Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:26 amby Olthenia
Nation Name: Olthenia
Interests: Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout: Tactics and Fallout 3. Oh, and Point Lookout.
Reason: I like Fallout. If this is a group for folks who do, I figure I'll fit right in.
Rp sample:
Interests: Fallout 1, Fallout 2, Fallout: Tactics and Fallout 3. Oh, and Point Lookout.
Reason: I like Fallout. If this is a group for folks who do, I figure I'll fit right in.
Rp sample:
New Phoenix, Arizona
Overseer Buxton Vickers stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind his back. Beneath him, in the sprawl of half-lit streets, his city slept.
Phoenix.
The Great War had not been kind to her. Granted, the initial nuclear barrage had left the city largely intact, but then Phoenix had never been a prime target. Instead Chinese warheads destined for Arizona were better spent targeting military bases and airfields in the city’s hinterlands. The devastating blow came in searing cancer-clouds of radioactive dust. They rolled in off the prairie, hopelessly contaminated, and left the shores of Salt River bristling with dead fish. They wasted outlying crops like something vile and Biblical too, and turned streets teeming with commuters into cold, car-choked graveyards.
Above it all, the Arizona sky had gone the color of television tuned to a dead channel.
That was almost a hundred years ago. And from its ashes, Phoenix had risen again. Risen into a modest urban sprawl, its rubble stockade flanked by fields of dark, loamy farmland. Vault 24’s GECK had seen to that. Well, that and a year’s worth of hard, backbreaking work.
With cool brown eyes, Vickers observed a holographic display in front of him. It lit the hollows of his cheeks with a pale, green glare. Beacons attached to individual patrol commanders beeped short-wave signals periodically, displaying their position throughout the city.
He keyed his radio twice, and his earpiece filled with chatter.
Reports, reports, reports. The rotations were complete.
Buxton sighed. Three brief strides had him at a nearby computer, updating his PIP-boy. Rat-a-tat-tat. Like an old radio jingle. They all concurred: New Phoenix was safe. At least for now.
And beyond it all? From atop the tottering shell of what had once been the Hotel Monroe, a makeshift radio antenna broadcast a clear morse-code sequence across the Arizona airwaves.
+.Calling anyone, this is Radio Phoenix. Free trade, clean water and rule of law at the following coordinates. 33' 27 N, 112' 04 W. Over.+
Overseer Buxton Vickers stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind his back. Beneath him, in the sprawl of half-lit streets, his city slept.
Phoenix.
The Great War had not been kind to her. Granted, the initial nuclear barrage had left the city largely intact, but then Phoenix had never been a prime target. Instead Chinese warheads destined for Arizona were better spent targeting military bases and airfields in the city’s hinterlands. The devastating blow came in searing cancer-clouds of radioactive dust. They rolled in off the prairie, hopelessly contaminated, and left the shores of Salt River bristling with dead fish. They wasted outlying crops like something vile and Biblical too, and turned streets teeming with commuters into cold, car-choked graveyards.
Above it all, the Arizona sky had gone the color of television tuned to a dead channel.
That was almost a hundred years ago. And from its ashes, Phoenix had risen again. Risen into a modest urban sprawl, its rubble stockade flanked by fields of dark, loamy farmland. Vault 24’s GECK had seen to that. Well, that and a year’s worth of hard, backbreaking work.
With cool brown eyes, Vickers observed a holographic display in front of him. It lit the hollows of his cheeks with a pale, green glare. Beacons attached to individual patrol commanders beeped short-wave signals periodically, displaying their position throughout the city.
He keyed his radio twice, and his earpiece filled with chatter.
Reports, reports, reports. The rotations were complete.
Buxton sighed. Three brief strides had him at a nearby computer, updating his PIP-boy. Rat-a-tat-tat. Like an old radio jingle. They all concurred: New Phoenix was safe. At least for now.
And beyond it all? From atop the tottering shell of what had once been the Hotel Monroe, a makeshift radio antenna broadcast a clear morse-code sequence across the Arizona airwaves.
+.Calling anyone, this is Radio Phoenix. Free trade, clean water and rule of law at the following coordinates. 33' 27 N, 112' 04 W. Over.+
.
