossfire it's not really my business.'' Mercer told her.
''What about the Legion?'' Veronica asked
Mercer chuckled. She didn't expect that.
''What's so funny?'' she asked.
''A bunch of Raiders aping a tradition they don't understand. They're not a Legion. They're a Vandal horde with Roman military trappings and delusions of grandeur.'' Mercer told her.
''What do you mean about that?'' Veronica was curious.
''Pre-war history. Well old pre-war history,'' He corrected himself. 'Unless you have about a half-dozen majors in Ancient Western History you won't understand.''.
''Oh. History stuff then. Gotcha,'' Veronica noted.
Then she spotted movement up the road. Small creatures, casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Geckos of a sort. They had often plagued this part of the road and were a problem for small groups of travelers.
''Don't look now but we've got company. Just Geckos though. You ready for a fight?'' Veronica asked.
''I'll be fine,'' Mercer told her.
The first Gecko moved forward, waddling as it reached out with short stubby claws. Veronica aimed her ballistic fist right at its face. The pressure plate connected and the shotgun roared, blowing off the head of the thing. Its compatriot received the same treatment as it rushed forward to attack her.
Having finished off the Geckos around her Veronica turned around to see Mercer standing over the pulped bodies of two dead Geckos while holding a third Gecko by its neck as it struggled at hack at Mercer with its claws.
''This things always look so silly with the way they walk,'' Mercer seemed amused by its struggles. Veronica was privately amazed at his utterly carefree he was while holding up a giant mutant lizard by its neck.
''Hey, Mercer are you going too…'' she gestured to it.
''Oh, yeah,'' He quickly snapped the Gecko's neck and tossed it away. Then she saw another shape emerge over a nearby hill. It was big, a full head taller than either her or Mercer and it had a pair of massive bladed claws. Veronica knew full well what it was, having lived in the Hidden Valley.
''Deathclaw!'' she shouted and tried to push Mercer out of the way. No way he would survive fighting a Deathclaw unarmed. But she was too late. The Deathclaw's talons tore right into Mercer's back, driving in so far that she saw the tips emerge from his stomach.
Then she saw Mercer whirl around, talons ripping free. Then her companion punched the
Deathclaw right in its face. The thing hurled back hard right into a nearby boulder before colliding with a sickening crack before flopping the ground, its face pulped and body twitching.
Mercer walked over, positioned himself over the Deathclaw and leapt down, driving his elbow right into the skull of the mutant creature. Its head popped under the strain of the blow and Mercer got up before dusting himself off.
''Are you okay?'' Veronica gaped at him, trying to look at Mercer's stomach. There was no blood or a wound.
''Just fine. It took me by surprise that's all.'' The man told her. What had happened? She thought. Was it a trick of the light?
''How did you do that?'' she asked, glancing over at the Deathclaw.
''Do what? The people's elbow?''
''You punched out a Deathclaw! How the hell did you do that with your bare hands?'' she asked. That she was sure was no trick of the light.
''I drink lots of milk and exercise plenty,'' Mercer smirked.
Well that was certainly not expected. At least now she understood why he had been able to survive in the wastes. Apparently he had some sort of enhanced strength and durability. Was he some sort of cyborg? She had heard of some kind of implants like that although they were meant to be ludicrously rare pre-war things.
''Ah, now let's continue on. The day it still young,'' Mercer paused to kick a Gecko corpse out of his way before he strolled down the road again.
Freeside was a towering collection of ruined buildings and tenements. Perhaps once, before the bombs fell, this had been a large urban center, the kind that Veronica had only seen in the Brotherhood's archive systems. Now it was a blasted out wrecked ruin.
The streets were cracked and weathered. The buildings had ruined windows and filth everywhere. Everyone from hardened mercenaries to street urchins moved about in the streets and alleyways of Freeside.
''You've got to be fucking kidding me,'' Mercer muttered in amazement as he spotted a couple of Kings's gang members on the corner of a large building. They were men wearing black jackets and a distinctive gelled hairstyle.
''What's wrong?'' Veronica asked him.
''You wouldn't understand. It's nothing,'' He told her.
''Oh. Well I was intending to scout around for work in the Followers camp. They should be able to take me in before nightfall,'' Veronica stated. She didn't really want to be stuck in Freeside after dark. In daylight it was bad enough.
''The Followers?'' he inquired.
''The Followers of the Apocalypse.''
''Ah, them,'' Mercer seemed to have recognized them. ''Well good luck with that. I'm going for a stroll.''
''After dark? Where?'' Veronica might have been more surprised that he was willing to go out in Freeside along, had she not seen him take out a Deathclaw singlehandedly.
''The Strip,'' Mercer told her.
''How are you going to get in? I don't think you have two thousand caps,'' She noted.
''Oh, I have my ways,'' Mercer smirked.
***********
Alex Mercer walked through the streets of Freeside, lost deep in his own thoughts. He had been here in Las Vegas before the war. Of course that was well over a century ago, decades before the war but after New York.
It had been a thriving economic city when he had seen it that long ago. At night the city of Vegas would be a forest of blinking lights. The streets of Vegas would positively thrum with business and vice. Of course that was before the bombs fell.
Mercer had heard that House had managed to protect the city. Of course he had heard many conflicting stories ever since he had emerged from his hibernation to explore the ruined world before him.
He had walked the earth in the decades after New York. For a long time his only companion had been Dana, before he was able to create a false identity for her to live peacefully. Then like all things she died and he was alone then.
He had not anticipated the war between America and China, nor the devastation that had followed. But by that time he had already ensconced himself underground, thus protecting him from the inevitable fallout.
It had been a bit of a shock to finally emerge from his hole in the ground to see a much changed world. That had been three years ago and he had been walking the world ever since, just trying to make sense of things.
It was a changed world now. The government was gone now and America had effectively divided itself into various little tinpot dictators and warlords. It was a new experience for Alex. He often felt like he was the relic of an older time.
Eventually he had journeyed to the west coast where he heard civilization had finally managed to started picking itself up again. He encountered the Legion first while he was traveling through Arizona first. Seeing a bunch of tribal Raiders attempt to copy Ancient Rome was…amusing. Of course he apparently he gang members styling themselves after Elvis, so he probably shouldn't have been too surprised.
They were a distinctly unpleasant bunch of people in Alex's opinion, although he admitted that he himself was no saint. The Legion was a nation of Raiders. A well-organized and well-disciplined group of Raiders but essentially Raiders all the same.
He had not yet encountered the NCR proper, although he met plenty of citizens while he travelled through what was once the western part of the United States. Eventually he began hearing stories of Vegas. It seemed like a good time to revisit the city of sin.
Then he had encountered Veronica.
That girl, Veronica was something. She was hiding information from him. He privately suspected she was with the Brotherhood, the way she unsubtly kept on asking questions about how he felt about that particular group.
It had somewhat amused him that strong remnants of the Old World had survived the nukes. He had heard of the Enclave, a supposed pre-war remnant that had tried to genocide the wastes long ago. They had allegedly possessed advanced technology that eclipsed even pre-war resources.
The Brotherhood of Steel was another enigmatic group that also possessed many pieces of pre-war technology. They were hoarders who often kept away in their bunkers and appearantly regarded most of the wastelanders with distain.
Technology had advanced in many ways since Manhattan. Alex personally hated the new laser and plasma weapons. Even a laser pistol was sufficient to cut a man in half. It cost quite a bit of biomass to regenerate from some of the stronger energy weapons employed.
Power armor was nasty as well. Ale had not gotten a chance to actually fight someone in power armor. But he had devoured enough people to get a good idea of their capacities and just how dangerous they were.
His thoughts were then interrupted by a bullet smashing into him. He promptly reached into his shoulder and dug out the bullet were it barely penetrated the surface of his skin. He examined it. It was a .44 Magnum round.
''Ow. A bullet. How horrible,'' Mercer glanced to see two men in a nearby alleyway. One was holding the smoking pistol and the other was about to swing a tire iron at him.
''This yours?'' he held up the bullet as the man hit him with the tire iron. It bent and snapped in his hands while Mercer sighed and his right hand shifted into a set of claws. Then he promptly impaled the man through the chest.
His compatriot watched in horror as black tendrils followed out of Mercer and into the man. In mere seconds Mercer quickly and efficiently consumed the thug. The walking virus briefly examined the man's memories. There was nothing special really. Just one of the many poor criminal thugs that had made a horrible, horrible mistake.
The other man turned and ran. He didn't get far.
After taking out the other thud Alex strolled towards one of the massive walls that divided Freeside and the Strip. They were huge constructions of scrap iron and rubble, heaped in a massive obstruction to keep out the poor of Freeside from the glamorous inner Strip.
Alex made a running start and then he appeared to run up the walls before leaping and conducting a somersault to get to the other side. He landed, catlike on the ground inside the Strip and calmly got up and walked towards the massive tower in the distance.
The streets were cracked and weathered. The buildings had ruined windows and filth everywhere. Everyone from hardened mercenaries to street urchins moved about in the streets and alleyways of Freeside.
''You've got to be fucking kidding me,'' Mercer muttered in amazement as he spotted a couple of Kings's gang members on the corner of a large building. They were men wearing black jackets and a distinctive gelled hairstyle.
''What's wrong?'' Veronica asked him.
''You wouldn't understand. It's nothing,'' He told her.
''Oh. Well I was intending to scout around for work in the Followers camp. They should be able to take me in before nightfall,'' Veronica stated. She didn't really want to be stuck in Freeside after dark. In daylight it was bad enough.
''The Followers?'' he inquired.
''The Followers of the Apocalypse.''
''Ah, them,'' Mercer seemed to have recognized them. ''Well good luck with that. I'm going for a stroll.''
''After dark? Where?'' Veronica might have been more surprised that he was willing to go out in Freeside along, had she not seen him take out a Deathclaw singlehandedly.
''The Strip,'' Mercer told her.
''How are you going to get in? I don't think you have two thousand caps,'' She noted.
''Oh, I have my ways,'' Mercer smirked.
***********
Alex Mercer walked through the streets of Freeside, lost deep in his own thoughts. He had been here in Las Vegas before the war. Of course that was well over a century ago, decades before the war but after New York.
It had been a thriving economic city when he had seen it that long ago. At night the city of Vegas would be a forest of blinking lights. The streets of Vegas would positively thrum with business and vice. Of course that was before the bombs fell.
Mercer had heard that House had managed to protect the city. Of course he had heard many conflicting stories ever since he had emerged from his hibernation to explore the ruined world before him.
He had walked the earth in the decades after New York. For a long time his only companion had been Dana, before he was able to create a false identity for her to live peacefully. Then like all things she died and he was alone then.
He had not anticipated the war between America and China, nor the devastation that had followed. But by that time he had already ensconced himself underground, thus protecting him from the inevitable fallout.
It had been a bit of a shock to finally emerge from his hole in the ground to see a much changed world. That had been three years ago and he had been walking the world ever since, just trying to make sense of things.
It was a changed world now. The government was gone now and America had effectively divided itself into various little tinpot dictators and warlords. It was a new experience for Alex. He often felt like he was the relic of an older time.
Eventually he had journeyed to the west coast where he heard civilization had finally managed to started picking itself up again. He encountered the Legion first while he was traveling through Arizona first. Seeing a bunch of tribal Raiders attempt to copy Ancient Rome was…amusing. Of course he apparently he gang members styling themselves after Elvis, so he probably shouldn't have been too surprised.
They were a distinctly unpleasant bunch of people in Alex's opinion, although he admitted that he himself was no saint. The Legion was a nation of Raiders. A well-organized and well-disciplined group of Raiders but essentially Raiders all the same.
He had not yet encountered the NCR proper, although he met plenty of citizens while he travelled through what was once the western part of the United States. Eventually he began hearing stories of Vegas. It seemed like a good time to revisit the city of sin.
Then he had encountered Veronica.
That girl, Veronica was something. She was hiding information from him. He privately suspected she was with the Brotherhood, the way she unsubtly kept on asking questions about how he felt about that particular group.
It had somewhat amused him that strong remnants of the Old World had survived the nukes. He had heard of the Enclave, a supposed pre-war remnant that had tried to genocide the wastes long ago. They had allegedly possessed advanced technology that eclipsed even pre-war resources.
The Brotherhood of Steel was another enigmatic group that also possessed many pieces of pre-war technology. They were hoarders who often kept away in their bunkers and appearantly regarded most of the wastelanders with distain.
Technology had advanced in many ways since Manhattan. Alex personally hated the new laser and plasma weapons. Even a laser pistol was sufficient to cut a man in half. It cost quite a bit of biomass to regenerate from some of the stronger energy weapons employed.
Power armor was nasty as well. Ale had not gotten a chance to actually fight someone in power armor. But he had devoured enough people to get a good idea of their capacities and just how dangerous they were.
His thoughts were then interrupted by a bullet smashing into him. He promptly reached into his shoulder and dug out the bullet were it barely penetrated the surface of his skin. He examined it. It was a .44 Magnum round.
''Ow. A bullet. How horrible,'' Mercer glanced to see two men in a nearby alleyway. One was holding the smoking pistol and the other was about to swing a tire iron at him.
''This yours?'' he held up the bullet as the man hit him with the tire iron. It bent and snapped in his hands while Mercer sighed and his right hand shifted into a set of claws. Then he promptly impaled the man through the chest.
His compatriot watched in horror as black tendrils followed out of Mercer and into the man. In mere seconds Mercer quickly and efficiently consumed the thug. The walking virus briefly examined the man's memories. There was nothing special really. Just one of the many poor criminal thugs that had made a horrible, horrible mistake.
The other man turned and ran. He didn't get far.
After taking out the other thud Alex strolled towards one of the massive walls that divided Freeside and the Strip. They were huge constructions of scrap iron and rubble, heaped in a massive obstruction to keep out the poor of Freeside from the glamorous inner Strip.
Alex made a running start and then he appeared to run up the walls before leaping and conducting a somersault to get to the other side. He landed, catlike on the ground inside the Strip and calmly got up and walked towards the massive tower in the distance.
Sir, I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.
Alex would hate fallout cause of all the Radiaton. its the one thing that can really hurt him.
Would radiation hurt him? The impact from a nuke sure, massive trauma like that would almost certainly do some major damage, but doesn't radiation somehow force evolution at a lethal rate, hence the mutants everywhere? If so I would think it would actually be somewhat helpful to him. It is all the mini-nukes, high powered lasers, and plasma guns that would be really bothersome I think.
Laluzi
Rampant Noodlemancer
I seriously doubt it's the only thing that can hurt him. Alex is powerful, but he's not a god.
As for radiation itself, he's either resistant to it (due to being able to shuffle around his genetics and repair damage) or more adversely affected than humans. Interpretation, really.
I'm going with the source background version of Fallout yes, where appearantly even a laser pistol can cut a man in half and plasma rifles can reduce power-armored troops to molten slag. That should post threat enough to Mercer.
Huzzah. Looking forward to more. I'm much more familiar with Prototype than Fallout (what little I know is from Fallout: Equestria, which obviously is not the same thing). Nevertheless, good stuff.
Well I probably write a few more snippets. Next chapter Alex should meet up with Yes Man. Although I would really like to do some Prototype/Mass Effect stuff in the future.
If you do, maybe you could have it so Alex eats a collector and finds out why they are collecting people, then lets them take him and takes over the reaper. The story could be him taking a group of reapers and leading a rebelion against that stupid starchild, or something like that...Or not whatever, but either way please try to keep this story going, it is cool.
Thanks. Although at this point I'm just trying to consider at this point just what path I want to go with here, House, Indie or NCR. Definitely not Legion though.
volrath77
Serial Editor
All 3. It's not that Mercer has to approach each of them as "Alex Mercer" a.k.a. the bastard in white hoodie, black jackets and worn jeans, yeah? Maybe he could play them all against each other in different guises? But then again, the end result would probably be similar to the Indie result at the end.
He could assimilate house, therefore gaining the knowledge of yet another genius, but then again by now he is probably smart enough to make house look like a chimp
The NCR probably not, he might want to negotiate with them considering they want the technology from vault 22.
The NCR probably not, he might want to negotiate with them considering they want the technology from vault 22.
volrath77
Serial Editor
The problem is, when you look at it all 3 paths involve politics one way or another since the end result of each path is who gets to control Vegas.
Oh, Mercer will be involved in them. I don't see him deliberately trying to rule Vegas himself. He's too much of a lone world to lead anything. But he will get involved.
Dimensionist
Grand Master of Apologism, Keeper of the Faith
Actually, the 'roomsized computers' bit didn't last. Well, that is to say it did last, but personal computers were much smaller.
And more advanced. By 2077, their equivalent of CDs could hold 4 TBs of data each, while taking less space.
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