RoD: Chapter II| Fallout RP | Alt-Timeline | IC

[Waztaskio]

Republics of Dust: Chapter II - IC Thread War. War never changes. The Romans waged war to gather slaves and wealth. Spain built an empire from its lust for gold and territory. Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic superpower. But war never changes. In the 21st century, war was still waged over the resources that could be acquired. Only this time, the spoils of war were also its weapons: Petroleum and Uranium. For these resources, China would invade Alaska, the US would annex Canada, and the European Commonwealth would dissolve into quarreling, bickering nation-states, bent on controlling the last remaining resources on Earth. In 2077, the storm of world war had come again. In two brief hours, most of the planet was reduced to cinders. And from the ashes of nuclear devastation, a new civilization would struggle to arise. Will you serve humanity and help it rebuild? Or will you enslave and conquer? The world is yours, but you must always remember the simplest truth known always to mankind. No matter what side you take and what battles you fight, war...war never changes. OOCMAPPREVIOUS OOC: CHAPTER IAPPLICATIONDISCORD CHATBOARD OF ROLEPLAY MANAGEMENTMISCELLANEOUS INFORMATIONREPUTABLE FACTIONSROSTER

[Alinora]

- THE INSTITUTE -

---

The Boston Empire’s destruction was… sudden, if nothing else. The sudden death of their Emperor, with no heir, left a contested throne, and a vacuum of power that many were determined to claim. Seeking to reclaim the power of the elected, the Imperial Senate made the first attempt to seize the throne, then announcing that the position, and role of Emperor, would be discarded and replaced with the word of the Senate. Generals, mainly of the Imperial Army itself, reacted swiftly – ordering their forces to Diamond City, which had since been secured by members of the Senate Guard. The Minutemen, who’d been subject to the Empire but were never particularly fond of it’s Emperor, backed the authority of Democratic figures – initiating conflicts between the Minutemen and Imperial Army, while the loosely-tied raider groups who had been forced into military service took the opportunity to break off.

After weeks of conflict, everyone had been worn down. A long and brutal siege of Diamond City ended with the deaths of hundreds of citizens, and soldiers from both sides, but Imperial forces were eventually forced to retreat to Salem under orders of General Alexander, who, unbeknownst to his army, was an Institute synth. Indeed, most leaders that helped the Civil War take shape were synths – Senator Farris, who led the opposition, and General Morrison, the man in charge of the Minutemen.

In fact, the downfall of the Empire was the direct result of years of gradual infiltration by the Institute, part of a highly classified, long term plan, known by the Institute as Operation Clarynx. The operation saw a paced, but efficient “cycling out” of public, government, and military figures with synths loyal to the Institute – moles with the goal of carrying out Operation Clarynx when the order dropped. And, when it did drop, it worked better than anyone expected it to. The wedges set between the various elements of the Boston Empire were driven apart, and all organization collapsed into shambled, warring factions.

Now, it was time for the Institute to march.

---

The Institute | Commonwealth
Director Michael Hampton

At this moment, it had felt to him as though the entire world was looking up upon him – everyone he had ever known, everyone he loved, and everyone he was so determined to protect. Though, things were rapidly changing, and he, as the Director of the most advanced organization in the wasteland, had the responsibility to not only look out for the men and women of the Institute, but for those of the Commonwealth. While it hadn’t been a goal of past leaders, Director Hampton was determined to use the Institute’s knowledge to help improve the lives of the people on the surface, and work towards a better future for all of mankind. Standing on the balcony of his quarters in his Director’s robes, with a massive crowd of scientists, engineers, residents, and synths watching, Director Hampton wiped his forehead, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

“After it was a sure thing, that America could destroy an entire city with just one bomb, a scientist turned to his father and said ‘science has now known sin’, to which his father replied, ‘what is sin?’ More than 150 years ago, nuclear fire rained from the sky – obliterating everything that stood it it’s path with absolute, destructive power. Civilization was ripped from it’s pedestal, billions were killed, and we lost the collective progress of tens of thousands of years.” He paused, looking around at the crowd. “The Great War occurred during a time of war, of desperation – a time where a future was never secured, and where each day was a miracle. These desperate times pushed the great minds of the 21st Century to the limit, and in their attempts to create a better future for their nation, and for all people, they began only wondering if they could, rather than if they should. We here have been blessed to live a safe life underground, but for many on the surface, the mistakes of our ancestors bring pain and despair to each day they live. Men, women, and children – barely making it by from day it day: sipping from irradiated faucets, killing mole rats for food, or cowering under their beds when the raiders come. Every single day, dozens die from radiation poisoning, disease, famine, and most of all, violence.” The Director paused.

“The surface – the Commonwealth – is a place that past Directors have shielded the Institute from. They’d rather invest our resources here, then what was viewed as a lost cause. But I disagree, and my friends, let me ask you a question. Here in the Institute, we have perfected agriculture techniques, and new strains of plant, that produce more nutritious and faster-growing food for our people. Our research in synths, and weaponry, that has not only given us an army sworn to our defense, but an equipped army at that. Even things such as the heating and cooling systems, the Reactor – the terminal in your rooms, your bathrooms, your beds. Each day you wake up turn on the faucet that dispenses clean, free water for you – never have the people of the Institute died of thirst, starvation, or radiation.” He looked around at the crowd more, clearing his throat.

“So I ask you this: why do we dedicate our lives to the pursuit of knowledge while we convince ourselves it is to better mankind, but never use our strengths, our power, and our knowledge, to help the world above.” Hampton paused. “Our work could save millions on the surface – yes, millions – and forge a future for mankind that is brighter than the brightest thought in the mind of a wasteland child. It is my opinion that we have a responsibility to live up to our promise.”

“We will help the Commonwealth – bring them food, provide them with clean water and power, help protect them and help them protect themselves, provide education, and be the defender that the people so desperately need in these trying times. We will do so while maintaining our security – never letting our precious location be known, and being the silent sentinels of the Commonwealth.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, as I speak, the Synth armies of the Institute are marching through Diamond City – asserting our leadership and authority without firing a single shot. In the following weeks and months, as we bring other cities, towns, and settlements under our control, we will begin what will be the largest reconstruction project in the history of the Commonwealth. We will fulfill our promise to the people.”

“No longer will be allow ourselves to be hated – to be evil. No longer will we be the boogeymen in the shadows, and no longer will we be a stain on the Commonwealth. We will lead the people of this wasteland to a better future – forging these ruins into a Utopia, and creating a better future for all of Mankind.” He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “I thank you for your time, and God Bless each and every one of you.”

---

Diamond City | Commonwealth
T6-77

Diamond City was hit particularly hard with the collapse of the Empire. After the Senate announced that the position of Emperor would be filled by nobody, and governing would be left to the Senate itself, things fell apart quickly. The man in charge of the Imperial Army, General Alexander, had his eyes set on the throne, and marched his army against Diamond City. A three-week siege would lead to the death of hundreds of citizens, who, even after the Imperial Army retreated north, were dying of starvation, thirst, along with the Senate Guard.

Blinding flashes of lighting erupted throughout the city like heavenly light, and from them, columns of synths began to march throughout. Unlike many found in the Commonwealth, these synths were a real professional army – all wearing slick and clean white uniforms, with clean armor, and their faces covered with their field helmets. There was a roar of their shoes as they marched, kicking up dirt, and simultaneously yelling one sentence. “All citizens, return to your homes. Do not interfere with Institute personnel.”

Walking at the front of the largest column, proceeding towards the entrance to the Imperial Capital Building, was T6-77 – the Institute’s most legendary Courser. People cowered into their homes as synth forces engaged what few Senate Guards were left – a short spurt of gunfire and lasers that ended with steaming bodies littered on the steps and in the dirt. T6-77, with his arms crossed behind his back, proceeded up the stairs, and to the main door, with his army behind him. Throughout the city, columns of light still flashed squads of synths into existence, and they would proceed to initiate a lockdown – ordering citizens to return to their homes and lock the doors until the situation was safe. T6-77 took a deep breath before pushing the door open to the small, yet well built, capitol of the now-dead Empire. Once elegant, decorated with paintings and flags of the country, the building was littered with flipped tables, and a small group of Imperial troops ready to engage. T6-77 entered with a small army at his back, but did not engage – preferring to speak instead.

“The Institute is not your enemy – we are here to restore the peace. Lower your weapons and return to your families while the option is still available.” The few young men, likely not even out of their twenties, exchanged glances – the fear present in their expressions, and after a few moments, threw their weapons onto the ground and raised their arms into the air. T6-77 merely walked past them, to the Senate Chambers, where the few dozen members of the Senate had gathered. Their faces showed sheer terror as squads of synths entered – aiming their weapons up at the men, while T6-77 had an emotionless expression, and pressed his fingers to the comm device in his ear. “Director. You’re clear.”

A few moments passed, and a massive beam of electric-like light conjured a man in white and black robes, with the symbol of the Institute displayed very clearly on it. The man had a look of even-handedness, not appearing as though to boast, but merely to address. He cleared his throat and spoke.

“Gentlemen, from this moment foreword, Diamond City is under the control of the Institute. Effective immediately, the Imperial Senate will be disbanded, and what is left of the Boston Empire will be dismantled and rebuilt.” He paused, crossing his arms behind his back. “We will not kill you. The Institute is not your enemy. In the coming days, weeks, months, and years, we will carry out a plan that will completely reimagine what the Commonwealth is. We would like you to be a part of this future - only by working together can we truly succeed.” He paused, looking around. “I will be addressing the citizens of Diamond City shortly – I hope you’ll be there to hear me out.” The Director proceeded to leave, and T6-77 would begin coordinating his armies to secure the rest of the city, and begin bringing in the food and water supplies.

---

Diamond City | Commonwealth
Director Michael Hampton

In the hours after the Institute took control of Diamond City, large amounts of food, water, and medicine began to be distributed to the general population. Those in need of medical care were given it for free – an extension of generosity to help bring the people back together. Director Hampton had never left the Institute before, so to see Diamond City in this light was… grim. Of course, this was once the beacon of civilization in Boston, and this was a rough patch that the Institute would help them recover from. Towards the back of the stadium, synths had been preparing for the Director to speak – setting up sentries on roofs, and making sure nobody was armed, before he would address the crowds of exhausted, starving citizens. The sun had begun setting – casting an orange sky overhead – and hundreds of people crowded into the streets to hear the man who now ruled over them, as they assumed. He took his position at the stage, straightening his uniform, and cleared his throat.

“Citizens of Diamond City,” he began, “your government was lying to you. The Institute was never destroyed – we have always existed here, among you, and we have dedicated ourselves to protecting you from all threats. The Boston Empire – the Emperor, the Army, the Senate – they have failed you. The privileged few, lording over the rest of you – ignoring your needs for their own, and casting you into a destructive, terrible war, that killed your mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “We will, together, rebuild your homes, and your lives – bringing you what your government was unable to do. You will not survive, my friends – you will thrive.” He looked around at the crowd, which clapped, however reluctantly. The Director understood that actions speak far louder than words, and was ready to prove it.

[Intermountain States]

"Welcome to Lone Star Radio. I'm your host Christine Sanders and lets get on to the news.

Newly elected President Harold Yee calls for military action in New Mexico and Arizona, citing that "the Super Mutant and raider infestation must be put down to protect the folks living in the western regions. He went on to claim that now that Texas is at a stronger position and that they would be greeted by townfolks as liberators against the Mutant Menace.

In domestic news, a group of scientists from the Aggie Institute are working with farmers to develop quicker means to produce foods year round. According to the head scientist John Borlaug, their intent is to have food be plentiful at low costs for the people of the Wasteland.

The preceding news segments were brought to you by the Cattlemen Association. Brahmin meat, it's what's for dinner. In this new year, Lone Star Radio finally got new music holotapes from our wonderful listeners. Thank you all for your donation. Here is Johnny Cash with the song, I Walk the Line."

Johnson Center, Texas Commonwealth

"You're telling me that the military wants the build a giant airship?" Fred Donovan asked. "Why would we need to build such thing?"

"The military has plans to use them in the coming military campaign in the Western region," Donald Gonzalez answered. "Probably to provide air support along with serving as a mobile military base."

"We're talking about a giant flying ship that pretty much announces our presence to hostile," Donovan said. "It will be a miracle if the muties or the commies don't blast the ship out of the skies with missile launchers or artillery guns."

"Which is why the military is asking for an armored airship," Gonzalez responded. "The ship will be defended by machine guns and high powered rifles, not to mention our Vertibirds will be escorting them. I highly doubt anyone can outrun flying miniguns blasting 5mm rounds at their direction."

"Still, I doubt our workers can get an armored airship out before Texas sends troops west," Donovan said.

"Same but I have a feeling that the military has plan for such use later as a bargaining chip," Gonzolez added. "Well, we got a job to do, let's get to it shall we?"

[Waztaskio]

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Fort Maxson

High Elder Gregory Maxson laid in his bed, tossing and turning with his bed sheets, until eventually falling onto the ground. "Oh, dangit!" As Maxson lay on the ground in pain from the fall, a Brotherhood Knight entered the room. "High Elder, are you alright?" Maxson groaned, pushing himself up from the ground and turning to the Knight who was in full T-45b power armor with a laser rifle in his hand. "Yes, thank you Knight. I just had a small bed accident, but I'm fine." The knight would nod, and leave the High Elder alone in his room to continue his daily duties. "Geez, this place is so crowded. Everytime you yell, Paladins and Knights rush in to check on you." Maxson thought to himself, before giving a sigh. Up until recently, he was a Paladin. Going on salvaging operations throughout Colorado, dealing with the occasional raider and mutant, and generally being your run of the mill field soldier. In October, under pressure from High Elder Rothschild, Paladin Maxson was elevated to Elder and less then a full month upgraded to High Elder by the Council of Elders. The promotion was met with praise throughout the Brotherhood ranks, but to Maxson it was administrative hell. He was in theory still allowed to go out with his soldiers, but he was rarely able to due so due to internal administration matters that constantly required his attention.

Today, he was preparing to have a monthly Council of Elders meeting for the month of January which was a requirement to have since the days of Peter Maxson. He had brushed his teeth and dressed himself in his Elder Robes, before leaving his room. As he walked through the hallways, he passed many Initiates, Paladins, Knights, and Scribes who all gave their respect to the High Elder as he passed by. At first it was cool, but after his first week as High Elder it got dull. Fort Maxson was a mountain fortress, but a very enclosed mountain fortress which meant you would always pass by various groups of the Brotherhood no matter where you went. He soon came up to the council chambers, which was a circular room in which the Council of Elders would meet and discuss future strategy, current operations, and other matters deemed necessary. This would be the first time Maxson would oversee a meeting with the council since been elected High Elder, and he hoped he would make a good impression. Being only thirty three years old, he would be the youngest member on the Elder Council, but the most prestigious. As he approached the door, the guards gave their respect to the elder before stepping aside and allowing the High Elder to approach the already assembled council and take his seat.

"High Elder Maxson, welcome. I hope you slept well." Elder Kline said, seeing Maxson rubbing his back due to his earlier fall. "Thank you Elder Kline, but I sure hope my sleeping experiences aren't the topic of today's meeting." Elder Bragg spoke up, "You're right High Elder. Our meeting today will be a very important one, I assure you." Although the room was structured in a round-table form, with the High Elder in the center of the table and it curving for the other Elders, there was still plenty of room for a holographic projection table in the middle of the table that was connected to various terminals in front of the Elders. On the table, an image of their base at Fort Snow was shown and Elder Pepper begin to speak. "Gentlemen, Fort Snow is our first major installation the Brotherhood has set up in the Wasteland, second in power to Fort Maxson itself. Elder Lyons, has reported success in recovering some pre-war tech, but fears that we have arrived a little too late to recover all of it." The table would begin to show an unfamiliar flag planted in Anchorage Alaska that would be on a small flag pole stuck into the snow. "We believe another faction or nation in the Wasteland, has conducted a scavenging mission in the area and may have taken some valuable technology. Elder Lyons reports that Fort Snow has not been subject to any attacks, nor have our Inquisitors reported any unusual movements or people in the area, so we suspect this group is no longer operating in Anchorage."

Elder Pepper would turn off the projection, turning to High Elder Maxson."High Elder, Elder Lyons has reported that some Chimerica tanks have been found, but they seem to have been destroyed. And it does not appear that this happened before the war, meaning someone deliberately destroyed them. Inquisitors suspect at this time that it may just be some Alaskan Luddittes, against technology, but Grand Inquisitor Oppen has cautioned about being too rash in our labeling. Regardless, it honestly seems like this mission is no longer needed. I advocate dismantling Fort Snow and having our brothers return home." Pepper ended her statement, with Maxson nodding. "Noted, does the rest of the council feel the same?" Elder Graham would begin to speak after Maxson spoke, "High Elder, I am in full agreement. Our scribes tell us that all the pre-war knowledge of the conflict has been archived, And the lack of pre-war weaponry and any dangerous weapons has rendered the expedition quite pointless at this point. Not to mention how it's a damper on morale to be deployed into an icy wasteland. I believe the rest of the council agrees with this as well." The other elders would nod in agreement, with the high elder taking note of their nods. "Then, I believe this is a unanimous vote. Send a message to Elder Lyons to begin his withdrawal from Fort Snow. Tell those boys they're coming home."

Elder Pepper smiled, getting her motion unanimously approved by the council. Being the only woman on the council, she always felt the need to prove herself in the Brotherhood even though there were female scribes, inquisitors, paladins, and knights. Being the first female elder, she felt she needed to always be on top of her game even more so then the rest. The conversation soon moved into more mundane problems of the Brotherhood, such as food shortages, troop reassignments, promotions, and the monthly agenda. Maxson, merely being a moderating figure unless needed for a tie actually fell asleep listening to the topics and had to be nudged awake three times by Elder Quentin, who didn't seemed to chuckle every time he did it. "Don't worry High Elder, we'll be long dead before we're anyone near to finishing." This caused Maxson and Quentin to laugh together, bringing the attention of the other elders towards Maxsons direction. "High Elder, have we said something funny?" Elder Kline would ask, looking at the High Elder with a rather stern expression. "No, Elder Kline. Just a small inside joke." Kline would nod, and go back to what he was discussing.

The meeting would last over an hour, with the end of the meeting getting into latest Inquisitor reports. "We got an Inquisitor report in recently, concerning a possible resurgence of pre-war diseases into the world again. In the report, it states that the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, based in Atlanta Georgia is still standing. And if intel is correct, some of the worst pre-war diseases reside in that facility that could amount to a mass genocide of wastelanders and us if allowed to get out. This intel must be acted upon with haste." Elder Kline would say, "Even if one disease such as New Plague escaped that facility, it could mean certain death. We need to launch an expedition, and it needs to be launched soon." Kline would finish his thoughts. "Elder Kline, although this would indeed be a noble goal. I'm sure these diseases are locked up very securely within the labs below the C.D.C. building, that should keep out your average wastelanders. And, keep in the dangerous contaminants. Why risk an expedition to the facility?"

The room soon began to discuss the implications of securing the facility, and leaving it believing it's perfectly secure how it is. The arguments would begin to get more intense, and soon Maxson himself had to order the room into silence and into an immediate voting session. Elder Quentin abstained, with Elder Pepper and Graham advocating for it to be left how it is and the other two voting for sending an expedition. This meant, that the High Elder would need to break the tie himself in order to move on from this topic. "Crap, my first meeting and now we're divided on sending another expedition. I gotta be smart about this." Maxson would begin to think to himself, weighing the pro's and con's of each decision with neither really looking all that great. However, if he did nothing in this situation and someone got a hold of it to use for evil purposes, the Wasteland would be utterly defenses. An expedition, seemed like the least worst decision. "We're sending a Brotherhood expedition to Atlanta. We cannot allow these diseases to escape into the wasteland, nor can we allow a mad man to get ahold of such technology and start creating new viruses from the CDC database. We would be defenseless if either happened, and our mission is to protect humanity from stuff such as this. So, begin preparing an expedition." The Council of Elders would then officially pass the vote, with the meeting soon ending after Head Paladin Luca, Head Scribe Elijah, and Head Knight Ramos were called in to receive orders to prepare an expedition.

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Summary:

• Fort Snow ordered to be abandoned, and BoS troops to return to Fort Maxson.
• Expedition to Atlanta, Georgia announced in Fort Maxson.

[Alinora]

- COMMONWEALTH RADIO -

---

Attention: people of the Commonwealth.

I am Director Michael Hampton.

For years now, you have been lied to. Your government, the Boston Empire, has told you that we were destroyed, but that cannot be farther from the truth. The Institute exists, and we are here to help.

As you look out your windows, or open your doors, it is likely that you will see the Institute’s synths patrolling your streets – they are not there to cause you harm, but to keep you safe. In the coming days and weeks, the armies of the Institute will clash with the enemies of the Commonwealth – the super mutant hordes, the splintering raider tribes, and the stubborn remnants of the Imperial Army. We will restore peace, order, and prosperity – that is our promise. We only ask for your cooperation, for it is vital to creating a better Commonwealth, for everyone.

In the coming months, you will find us hard at work – helping you, the people, create a better future. You will no longer eat irradiated food, drink irradiated water, or sleep on the ground. Your children will be provided education, and all citizens of the Commonwealth will be cured of the radiation epidemic. Settlements will become towns, towns will become cities, and cities with become a nation – a nation with a healthy, educated, and happy populace. Citizens, stand with me – stand with the Institute – and help us forge a brighter future for the Commonwealth, and all of mankind.

[Zepplien]

Neo Fransisco
Sabrina walked though the aisles of her local bookstore, she hoped her mother wouldn't worry about her staying out after school again. She moved out of the way of a Vault Dweller on instinct, offering a small bow as they passed. She felt her cheeks blush as she looked over the selection of manga from Neo Osaka (The name for Neo Fransisco's Japantown). There was Flying Girl Katherine about a Vertibird pilot who was improbably young, or another one called G.O.A.T. Days about a love triangle in Vault 36. She guessed it was normal enough, but she couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed about basically comic books at 15. She shrugged her shoulders a little as she got her wallet out, looking at her 20 caps, and her lunch money in Yuan. She rubbed her chin again, looking at the back of one that called itself Wastes of Time, about George Washington and Abraham Lincoln traversing the wasteland and trying to figure out how it happened and how to return to their own time. Sabrina put it back on the shelf with a shake of her head and a bemused smile, the title fit it turned out. There was Girls und Power Armor but she had read the series up to the latest part, though she was quite excited to watch the epic conclusion of the fight between Orai and Charlotte teams. She looked over the G.O.A.T. Days book, and noticed the special tag that made her let out an 'Ooooh'.

She set the box set for G.O.A.T. Days, handing over her last 20 cap note and smiling up at the old Chinese man who ran the shop. "You are very lucky Sabrina" she felt a bit embarrassed that she was in so often that Mr. Xi knew her name "They only sent me five of these." He brought back the holotape for her "Last one of the included pip games with the box set." He put it on top of her books, moving slowly to grab one. "Did you forget your arthritis medication again?" Sabrina asked, and it was Mr. Xi's turn to be embarrassed "I was going to go to the pharmacy on the Castro after work." "Here, call ahead and I will pick it up for you." "You don't ha-" "Come on, you are always telling me about family piety and respecting my elders, let me help you out." The man begrudgingly picked up the phone.

The line at the pharmacist hadn't been too bad, but a poor overworked young Vault 27 boy had been the one to help her, and she had to explain twice that medicine didn't cost money in Neo Fransisco, even painkillers. He didn't seem to quite believe her until his boss some 16er, judging by the accent, yelled at him to hand it over and get back to work. She walked it back to the shop quickly, with the paper bag in her hand. She only slowed to get out of the way of the Vault Dwellers who walked the streets of Neo Fransisco. It wasn't weird to her, she had been born to it, the Vault dwellers built the cities, provided medicine, and technology, even accepted the burden of leadership, she didn't understand why some critics in Folsom Park spoke so ill of them. She shook her head as she returned to Mr. Xi's bookstore, she would write her paper on why the protesters were wrong on Saturday, Fridays were for relaxing. She bowed to another man in a Kimono as Mr. Xi pressed his wax seal into a contract, and the box of books was handed over. "I will inform the bank. They can go on sale next Friday." The Japanese man said as he put the contract into an inside pocket. He smiled and offered a bow back as Sabrina got the door for him.

Sabrina smiled as she brought the old man his baggie of pills. "Thank you for your kindness." He said, opening the box on his desk to look inside. She picked up the box and set it next to his chair "Here, relax while you look." He chuckled as he sat down in the chair "You are worse than my wife." He joked, indicating her bag behind the counter "Here take your books, before your dear mother starts calling me. She came in here the same when she was your age, I try to remind her." He smiled at her before reaching down into the box and taking out one of the new books "Here, for your troubles..." he had a devilish grin on his face as he slid her a copy of the latest issue of Girls und Power Armor. Sabrina looked to where the Japanese man had gone "Ah, he said sell did he not? Now, run on home, make sure to come in when you get your allowance again. I swear you are as much to thank as the Shi for the lights staying on." She smiled, grabbing her headphones from her bag and tossing her pip game into her pip boy. She could barely contain her excitement as the title screen came up for G.O.A.T. Days and the vaguely Japanese 8 bit music played.

Vault 14
"And as you can see by this design, we replaced the laser weapon with an incinerator and narrowed the body slightly to fit down narrow streets. It also has more armoured flamer fuel tanks." The engineer from Vault 53 said as he presented prototypes to the Overseer Council, taking that one down to show off another one "And her is our infantry support model, it has two additional sets of screws to support the weight of the 38 centimeter main gun." The overseers looked bored before one realized "Wait... Centi meter?" The engineer just nodded slightly "Indeed, it will have a rocket assisted shell, and the front shall have a thin coating of saturnite to make it all but impervious from the front. The sides should be able to take a rocket, it is only the rear that is truly vulnerable." That same Overseer, from 42 looked slightly pale, the engineer adding "This would be needed in War Plan Red, as well as War Plan Blue." The Overseers looked to one and other, but eventually it was decided to prototype all three of the tank designs, to work out the kinks, and expose the weakness of their screw tank plans.

"Now we are most joyous for your work on the Bay Bridge, but we ask if you can't accelerate construction further?" Overseer of 14 asked the Uplander before him, the man in a suit but clearly with the body of a builder "Aye, we can do that boss, but we need more miracle metal, Hexaconcrete, and some of those construction bots you are using in the Vaults." "You will have it all, this project shall stand as our statement to the wasteland for our power yet to come! Even our beautiful cities will be dull in comparison to our beautiful bridge. Can it be done in time for Unification Day?" The man gnawed at his lip, he was foreman of the project and knew that his family needed him to have this job. On the other hand he knew he would be beaten at best for lying in these sacred halls. "We will do our best overseers, assuming our overtime is fully covered?" "Of course, at 1.25 just as promised." With that the Foreman gave a nod. It was feasible he could get it done within the next few months, but he faced the same dire labour shortage the rest of the UPVT did. He prayed to Atom that the work robots were as good as people claimed.

Lastly, and the smallest item on the agenda was the move to annex Vault City. For too long the First Citizen had played the UPVT like a flute for preferential trade deals. No longer would they promise ' Just a few more years', no now was finally time for action. They would dispatch 20 soldiers and some vehicles north to annex the city, a Katusha truck included to fire off a full rack if they would not agree to join the UPVT peacefully.

Big Mountain Research Facility
"YOUR TEA MADAM!" A sentry bot nearly made Engineer Adams leap out of her skin as she worked on the terminal in front of the holographic projector. "Th-thank you." She managed as she took the tea from the tray she had fixed above the rocket launcher. She hit the execute button as she sipped at the mug of tea. She needed one of those Vault 27 interns, they may not be the brightest helpers, but they always were more personable than the sentry bots she was given. She rubbed her eyes as she watched the hologram confirm what she already knew. It was a feasible design for a railway gun, but would it ever be approved in the face of such overwhelming demand for both steel and saturnite for the Bay Bridge. She was rubbing her temples as a voice echoed "Are we sneaking now?" A vault 42 soldier standing there in Stealth Armour Mk. 2, his eye twitching gently. She pointed to the door "Just past the Hexaconxrete." She had to deal with these types on the weekly. "Was it something I said?" The armour asked again, a whisper of "Yes." From the sniper. Engineer Adams signed as she nodded to him, walking him outside and scanned the horizon. She indicated the towers of Hexaconcrete right next to the... She felt like slapping herself. Why fabricate their own gun when they could build a chassis got the perfectly useable guns right there?! She ran inside nearly knocking over her tea as she began furiously designing a carriage to put it on.

[Sodrix]

The People's Republic of Idaho

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Radio waves echoed throughout the military base, tightly guarded under Joseph Droske's newly self-appointed leadership. "We now welcome you back from our short break, to take a word for our loving leader. Did you know he once killed a Deathclaw with just a rusty knife? I heard he-bzzzt..dirty fac-bzzzt..", A rainy day around the base, obviously jamming the radio connections as thunder begins to clap throughout the sky. Training would center in the courtyard, the Red Guard constantly working through the weather, droplets falling against their helmets. A loud knock would be heard from the front of the office building, holding the General-Major himself. A loudspeaker would begin to blare throughout the area, "Please prepare for the departure of our beloved leader."

Snipers from nearby hills around the compound would begin to shoot messages into the HQ, "Team one, clear. Team two...clear. Team three, clear.", after a few minutes of running into defensive positions around the Base, the leader would be ushered out of the building, quickly boarding a truck that had been prepared for his departure. Ten men would jump in, throwing a cover over the truck's metal frame as the high brass would board after them, being seated next to the Major. The driver would begin to rev the engine, moving up to the base's main gate as it's pulled open, the truck flying down the road. Joseph lightly coughs as the truck begins it's hour-long ride. "How are we doing, comrades?", the question being directed to the local brass. They'd begin to pipe up, various statements being flown towards his ears. "Unrest in the rur-", another beginning, "The men need p-", another, "Mutiny!". Joseph leans his head back against the metal frame, screaming over them all, "Quiet!". A hushed silence falls over the back of the truck. He'd begin to speak up, "I want the Pocatello military base informed of my departure, patrols doubled. As for the other problems..", he'd clasp his hands together, "I want tests of loyalty from every soldier currently enlisted, more men and women in the fields to feed the armies, and the Boise city factories to be filled with workers to repair them. Production quotas can begin after the factories are in working condition.". The officers all begin to nod, writing light notes.

-Factories being fixed in Boise.
-Farming Quotas Increased.

[Fascist Russian Empire]

The State of Deseret

It was a fairly typical day in New Jerusalem; farmers ran their farms, ranchers herded their livestock, traders operated their stores and caravans, and there was little in the way of disturbances. Utah was a quite safe, stable little wasteland; the diverse local tribes and townspeople got along just fine, unified by their mutual allegiance towards the Church, and the local raider population had been decimated through the combined efforts of the Mormon communities. It wasn't a particularly populous region; even before the war, Utah had never been much of a metropolis. Still, it was a nice place, despite the overall lack of inhabitants, and managed to be rather prosperous. Not only were there a fair few productive farms (especially near New Jerusalem, where the three G.E.C.Ks from the vault-dwellers who originally rebuilt the city were able to create a highly fertile area for agriculture) Caravans from far and wide frequently passed through the Mormons' territory, seeing as Utah was both safe and fertile, bringing wealth and economic activity to the region; it was a good place for business.

There were people in the wasteland with all manners of impressive ace in the holes; for the Mormons of Deseret, it was money. They had great wealth to their name, built off the backs of agriculture and trade, and there was little in the world that couldn't be bought for the right price. Of course, the Mormons never really ran into many particularly prominent threats; they had a stellar reputation as honest traders, and were known for offering almost unconditional charity to their neighbors. There weren't many people with strong animosities against them; they were among the few people who would deal squarely with their partners and freely offer aid to those in need, which certainly didn't foster much in the way of hostility towards them. Their country of Deseret had been built through diplomacy and negotiation; the tribes and towns of Utah had come together and agreed to create a unified state for the sake of mutual benefit, whereas so many empires in the wasteland had been forged through coercion and conquest. They were a peaceful people, and the tribes which surrounded their territory were typically content to leave them in peace.

Like all collectives of people, however, the Mormons of Deseret had ambitions, things they sought to achieve. Chief among those ambitions was the expansion of the Church; not through war and violence, as so many organizations chose to expand, but through peaceful evangelism. The Mormons had been sending missionaries throughout the wastes for decades, making very frequent attempts to convert neighboring tribes. Even if Deseret's borders had remained more or less constant since the State's conception in 2235, the LDS Church had been able to expand on some level outside of Utah, gathering converts from neighboring tribes, and had established small streams of revenue from tithes and donations gathered from members outside of Deseret. Religion was, by far, the biggest motivator of the Mormons; they worked hard, day and night, to spread their religion far and wide.

It was early into the reign of Church President Jeremiah Rigdon, autocrat of Deseret and spiritual leader of the Mormon community. He was an evangelist to the core, having spent his entire adult life as a missionary for the Church, and was extremely devoted to expanding the faith. He was also a very dedicated mystic, prone to experiencing supposed visions from God, dictating Church policies and direction. Church President Rigdon had very ambitious plans for growing the LDS Church, and he was hard at work setting those plans into motion. On this day, he was in the Salt-Lake Temple, speaking with a young and upcoming Mormon missionary, arranging grandiose new evangelical missions.

"Last night, I saw a vision from the Lord; before me was a great army, invading the Great Salt Lake. It is a sign, a sign that war is coming to our paradise on earth, and we must prepare for it as best we can." the Church President said to the young man.

"Why are you speaking to me about this? Surely, you should be talking to one of the officers of the Legion about matters of war?" the brown-haired, blue-eyed man asked.

"I speak to you because it is more urgent than ever that the Church grow and expand; we need to gather new members, new resources. We must find ourselves the means to stand on our own against the world. There are tens of thousands of us, and millions of heathens around us; if we don't start growing at an unprecedented rate, we'll end up as a target for some barbarian warlord or another. I won't just sit idly and wait for the Church of God to fizzle away, delaying action until everything comes to a slow or sudden end. Swift and decisive action needs to be taken as soon as possible." the Church President answered.

"I understand. What do you ask of me?" the man replied.

"I want you to gather as many other missionaries as you can and head southwest, into the Mojave desert. Bring the word of God to the tribes of Vegas; do whatever you must to convince people to join the Church. It is a vast city, full of people we can bring into the fold. Go there, and bring these people to our Church by any means necessary; we need new converts, we need new people ready to take up arms in the name of God when the time for war comes." the Church President commanded.

"It will be done, my Prophet." the man said.

"Don't fail me, Graham. We need your mission to succeed; failure is not an acceptable option. Bring the faith to Vegas, and let nothing stop you. Bring along some soldiers from the Legion to protect against aggressive locals, and resources to give away to build goodwill towards the Church. God is counting on you right now; don't let him down." the Church President said.

"Say no more; I'll gather what I need and depart as soon as possible. The Lord's work will be done, no matter the cost." the man, Joshua Graham, replied, before setting off to begin preparations for his mission to the Mojave wasteland.

[Turkducken]

The Carter Center, ATL

"WELCOME..TO THE WORLD OF NUKA-COLA...PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY. REMEMBER TO VISIT THE GIF-" a loud thunk resonated off of the protective dome of the Protectron. "Finally." a guard let out a sigh of relief, "Piece of shit always breaks its voice programming. Fuckin' Nuka-Cola making that shitty program the default instead of the Protectron OS." an engineer removed the dome from the protectron, "Well you dented the dome but didn't cause any major structural damage, 2/10 for effort." the guard let out a sigh of irritation at the engineer's comment. Then upon noticing an approaching figure he quickly donned his helmet and quickly saluted the passing figure, "Good morning Master Surgeon General!" the Master Surgeon gave a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and entered his office. "Jeeze what's up his ass..." mumbled the engineer.

The Master Surgeon sighed into his terminal, another scout report incomplete. He massaged his temples, how was he supposed to manage anything with such incompetence? From his own guards no less! "Surely there are more competent people I can trust to run these important matters?" ruminating on this thought for a minute, he began writing a memo to the Captain Merritt, "My Office. Now.". Exiting his office he handed the note to the guard slacking off outside and gave him instructions to bring it to the Captain. Emory Campus was an at least an hour away by horse, and another few minutes to enter the CDC where the Captain's office is. This gave the Master Surgeon time to take a nap, if not unwind for a little bit...

Loud booms rocked the building and awoke the startled Master Surgeon from his slumber. Loud gunshots echoed from outside, running to the door the Master Surgeon broke out in a cold sweat, "What's happening?!?" he shouted only to be drowned out by the fighting outside. Flinging the door open he was greeted by a Protectron guard, "ALERT, ALERT, YOU ARE VIOLATING NUKA-COLA PROPERTY. THE AUTHORITIES HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. THE USE OF LETHAL FORCE IS SANCTIONED BY THE GEORGIA STATE SUPREME COURT." lasers began to fire from the left and right hands of the robot. Shooting off into the distance where the gunfire was coming from. Shouting could be heard from the roof top of the Carter Center, "Presumably those are the guards organizing a resistance!" the Master Surgeon thought to himself. The shouting from the rooftop yielded returning fire, a hail of conventional bullets with lasers zipping hot through the air, raining down on the hostile force below. This was met by the roar of an engine and a cascade of heavy weapons fire. The roof fell silent as the engine grew louder and tore through the shrubbery between the building and the Center itself. Stars and Bars filled the Master Surgeons vision as the engine of the 4x4 grew louder and its gun re-positioned itself to bear on the man in front of it. "This is how I die." the Master Surgeon thought to himself. The Protectron valiantly fired a few shots at the 4x4 only to be cut down by the passengers inside. The Master Surgeon looked to the East, to the Campus, and wished he had more time. Suddenly a large whirring sound filled the air, deafening the sound of combat, and with piano like grace cut through the vehicles behind the truck, before reaching the truck itself ripping the passengers inside to pieces. As the gunfire died down and the survivors routed and pulled into a full retreat. A man approached the Master Surgeon and saluted him. "You wanted to see me sir?" it was Captain Merritt, who had arrived just in time to save the Master Surgeon, however this the thrill of not dying had not clouded the Master Surgeon's response. "How were raiders able to get this far West?! The only roads those trucks could operate on are the roads we cleared!" controlling himself from losing his temper more than he already was, he opened the door to his office and gestured for the Captain to enter. "We have a LOT to talk about."

Training for the Guards of the CDC has begun.
"Militant preparedness" has been increased
4 "Technicals" have been recovered by the CDC
Open conflict between the CDC and the Raider group known as "The Stone Mountain Boys" has erupted.

[Tysklandia]

The Pact
Potomac, Maryland


The Potomac purifier had been running for nearly a decade now and pure, clean water flowed from one of the springs of the Potomac, to the north-east, towards washington DC, where a basin ensured the majority of the water was stored and bottled for distribution to the rest of the pact, to eleviate the use of more industrial purifiers, especialyl in pittsburgh and north-carolina. But the usage of the 2 vast purification facilities, powered by the pre-war GECK technology caused a massive change in the nature around the water basins of the potomac. After a decade, the seeds and clean water provided by both Gecks ensured that true nature was slowly creeping back in the area's next to the river, in west-virginia, maryland and virginia. In comparison to the size of the pact, it was a small thing, but to the people of virginia, many of who had not ever seen true, healthy grass before, it was a true shock. And more then that, a symbol of the progress the Pact embodied.

Settlements and the pact economic council had moved to create rudementary dams around other springs and rivers that fed into the Potomac, diverting the slightly radioactive water to flood into small lakes, especially in area's the Pact had not yet settled. Other settlements attempted to invest into vast industrial purification systems, especially in the smaller rivers, attempting to emulate the results of the GECK's in a simpler fashion. But such where dreams, decades in the making.

But here, close to DC, just across the state bounderies of maryland and DC, the soil was scraped away, replaced and for the first time in centuries, looked natural again. The seeds of the GECK spread grass, fledging small trees, bushes and plants for miles next to the river. The pact even had to deploy minor garrisons to ensure a mass of visiting citizens and tourists did not trample the returning greenlife.

For the people, it symbolised hope, progress, the strength of their nation. But to Danny welsh, it meant something else. It meant the opportunity of a lifetime...

"I am sorry sir, the transmission is a fickle thing. It will be fixed by morning, I assure you."

Danny welsh, now aging and nearing his fifties, looking like the wealthy land owner from the old holotypes. A simple suit, thick boots and a pristine coat ensured protection against the elements as he stared at the large plot of land he had purchased from the state. He had over a hundred of his workers working the fields around him, attempting to plant the pre-war seeds in order to test the soil and the proper potential for the years to come. Other smaller farmers had claimed land all around the Potomac, growing food in an unprecedented rate, primarily because of the ready supply of clean water closeby. But Danny Welsh allways had a much larger vision. Hence he turned his eyes to the makeshift tractor that a handful of mechanics from Richmond where attempting to get up an running. With Richmond having its hands full producing trucks for both civilians and the military, it had taken him a fortune to hire them to build himself a vehicle like this.

"I paid good money for this, Get it fixed so we can till this field by morning, and I ensure everyone of you goes home with a nice bottle of whiskey."

The mechanics peaked, yelled out their agreement and doubled their efforts. Good pre-war whiskey was dreadfully rare and a treat reserved for the most richest of society. Danny Welsh would watch his new tractor till his plot of land by noon. By the end of the year, he would have three, saving him weeks in hard labor and allowing him to rent them out to many farmers up and down the Potomac basin.


The pact
Washington DC
Georgetown Armory

The training fields of Georgetown where in organised chaos as the 9th Regiment commenced its scheduled presentation to General Waudman, midway through their training. The 4 battalions of the Regiment marching onto the training field. Standing in front of a raised platform, the General and most of the Pact's high command where standing to have a proper view of their new troops who would finish training in a few months time.



The two thousand troops walked onto the field in an unflinching manner, in near perfect synchronisation, causing a rythmic, loud thunder of boots in tandem march. Battalions and companies moved in full dress uniform, their rifles resting ridgidly unto their right shoulders, as their feet and bodies moved as one. A result of months of intense and harsh training. After this presentation, they moved move to Arlington, continue weeks and weeks of intense live fire training and systematic training sessions in the VSS simulators. In the end of their months long training, they would be rugged, accurate, loyal, disciplined and highly effective.
The troops marched in sync, untill they came to a halt in 4 battalion sized blocks. Officers yelled orders and all troops turned in synch, facing the general and his officers, once again to the sound of the synchronised thump of two thousand boots stamping on the ground.

Then, in unision, the Regiment was officially sworn in. Even though months would go by before its official completion of its training, going through the brutal fysical and mental conditioning that occured in Georgetown, was enough to qualify the men to be officially declared soldiers of the Pact. Their long, elebaroate oath, they swear alleagence to the Pact, to its leader and to its ideals. Its people, culture and future. In the months and months of their trainings deeply ingrained feelings of nationalism and indoctrination where embedded. To Waudman and his ideological crusaders of the high command, these men where the future. These men would build the next great nation on this earth.


The pact
Washington DC
Adams Air Force Base
Pentagon weapon testing range



"Alpha-Alpha-three, You are clear for live fire. Repeat. Alpha-Alpha-three, clear for live-fire."

The power armor, or better yet, the soldier inside, pushed his legs into action, the muscle motion and brain signal moving through his neural interface into the suits electronics and towards its servo-machinery. Smoke and dust surrounded him as the suit, weighing over a ton, moved as if it where as nimble as any man. Gunfire was rampant as other members of the 1st Heavy-Infantry Company conducted live-fire training around him.

Miniguns blazed and soldiers carrying modified .50 'cals unleashed a hellish blaze downrange, deafening all those nearby. But alpha-Alpha-Three has a different weapon. He was chosen to test a field-prototype of the VIR-99, a heavily modified gauss rifle, bulky, with a fusion core fitting and a large 2mm EC magazine was juryrigged to fit on the top. The gun screamed unreliability, but the pentagon weapon specialists ensured it was risk free... Mostly.

As AA-3 walked into his position on the fireying range, he brought his oversized rifle to bear, shouldering the stock specifically made to fit his T-45 power armor. His servo's zoomed into action to life the heavy weapon and at the pull of the trigger, A duff sound zooming sound, followed by a explosive sound was immediatly followed by a series of plinging sounds as the 2mm ECM round penetrated multiple plates of steel that had been arrayed one after another as a penetration test. More shots followed, but after 15 orso, steam started to buildup and the coils became visibly red with heat, sparking the soldier to call it in.

"Test-HQ, I have visible heat-build up on the prototype. Please advise."

The radio crackled and wheezed and confused voices far away, mangled where quickly followed by a comprehensive response.

"Alpha Alpha - Three, copy that. The cooling must have been insignifcant. Drop the weapon of at the workshop ASAP, over."

The test was positive, in a sense. The armor piercing qualities where impressive, but the larger size and semi-automatic nature of the heavier prototype the pentagon had been working on for years now, still had overheating issues.

The gun would be shipped back to the pentagon, fitted with a proper shell, with cooling tubes and temperature stabilizers to ensure proper semi-automatic fire. USA scientists where roped in and agreed to finalize the weapon, ensuring proper tweaks at first to stabilize the temperature issues and preparing several other prototypes for live-testing. Eventually the USA starting overseeing the entire projects, with increasing interest by the day. Soon enough plans for further testing, development and production where made for columbia. Rumors about that even the vaunted pre-war nation was considering adopting the new type of weapon.


The Pact
South Carolina border
2nd Regiment Virginia

The sound of buzzing engines, boots running through dirt and mud, the plattering of rain and above all, the frantic yelling of officers boomed across the staging area. the brigade has burst into life as soon as the assembly alarm had suddenly roared to life at 5.30 AM, causing a near panic in the camp as hundreds of men rushed to make ready for the march. In a few dozen minutes, the trucks where loaded, the horses readied and the men properly arrayed in a colum. A few mounted officers rode up and down the colum and the remains of the campsite, now nothing more then disturbed dirt and mud, as a final inspection.

Scouts and diplomats had already crossed the border, days and weeks ago, mimicing the annexation of south carolina, years before. The military was being deployed prematurily, to march towards several strategic locations and to deploy staging areas in the following locations : Greenville, Columbia and Cherryvale. Their they would deploy FoB's, entrench and ensure secure routes for trucks and landing sites for vertibirds. These staging area's would then support the various scouts and diplomats who would spend the following months scouting the area's for settlements and tribes to ensure the diplomatic corps could perform proper first contact and establish the common ground for possible annexation and cooperation.

With the final inspection completed, the convoy waited a few minutes before suddenly a vertibird rushed overhead, its propellors deafening all other sounds in the vicinity. It rushed across the border, in direct contact with the Pre-war humvee that drove in front. With their air surveillance deployed, the convoy moved for Greenville, to scout the pre-war aircraft production facilities their. Througout this morning, 2 other such convoys, consisting of the 5th and 11th Battalion would start a similair mission, to Columbia and Cherryvale.

The pact
NYC Border
1st Regiment Washington, 5th Regiment Pennsylvania, 6th Regiment Maryland, 7th Regiment Deleware

After the border confict with the New York Republic and the susquehanna federation in pennsylvania, the new regiments raised since the stabilisation of the region where entrenched in the border areas.
Watchposts, patrols, scouting missions supplemented FOB's, a handful of hidden Radio stations, troop staging area's, Firebases and amunition stockpiles. The 1st Regiment continued its patrols, now delegated to Maryland, Deleware and DC with patrols, a handful of FOB's, warning stations and artillery emplacements to ensure proper warning can be given in case of suprise attack.

The 5th and 6th regiment patrol and garrison the stretches acros the pennsylvanian border, with the 7th acting as a reserve, policing the center regions and availible to deploy when neccesary.

In the decade since the border conflict with NYC, hatred and annoyance with the fickle republicans has grown. Propaganda, growing nationalism and the shared, fortified border ensured a good feeding ground for animosity between the two factions. Their is no love lost.

The Pact
Pennsylvania
Newcastle

For the past decade, since the treaty with NYC, the vast trainyards of newcastle, which was a prime repair and manufacturing site of trains, carriages and all kinds.
In the years past, only a handful of trains had left it yards. Years of experimentation and fitting a fusion core generator engine would ensure the first train to leave the yard three years after the site had been claimed by the Pact. Now hundreds worked their, building components, tracks, carriages, welding and repairing everything that was neccesary to keep a train running. But every year, things improved and the trains took less times to prepare. But production would slow, as pre-war trains in good enough condition to repair and refit where running in short supply. Soon enough, the pact would be forced to build their own locomotives and that would take years to manage...

But for now, things where good. And the latest locomotive was about to leave the factory, tested and fitted witth cargo carriages as ordered by the pittsburgh Steel Co. Nearly half of the trains that had rolled out on the tracks of the Newcastle factory has left straight for pittsburgh, hailing steel to west-virginia, virginia and north carolina. The others hailed food, water and people from north to south and where owned by the state and a handful of other, powerful and rich companies and enterprises.

Every year, the railroads reached farther, connected more towns and factories, sparking emigration, colonisation, growth and opportunity.

The Pact
Oost Amerikaanse Handels Kompanie
Norfolk military harbor

With the vast profits earned by trading with the boston empire this past decade, up untill its civil collapse, the OAHK or the East American Trade Co, cemented its position in the Pact. It invested in the railroads, the highways, richmond and several other profitable enterprises. After years of such investments, the rewards would come flooding in, ensuring that the OAHK is the richest civilian enterprise in the pact by a large margin.
But the heirs of the OAHK had vast vision and refused to sit and feast with their wealth. More investments followed, north carolina, pennsylvania. Having an investment of the OAHK was basicalyl a requirement to be seen as a succesful enterprise these days.

But their latest plans where grand indeed. Together with certain military contractors in richmond and Elizabethville, vast investments in Norfolk where made to reclaim, repair and refurbish certain drydocks, cranes and facilities requires to build a proper seafearing vessel. For the past decade, norfolk had grown at a speed nobody would have expected, the ruined remains of military ships in the harbor being a prime resource for scavange and metals. But further, specific investment into repairing the docks was neccesary, in order to capitalize on the full potential of Norfolk.


The Pact
The Pathfinder Cops

With enemies at the gates and a vast empty wasteland around the pacts borders, Knowledge of intent and forewarning of danger was key for survival. The red berrets, currently often took up the role of scouts for the military, but their numbers where few and their skills wasted in performing scouting missions far and deep into the wasteland, merely to encounter republics of dust. Erika Waudman had such a function. Deep-cover scouting, intelligence, mapping and specialised hunt and destroy missions beyond the borders of the pact. She was the only one with such a titel a few years back, but since her brother to power, he made her the lead of the Pathfinder corps. A group of nearly 400 men and women, selected from the best, most loyal and most promissing snipers, scouts and communication officers in the Army.

They would be re-trained for months and then given an assignment. These could list from deep scouting in the Western wasteland beyond west-virginia, infiltration of pennsylvanian NYC to aquire intelligence on possible enemy troop movements or running far-reconaissance for the military, relieving the Red Berrets to perform other, more dangerous and skillful tasks.

The Pact
Virginia
Richmond Automotive factories

Richmond was, outside of Newcastle, the beating heart of the Pacts vast growth over the past years. Its fusion engines and vehicles fed the industrialisation and transportation of goods and people across the pact, wherever the trains of Newcastle could not. Trucks and transport vehicles where their main forcus, even after ten years. Jeeps, cars and motorcycles where sometimes made, at the behest of a wealthy client or the military. But the majority of Richmond focussed on the construction of trucks, but recently, also tractors and industrial dozers. But the latter two where rather new, projects to feed the gold rush of farming and fresh water around the Potomac and vehicles to help clear out the ruins of DC, where the state was starting to collapse the ancient, ruined starscrapers that had been a symbol of the ancient pre-war republic for centuries.

Production was mostly limited by the difficulty of producing fusion engines, the lack of resources and automation made it impossible to keep up with the mechanical side of things. even with hundreds of the best engineers money could buy, the engines themselves remained the proper bottleneck of the entire operation.

Most of the trucks that left the richmond automative Yards, often put on a train and send north, into virginia and pennsylvania. But some, a proper portion even, where ordered by the military. Trucks to ship supplies, amunition and to pull the VIR-88 and other heavy weapons that the Carolina Military founderies produced for the pact's military. where in high demand. For the past 6 months even, the military had halted all civilian contracts, demanding full influx of every produced jeep and truck that came out of the city. Little reason had been given and rumors where aplenty, but the military had explained that it could take a few more months before the military order would be negated and civilian production could continue.

So one could expect, when the military returned to Richmond with a new demand, its engineers were not too eager to comply... But they did not have much choice. When the military requested they modify a few trucks, fitted without a canopy, but a frame, fitted with 4 browning .50 cal machine guns, fitted to a single triggering mechanism. A thick metal cover, provided some rudementary protection, but allowed proper sight with a rather high possible elevation. The frame could be turned, fitted with a small servomotor, fueled by the engine of the truck at the behest of the operator or the loaders. The richmond engineers knew better then to ask what it was for. The losses sustained at raven rock where at that time a national tragedy, added to the short, but fiercy fighting in pennsylvania.

The army refused to say much about raven rock, but it was known they had similair aircraft that the CIA had recovered, those vertibirds. And now the new yorkers had their helicopters which they flaunted about at the border. No wonder the army was requesting a type of vehicle that could project rapid firepower into the sky...

Tl;Dr
Build tractors. Gecks are causing agriculture around the potomac
Troops are trained to a high standard, using Nationalism, the Virtual Strategical Solutions facility, pre-war weapons and the like.
Heavy semi-automatic gauss rifle is being develop together with the USA enclave faction to provide power armoured troops with a heavy, semi-automatic anti power armor weapon.
Deployment into South-carolina. Military seizes important strategical locations regarding aircraft research and production. Diplomats and scouts scour the countryside to identify tribals, settlements in order to commence diplomatic relations and pave the way for possible annexation at a later date.
Detailed which forces are station north. Animosity againt the NYC is high after events in the past and failed diplomatic attempts to ensure trade and civil relations. Troop movements are aplenty in recent weeks and months.
Trains
Repairing Norfolk shipyards
I am sending scouts througout the wasteland
Building a handful of AA trucks

[Elerian]

Windy City, New Year

A battle was raging in the streets of Chicago and Solomon Comstock managed to find himself against four foes who hammered at his defenses. They rained blow after blow, but the skilled Prince dodged and parried expertly. It practically made swordsmanship look easy just watching him. One of his assailants took a swing at his side to which the Prince blocked easily with his sword, and pushed the opponent to the ground.

As skilled as Solomon was, there were simply too many. He soon grew tired and let a few blows hit him before falling to his knees, dropping his sword in the process. Solomon wore only simple clothes and no armor so the blows stung. “I yield!” Solomon cried out to his opponents who immediately stopped in their tracks with devious smiles. “Have mercy! “The Prince yelled.

His opponents, children no more than ten, were armed with wooden swords and shouted in joy for having beaten the well-known Solomon. Suddenly the sizable crowd of smallfolk who had witnessing the spectacle laughed and cheered. Solomon stood and grabbed one of the scrawny boy’s arm’s, raising it into the air to declare him a champion, once again the crowd let out a great cheer. Solomon patted the backs of the others before they scurried away.

This was one of the reasons the people loved Solomon. The Prince was never too vain or noble to mingle with the smallfolk. Even if many of his ventures to the streets were also ploys to gain the favor of the mob. His mingling with the common folk had long since made the circuit through the gossiping circles of the nobility. Solomon didn’t give a care. The favor of his subjects was important, especially with the lordship passing from his unloved father to him. Cornelius had done little to inspire love from his subjects, instead most feared and hated him. He’d grown cold after the passing of Solomon’s mother Diana, which had quickly translated into iron hard justice for his subjects.

Simon, Ahab’s bastard son, and a small retinue of guards stood to the side. The purple banners of House Comstock flew high. He walked over to them and was greeted by a smile from his cousin. “A valiant defeat cousin. There is no shame in it.” he said jokingly.

“You can’t win them all.” Solomon agreed with a smile.

He grabbed a nearby crate and sat down to greet anyone from the crowd that wanted to speak with him. They crowded around at a respectful distance as one by one they each stepped forward to get a word with a member of their lord’s family. Solomon's guard stood warily to each side of Solomon should anyone be brave enough to make an attempt on Solomon’s life. While he loved his people, Solomon remained cautious. The young Prince made a point to make these trips out into the city to speak to the commoners and Simon often attended as well. One by one he received greetings from them. A young lass presented him with a flower, to which he bowed as deeply as he was able. The girl grew red in the face and scurried off with embarrassment. While the crowd fixated itself on Solomon, Simon was given some glances and occasionally a commoner or two would converse briefly with him.

They came in ones or pairs, bowed, and spoke their mind. Sometimes they came just to be given the honor to exchange words with a future King, other times to ask for some kind of boon or have a grievance addressed.

Afterwards Solomon’s entourage made its way back to the Palace hailed with cheers to his health all along the way. “The Carbine” was an imposing pre-war skyscraper that had been converted into the Comstock personal residence. They made their way to the Council room where the Small Council met for deliberations. The room was sparsely furnished save for a long table with a number of high backed chairs. Solomon dismissed everyone but his cousin. He leaned up against the table and faced Simon.

“They’ll be arriving here soon, the Archbishop and his thugs. They took it upon themselves to grace us with a visit while my father was absent. He even forewarned me this might happen. He might even drag along the rest of the Bishops” Solomon said, changing the mood drastically.

“Careful cousin, this is the Lord’s chosen you’re talking about” Simon replied with a smirk, in a vain attempt at shifting the mood again.

“Dammit Simon, this is serious!” shouted back.

“Sorry Solomon, it’s not as if you don’t have any allies. Bishop William and Bishop Paul are both your father’s allies. Even the Archbishop’s own chamberlain is in your father’s pocket” Simon replied.

“That’s exactly what I mean Simon. They’re my father’s allies, not mine. I need men that I can trust” Solomon retorted.

“True enough. But you are not without your own allies. You have Lord Crain, Gideon, and you have my father and me” Simon said back.

Solomon looked up from the table at the mention of his brother’s name. “Speaking of Gideon, where is my drunkard of a brother?” Solomon asked.

Simon avoided Solomon’s look and replied, “He hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning.”

“Damn him!” Solomon replied, slamming his fist on the table. He got up and walked to a window. “I’m always surrounded by cunning people, few of which I can trust. Gideon is clever, much too clever for his own good, but he wastes his cleverness in the bottom of the bottle rather than make something of himself.”

“His mother was taken from him when birthing Elon. His favorite brother was taken by God shortly after. And finally, he came to the realization that by only a few minutes you beat him to be heir apparent” Simon said bluntly.

Solomon sighed. “I didn’t want to be named heir, I didn’t want Levi dead. But the burden fell on me, and I alone will lead this Kingdom.”

“I know cousin, I know. Prepare for their arrival. I’ll go and see to Gideon.” Simon said as he left.

Solomon turned back to the window and stared out at the churning waters of Lake Michigan, lost in thought.

Chicago Waterfront, New Year

Gideon was drunk as he often was by the time night fell, but seldom did he get so drunk he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten from the Palace to a rundown tavern situated next to the Lake, which is just where he found himself on the night of the New Year. He peered out through one of the windows to see that the moon was still high in the sky, and looking around the tavern he saw that festivities were still in full swing. From the smell of those around him, he knew that these men were sailors. There was a lull in the din, and not wanting to let the night go to waste, Gideon soon found his rich baritone voice picking up a tune.

“Now we are ready to sail for the Gap,
Way hey, roll and go!
Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn,
To me rollicking randy dandy-O!”

Several more voices picked up the song, some more in tune than others, until the whole tavern was singing along.

“Heave a pawl, O heave away!
Way hey, roll and go!
The anchors on board and their cables all stored,
To me rollicking randy dandy-O!

Soon we'll be warping her out through the locks,
Way hey, roll and go!
Where the pretty young girls all come down in their frocks,
To me rollicking randy dandy-O!

Come breast the bars, bullies, heave her away,
Way hey, roll and go!
Soon we'll be rollin' her way down the Bay,
To me rollicking randy dandy-O!”

The sailors hollered cheerfully as the song concluded, and Gideon found his throat was parched.

A Place of Little Consequence

He drove his sabre home, through the armor clad belly of his opponent. Crimson red blood spewed forth as he twisted the blade and tore it from his dying enemy, ready to face his next foe. Yet, everything had begun to get quiet. The battle was over, the clash of metal, crack of gunfire, and the screams of the wounded had faded away until little more than the pitter patter of rain could be heard. There were no cheers of victory. Those who had survived were tired, worn thin by the horrors they’d just witnessed. There were no sounds to accompany the rain save for the whimpers of the dying, the ragged breath of the survivors, and the gross sounds of boots in the half frozen mud.

The man just now noticed the wound in his side, a long arrow protruding from the shoddy leather cuirass he’d bought for this occasion. His lifeblood leaked steadily down his side and into the mud below to coalesce with the blood of friend and foe alike. The pain was dull, like the gray wash world that surrounded the man. His legs slowly gave way, forcing the man to kneel down into the bloody mud. He kept himself aloft by leaning on his old, rusted, antique of a sabre.

His eldest brother had died twenty years prior, when the man had just barely been strong enough to hold a sword. An axe had cleaved his head from his body trying to defend their town from bandits. His second brother had died just a year after that, his chest eviscerated by the local lord’s shotgun. His father, two years after that, his throat sliced open when he was unable to flee from a passing tribal warband. The man’s only son was next. An arrow not unlike the one jutting from the man’s side had pierced his son’s heart in a skirmish with the northern tribals.

The sound of the falling rain had begun to fade into silence. His knees sank into the mud, soaking them, but he couldn’t feel the cold washing over him anymore. He didn’t look up to see who had survived. It didn’t matter. There was no victory, only survival. To fight another battle, to claim or lose another patch of barren land. Once, the man had fought bravely, valiantly, in the name of God, and his family. Now he only fought, because he knew nothing else.

The world around him felt soft, distant. He could no longer tell if the rain had stopped or if he was just too wet to tell the difference. He felt his head drop as his body slumped over, but still he stared out at the bloody field strewn with bodies, now fuzzy and flat, as if he was more real than it. A coolness washed over him, he was finally at peace.

Carbine Great Hall, New Year

The Throne Room at the Carbine Palace was vast, built to fit several hundred persons when the King held court. It was lavishly decorated with banners and rugs that covered the hard concrete flooring and structure. Ornate windows covered the left side of the room, showing the vast Lake. At the end of the hall was a curious throne, its shape was wrought of an irregular iron cast, but covered in golden decorations and its cushion was as red as rust. Next to the throne were two small seats, positioned at such an angle to allow conversation with the King.

The room was filled with courtiers, nobles and lords from all backgrounds. They excitedly chatted away and crafted alliances, friendships and rivalries amongst themselves. This was a joyous occasion, the first time the young Prince was holding court. The reigning King Cornelius had departed the capital days earlier on some unknown errand. This left his heir apparent in charge.

Jonas Foley, the Bishop of Chicago and the Secretary to his Majesty, was standing with his own Chamberlain. Foley wore his beautifully made purple church robes while his Chamberlain wore a dark and simple outfit with a stifling white collar around his neck. Each of them held a number of letters and warrants for the Secretary to look at and possibly bring to the Prince’s attention.

The sound of a rod hitting the concrete floor could be heard three times, as the herald announced the arrival of the Prince. “Make way for his Royal Highness, the Crown Prince” the herald shouted as the crowds parted and knelt before the Prince. The Prince was dressed in a fine black outfit with a fine silver trim, a golden chain around his neck encrusted with rubies, and his father’s small and simple golden crown. He made his way through the parted crowds to the throne, where he took a seat and made himself comfortable.

“His Royal Highness, Solomon the first of his name, the Crown Prince of the Great Lakes Commonwealth, does hereby open this Court Session” announced the herald, before stepping back quietly into the area behind the throne where the other countless grooms and servants waited. Most of them were dressed in the traditional simple outfits of the Palace, though the ones serving the King wore more ornate outfits with a golden trim and a badge emblazoned with the royal family’s personal crest.

The Prince stood and observed those gathered before him, few of whom he had ever actually met. “I welcome you here to my court, and I pray to God that you shall serve me and the Commonwealth most graciously. I shall allow you to approach within reason and ask any question, or give any reports that may concern the nature of the realm” he said solemnly, before retaking his seat upon the throne. Solomon waited for his herald to bring some of his courtiers before him, he was feeling talkative today and had informed the herald not to discriminate based upon the station of those before him.

Many in the court had already grouped into the Reformist and Conservative factions, while a large chunk of the lowly Gentry had banded together in the Royalist faction. There were many plots to discuss, policies to push forward onto the Prince and favor to be won. Yet few in these factions had any real power, they looked towards the privy councilors for such patronage. Those who did not belong to the factions usually grouped with family ties, or simply those they were friends with. Some stood alone, whether by foolish choice or simple bad luck, they would find it hard to make their way and gain any sort of power. Yet the Crown Prince was unpredictable, unlike his sour father, and so few knew what to expect from him. Today would be the perfect opportunity to make a judge of his character.

Carbine, New Year

The children had been joking with one another the whole morning, fidgeting as they were dressed properly, fidgeting as their hair was combed, and fidgeting when Ahab was instructing them in the ways of the court. But, now with each step they took closer to the Great Hall they became quieter and quieter until Ahab was forced to look and make sure they were still there.

Eve had taken Elon’s hand and was holding it tightly, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the sight of the countless guests who’d arrived for this day. Eve stumbled along clumsily, her younger brother’s recent growth spurt at the age of thirteen had left the older looking even smaller than she really was. Elon wore a rich purple doublet, and Eve a flowing purple dress that contrasted well with their emerald eyes, their mother’s eyes. In thick silver threads, the sword and falling star of House Comstock was embroidered on Elon’s breast. Ahab wore a similar doublet that he did not particularly like and rarely wore, but his nephew looked very fine in his. He had long come to the conclusion that they would always suit such fine things better than he ever would.

They joined a small group of latecomers just slipping through the closing doors, Ahab now ushering them ahead of him instead of leading them. They walked behind the crowd to be nearer the front, several minor lords who recognized Ahab bowed their heads to him out of respect for his position as the brother of the King. Ahab was almost surprised to see Solomon on the King’s throne, but he quickly remembered that Solomon had taken over the King’s duties in his absence. King Cornelius had long made a point of avoiding major festivities in the capital, and this year he’d asked Ahab to introduce his youngest to the world that they would come to inherit.

But, it wasn’t simply for the children’s benefit that they found themselves in the King’s Great Hall while court was held. He wished to know how Solomon would handle the responsibility of running the Kingdom in his father’s absence. While he appeared bored out of his mind, he evidently had a firm grasp on the procedures of the court. Solomon was a far more natural fit for the throne than Cornelius ever was. Ahab had studied Solomon for more than an hour before he gave the children the respite he was sure they craved. Ahab left the Great Hall pleased, everything had gone as he’d hoped.

[Waztaskio]

---

St. Louis

After the Council of Elders voted to send an expedition to the Center for Disease Control Headquarters building based somewhere in Atlanta, Senior Paladin Essen was chosen to lead the expedition of twelve into the pre-war city. Essen had been a Senior Paladin for only three years, but her service record within the Brotherhood made her a reasonable choice for this assignment. In her squad, the Council of Elders authorized Essen a force comprised of one Paladin, two Junior Paladins, one Senior Knight, two Knights, four Journeyman Knights, one Initiate, one Journeyman Scribe, and one Scribe. Essen however, was not allowed to pick the exact members of her expeditionary force, instead having them assigned by the Council of Elders. This was of small annoyance to Essen, as although she disagrees with the Council of Elders individually choosing the members of her assigned team, she respects their decision and will faithfully carry it out to the best of her abilities. She was chosen to be a leader, and sometimes being a leader means you have to know how to follow. Her expedition had officially begun eleven days ago, and they had just reached the city of St. Louis. However, the moment they entered the city, was the moment they were engaged by enemy forces.

"Jarvis! Get me some covering fire on that building!" Essen ordered, while all around them explosions were heard from nearby vehicles being destroyed and missiles from launchers impacting buildings around the squad. Journeyman Paladin Jarvis, was covering behind a dumpster that had been wheeled onto the street to act as cover from a nearby alley. After hearing the orders of the Senior Paladin, Jarvis lifted himself up from the ground and began to take shots at a building ahead of them where a storm of conventional bullets were being fired down upon the street. The shooters were identified as Super Mutants, who seemed to have taken a foothold in the city and don't take kindly to trespassers and were firing assault rifles, hunting rifles, and the occasional missile which would fly by. "We need to move up! Jarvis, prepare to do some pushing! The rest of you, prepare to vehicle hop! Let's do this people, let's go!" Essen proceeded to Jarvis's position, as he pressed his back against the dumpster. The rest of the team, would be readying their weapons for the push, taking cover behind some of the destroyed vehicles. "Go, go, go!"

Jarvis would immediately with all his force within his Power Armor, begin pushing the dumpster along the side walk towards the building with Essen popping her head up and shooting at any Super Mutant within her eyesight, while moving with the dumpster. The rest of the team would be rushing from car to car, following a similar strategy as Essen with the dumpster, but moving a little quicker from car to car due to the risk of explosion. This strategy would get the force close enough to the building, to begin unleashing the Gatling Lasers and heavier weapons upon the Super Mutants, sending them on a one way ticket straight to hell. During this battle, the Brotherhood would have taken no causalities, with the Super Mutants losing nine. Essen would use this time of peace to regroup her men, and have them all take a knee in a circle. "Alright boys, change of route. We know St. Louis must be full of these Super Mutants, and the farther we advance into the downtown areas the more of these holdouts we'll find. So instead of heading the straight route of going into downtown St. Louis, we're going to head north to the two-seventy, and make our river crossing there. From there, we'll head east until we reach the two-fifty five, going south and link up with our route on the sixty-four. It's going to be much safer then what we're currently doing. Clear?" The men would respond in agreement, and the force would begin heading north towards Florissant, in order to link up with their first highway.

Essen however, was weary. The Brotherhood had not been this far east, and still had plenty of miles left to endure. It was estimated in Fort Maxson that the trip would take eighteen days to get from Fort Maxson to Atlanta, but with this detour it may be closer to twenty days or so. No matter the time limit, Essen's one goal for the expedition is to get the mission accomplished with her men alive. If she manages to accomplish that, she could care less for the amount of time they took on detours, so long as the group managed to make it to Atlanta. "Senior Paladin, may I have a word?" Essen turned her head to her side, seeing Journeyman Scribe Thirteen. "Yes, Thirteen?" Essen said. Thirteen was a Caucasian female, in her late thirties, and was chosen to accompany the expedition to Atlanta due to her knowledge on pre-war medical procedures and history. Journeyman Scribes were mainly there to look more into pre-war texts for information, knowledge, histories, etc to record for post-apocalyptic generations. They were valued, but were the most understaffed Scribe positions in the Brotherhood. This was mostly due to the fact that most wastelanders and such appreciate fighting more then studying in general, and the people who do volunteer to be a scribe are comfortable researching weapons and creating new things. Journeyman also do this, but there focus is on reading which many just don't like to do, yet Journeyman Scribes are usually more advanced in their knowledge then their counterparts due to their analyzing of recoverable texts.

"I was just wondering. We don't have a location on where this facility in Atlanta is located, and if Atlanta is anything like St. Louis what is our plan of action going to be?" Thirteen was right. St. Louis may be an avoidable obstacle, but if Atlanta had a Super Mutant infestation or some other major infestation, it could prove to be a real problem for the expedition force. "Well, if we get to Atlanta and it turns out to be an infested ruins. We'll just do what needs to be done. Fight our way through, find the facility, and get the hell out. Nothing more we can do." Although this reply wasn't comforting, Thirteen knew it was probably the best response that could be given due to the lack of present information on Atlanta outside of the Satellite Imagery of the general area. "Thank you Senior Paladin, I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

---

Fort Maxson

It had been about two weeks since High Elder Maxson sent the expedition to Atlanta, and already he was having doubts. "They have no communication with us, no intelligence, and going into one of the most unexplored areas in the Wasteland. God..." Maxson sat in a chair within his room, as he laid his head down on the table in front of him. A knock was soon heard on his door, which made the High Elder groan. "High Elder, the Council has summoned a meeting." Maxson sighed, lifting his head from the table and would look towards the door. "I'm on my way..." Maxson would hear whoever was in front of his door go away, and would shake his head. "What the hell does the council want now?" Maxson would push himself out of his chair and soon proceed to the council chambers for the unscheduled meeting. After arriving at the chambers, he would lazily make his way to his seat and proceed to glance around the room. "High Elder, I'm glad you could make it. We apologize for the sudden meeting, but there is a matter worthy of the council to discuss." Elder Kline would proceed to load an image of a Vertibird on the holo-table, which would peak the interest of Maxson.

"As we all know, this is the XVB02. Otherwise known as the Vertibird. The XVB02 saw service in the Pre-War United States Military, serving in Anchorage and some other undisclosed fronts. Now, ever since the Great War we have been unable to acquire any air assets with our scavenging of old military bases turning up dry, leaving us to rely on ground operations fully. However, I believe we now have a chance to change that around." The image of the Vertibird would leave the holo-table, being replaced with an unknown model of an airship. "High Elder Rothschild a two years ago, ordered the Brotherhood to begin looking into ways in which the Brotherhood could develop air assets in response to the logistical nightmares faced during the establishment of Fort Snow which is now being abandoned. During this two year period, Brotherhood Scribes took inspiration from surviving pre-war aircraft found on old air force bases around Colorado, and managed to make their way inside the Ball Aerospace Headquarters in Broomfield, allowing us access to pre-war airplane designs and an understanding of aeronautics. We also managed to recover documents from AdamWorks, Aeroflex Colorado Springs, among others in order for us to get an idea of our future air fleet."

Maxson, listening to this was by this point fully interested in the conversation. Air power for the Brotherhood had never been something the Brotherhood had access to, unlike some of the other factions in the Wasteland, and it greatly limited the amount of long range operations the Brotherhood could authorize without a substantial ground force. And now Elder Kline was seemingly, beginning to offer hope into a dark corner. He listened intently, as Kline continued. "This, is a draft design for an Brotherhood airship. This airship, would be equipped with all your standard facilities such as a medical bay, mess hall, troop quarters, command decks, and cargo holds. One Airship would be capable of housing up to one hundred soldiers, and each could be connected to the NORAD communication systems here in Fort Maxson. It's defensive counter measures would be comprised of flares, which would be automatically activated upon the detection of an incoming guided missile, and allows the crew to take evasive action. And of course it would be moderately armored to resist small arms fire, and protect vital areas. With our current engine design, it's top speed would be sixty-five miles per hour. It is the post-war flying fortress High Elder, and I believe we need to begin production of these immediately." Kline finished, leaving the image of the new airship on the holo-table.

"Elder Kline, this is fascinating. With this, our issues with logistics would be a thing of the past and allow us to set up mobile chapters when needed. However, I must be a realist. Where would the resources for such an accomplishment come from? How long would construction take once the resources were obtained? And where would this airship fleet be based?" Elder Kline would project onto the holo-table a picture of what appeared to be an air force base. "Schriever Air Force Base. It's advanced communications and mapping capabilities make it invaluable. Scouts have reported the base remains mostly intact, and could easily be used for our purposes. As for the gathering of materials, scavenged parts from the existing airforce bases will provide us some of what we need, but not too much. I do believe though, that we have a great source of these materials nearby. I propose, the complete deconstruction of the city of Colorado Springs, loading all the scrap onto trucks and transporting them to the air force base. That will give us all the scrap we could ever want." The second Kline ended his statement, Elder Bragg jumped into the conversation. "High Elder, this is crazy. The deconstruction of an entire city, just to build airships? Thousands of people have taken refuge within the city. And it's a good source of recruits, housing a small recruiting station to bolster our numbers. If we scrap it, we lose a great source of manpower."

The room begin to engage in a civil conversation about the ethics of deconstructing an entire city, in favor of defending many more settlements. Maxson however, didn't say anything. He was too pre-occupied with the thought of having the skies being filled with Brotherhood airships and maybe even some other Brotherhood airpower elements. It was going to be beautiful, was all he thought while the debate went on. "High Elder, we need a decision." Maxson soon snapped out of his daydreaming, to see the members of the council staring at him. "Oh, quite right. Well, deconstructing an entire city is a bit-..extreme. Focus your deconstruction on the residential and commercial areas of the city, while leaving the downtown area alone. This should still attract enough wastelanders to the area, but get rid of the unused areas for greater purposes. Besides, destroying a skyscraper safely seems like an unneeded hassle that would most likely end up killing people. Not really worth it in my opinion. But Elder Kline, I want the scribes to not only focus on constantly increasing the power of our airships. I want research into helicopters and other aerial assets that could serve the Brotherhood. We need every edge we can get." The council would nod in agreement, with Elder Kline commenting, "Regardless of how we get this scrap. Construction may take at least a year for the first airship. Then once proper field tests are completed to watch for any problems, we can construct more and more. Each taking that year." Maxson would nod. "Well, let us vote."

The Council of Elders would begin their voting procedure, by first voting on where the scrap would originate from, with the council voting in favor of Maxsons residential and commercial areas deconstruction, and unanimously voted after to base it at the air force base. The meeting was then dismissed, with the Head Scribe being alerted to his new task.

---

Summary:

• Senior Paladin Essen leading Atlanta Expedition, reaches St. Louis.
• Atlanta Expedition proceeds on an alternative route through St. Louis, to avoid Super Mutant threat.
• High Elder Maxson approves designs for Brotherhood Airships to be built at Schriever Air Force Base.

[NewLakotah]

Oglala, Plains Nations Confederacy
January 1st


“Before the war, this area was already known as the Badlands. An area that was rough, dry, coarse, and would kill those not tough enough or strong enough to survive. And that was before the war. Now, it was even worse. The land was destroyed even more during the Great War. When the bombs fell, most of them did not target this area nearly as heavily as some other parts of the country, but the effects of the radiation were still felt all across these parts. Civilization and society as it was, collapsed in second. Millions died in during the bombings. Millions more died from the radiation and the lack of food and clean water. As it was before and was again, only the strong would survive life in the Badlands.

Out of the ashes of the old world the first of the strong pushed themselves to the top. These were the survivors from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. They were the first tribe to make something out of the wasteland. Working together to create a small working community that managed to grow and prosper under the impossible. Soon other tribes, from the Lakota to the Sioux, soon began to join with them. Sensing that working together would be better and seeing that the strength in numbers would help against the raiders and mutated animals that owned the wasteland.
The beginning was tough. Poorly armed, badly outnumbered by raider gangs and factions that tore across the countryside. Attacks from the Raider gangs and factions killed many, leading to less land, less food, less water. It was hard times. As hard as the first days. Annihilation seemed imminent.

Then, the first gift from the Great Spirit was opened. The Vaults in the area, they were finally opened. And fresh people entered out from the dark abysses of a century underground and into a world full of death and destruction. But they brought with them many things. Useful things. Better weapons, food and supplies. Hope was alive again. Then the Great Spirit provided the greatest gift. One that saved us all from destruction. The horse. With the arrival of the first horse, training soon commenced to shoot on horseback. To ride long distances, to remain stealthy. To live off the land and fight back. They were ready.

At the battle of the Badlands, the new combined army of the tribe crushed the raider gangs of the area and secured their dominance over the plains. Soon, the nations expanding. The plains tribes from all over joining with them, from the Cheyenne to the Crow, and the Sioux. The stage was set for the Plains Nations. The Nations dominance over the plains was no longer questioned. We run the plains.”

The old man leans back, finishing his story as the young children gathered around him clap and cheer. The old man, Jesse Hills, an old Lakota elder, smiles at the young children gathered around. He leans forward at them, his face full of mock ferocity.

“Let me hear your war cries!” He growls at them, a hint of smile on his face. The children scrunch up their faces back at him, in their attempt at their own ferocious growls and let out their small war cries. Behind the Jesse, a young woman who is cooking up a meal, covers up her face to hide her smile. Jesse leans back feigning fear.

“Oh, wow! You are already tough young warriors! Very scary.” Jesse smiles down on them. The young woman, Annabelle, steps forward.

“Ok, now. Enough of the stories. You kids have chores and work to do.” She says sternly. The children sigh and slowly get up.

“That’s right. Important work, carry on.” Jesse also states as the children run off. Annabelle sighs.

“I sometimes think the stories and training… It’s too young. Its brutal.” She sighs and looks down at Jesse. He looks back up at her, nodding.

“Yes, but this is the plains. The Badlands. Life is brutal. Life is precious. Its something they must learn if they want to survive.”

“Oh, yes. I know. I understand that.” With that she steps back. Heading back over to the kitchen area. Jesse sighs.

“Things are good now. Better than before. But its not safe. Not yet. We have threats from all sides. The South. Raiders to the north and west. The Wastelands and Badlands full of outlaws and creatures that will kill in minutes. We are working forward. Chief Whitehawk he is doing his best. Our borders are finally becoming secure.”

Annabelle looks at him sharply. “It should have been you that was made chief. You are far smarter, more educated and more feared as a warrior than that Crow ever will be.”

Jesse smiles and laughs softly. “My fighting days are long behind me, Annabelle. So are my chiefdom days. Maybe I can be appointed to the High Council as an Elder. That would suit me more. Sitting around, acting wise, speaking in long winded parables of times that no one remembers. Yes, that’s the life for me.” He turns back to Annabelle and smiles at her. “No, no. Not for me. But, you. You are the next chief. That I can already tell.”

Annabelle rolls her eyes a bit. “Oh please.”

“I am very serious. You are a strong leader. Caring. Thoughtful. Something that has been missing over the past several years. You are a strong warrior, capable under all duress. A good leader in combat, as you have proven again and again.”

“I just do what I am supposed to do. Nothing more.” She responds.

“That is what we all do, that is all anyone can ever ask of anyone.” Jesse smiles once again, Annabelle looks at him closely. Jesse just leans back and pulls out a cigarette and leans back.

The Badlands, Plains Nations Confederacy

The sun was burning, but the air was cool, it was winter after all. The scorched ground ached for any hint of rain, but rain was a rare commodity in these parts even before the Great War. In the times long forgotten these areas were well known as hideouts for bandits and outlaws hiding from the law. The same was true again. Raiders often poached the trading caravans. Things had gotten better, most of the large raider clans were destroyed or pushed outside of the borders, but a few small bands managed to remains, avoiding the scouting patrols. For now at least. There was a time that these bands run these parts, attacking cities and towns at will. That was also no longer. Now they were the ones hunted. The ones living in fear.

Perched high above on the edge of the cliff wall, 3 scouts sat on their horses overlooking the this whole scene. Down below a thin trail of smoke marked its origin to a gulley down below. One of the scouts points.

“There. Finally.” The scout says.

“Good work, Clayton. That must be the raider campsite.” The second scout says with a smile. Clayton looks back down. He pulls out a pair of binoculars and looks down at the campsite. The two other scouts follow suit.

“I count… 10. Maybe 12…” Clayton says softly.

“Yeah, same.”

“Yep.” The third replies.

“One should ride back, inform the others. I’ll go. You keep a lookout.” Clayton says, snapping his horse around quickly.

“Ride fast, ride safe.” One shouts back at him as he darts off. The other two remain focused. Looking down over the terrain and at the campsite. They’re time would come soon, no more attacking the innocent. Soon they would have their own blood seeping into the dead ground.

Carbine, Chicago

Jason White was a middle aged sickly looking fellow. He was not what you would call intimidating by any means. He was one of the Vault Dwellers. Spectacled and frail, he was not the best suited for life in the hard Plains. However, he was of a brilliant tongue. Smart and well educated, he was well suited to his role. That of diplomat. Today was an important day for the Plains Nations, and for White himself. He was to seek out and gain an audience of the Prince of the Commonwealth himself, in order to secure the future of his Nation. This was one of the first of such envoys that had ever been sent out by the Confederacy, and it seemed only fitting that he, Jason White, was the one to do it. It was him that had campaigned so hard for this very plan, so he was beyond glad when Chief Whitehawk himself chose him to lead the diplomatic angle.

White moved carefully through the city streets. He looked up at the city skyscrapers with delight. Nothing like this on the plains, he thought to himself. After several blocks he had finally reached his destination, a tall imposing skyscraper in the city; the Carbine. The personal residence of the House Comstock, the Royal Prince.

There were several guards posted on the outside as he approached. He went up to them with a smile and open arms.

“Greetings from the Plains Nations. I am Jason White, an official representative and envoy from the Plains Nations Confederacy and I would like the pleasure of seeking an audience with the Prince.”

[Waztaskio]

---

Federal Republic of New York

A cult, calling itself the "Cathedral of the Hudson River," founded by Greg Teach has been operating on Liberty Island since 2247. Over the years, he has managed to attract followers to his new church, hailing the pre-war Statue of Liberty as "The Temple of Dreams and Aspiration," declaring it a Holy Site. The cult began preaching that their God who they named "Lady Liberty," wishes for the Federal Republic of New York to recognize her as the President of the Republic with full powers, and placing Greg Teach as the 1st official Pope of the Church, effectively turning the Republic into a theocracy. The church doctrine calls for absolute loyalty to Liberty, and destroying the enemies of Liberty. They claim that from pre-war texts, that Lady Liberty was worshiped even by the United States government. And that the Temple of Dreams was merely one of the offerings given to Lady Liberty, and that the old world didn't build enough temples to garner the protections of Liberty, hence the nuclear war. So far the movement has exceeded 40,000 members, who have now began protests across the Republic's borders demanding the resignation of the current president and calling for a transition to a theocratic state. The Federal Republic has yet to respond.

[New Minahasa]

Oklahoma City

The past ten, and surprisingly, peaceful years had proven to be beneficial for the Concord. The Oklahoma City was successfully rebuilt after years of massive scales of reconstruction, although there were still roughly half of the whole city that hadn't been fully recovered yet. Small settlements found themselves established on the outskirts of the Oklahoma City, now that the place had been fully cleansed of all raiders presence. The city became the center of civilization in Oklahoma. The reconstruction of the city marked the first true expansion of the Concord. Being in the middle of the state, it became a safe haven for traders, caravans, and prospectors passing through the state; mostly those from the north looking to trade in Texas. The city defences were formidable; guards in combat and metal armours manned the tall city walls. The city, although governed by the mayor, was discreetly under the Concord's control, still wanting to preserve their secrecy. The city guads became the Concord's main source for soldiers and recruits, taking only the most loyal and competent guards.

The city is divided into three districts; the first is the Market District, which is basically a commercial area, is located right in the middle of the city with the bulk of the activity in the city usually happening in there. Inside the Market is a series of shops, restaurants, and markets, with the usual guards here and there to keep order and watch for thieves. The Tavern is the largest building in the Market District, and could be said to resemble the pre-war malls. Traders and caravans stop by the Tavern to trade before continuing their journey somewhere else. The second is the Uptown District; essentially the "elite" residential area of the city, where the rich and the wealthy make their homes. Lastly is the Village District, a residential area where the low-lifes, ne'er-do-wells, and thugs of the city nestle in. Although the district doesn't pass the guards attention, all traders and caravans are not advised to pass through the location.

In order to enter the city, a person must be frisked for weapons and then taken off their possession until they leave. Exceptions were made for traders and caravans looking to trade weapons inside the city. They will be escorted to the Market, where they will be heavily watched by the guards. Citizens may purchase a gun, BUT will not be allowed to be carry them in public. In order to become a citizen, a person must rent or buy a room or house somewhere within the Uptown or Village District. Citizens and non-citizens were given different rights when inside the city, such as the privileges for owning a weapon inside the city. The guards of the city were well-armed in terms of equipment and weaponry, with the Concord being their main supplier. The city receives power and electricity from Lake Overholser Dam situated inside the city.

[Parcia]

St. Augustine, Florida
Republic of Castio

The day shown bright as the sun rose from the sky, yet to many, tis just another day. Farmers were the first to wake, taking to their fields to grow the crops needed to feed the nation. Next were the Hunters, though many were still awake from the night before. They sat perched in their nests, waiting for something of use to pass by.

The militia were the next to wake, going through morning drills, PT, and gear checks. Then were the regulars, although most of them were scattered across the state at each of the main bases of the Republican Military, they all rose at the same time and did much the same as the Militia. Lastly were the common people, the shop owners, builders, and common workers of the Republic. Each person had a job to do, and they did it well, knowing that every bullet cast, every brick molded, and every beam forged is for the good of the Republic.

Two scouting parties are organized. One, numbering 15 regulars, 20 Militia, and a single T-45D with an M3 SSW are sent westward, to Lake City, or whats left of it, in order to secure the cross roads and pre-war highway systems there to lock it down for further travel west. A second party, numbering 12 Regulars, each man being a veteran and experienced soldier, is organized in Orlando and sent South East ward, towards an Old Pre-War Space complex and Air base in order to scout it out fully for future use.

The first group, named Unit A, is due to reach lake city, leaving from Jacksonville, in roughly a week if they make good time. The group sent to the Cape are due to reach it in less then 3 days due to its close proximity.

Led by a Caption Heartmen, a Veteran Solder with a decade of service under her belt, she leads the other 11 men on their mission with high hopes.

SUmery:
Group 1 is dispatched to: Lake City|ETA: 1 Week
Group 2 is dispatched to: Cape Canaveral AFB|ETA: 2-3 Days

[Waztaskio]

---

Atlanta

The final nine days of the journey to Atlanta was an eventful one. While crossing the river into the northern parts of St. Louis in order to circumvent the downtown area, small cliques of Super Mutants were encountered throughout the journey which slowed down the trip considerably. Once the team had finally cleared St. Louis, they proceeded down into Tennessee towards Memphis, into Northern Mississippi and Alabama were the brotherhood had encountered gigantic spiders. The Brotherhood had never encountered such beasts, who unleashed acid spit on the Brotherhood and with the remainder simply charging. It was through the will and leadership of Senior Paladin Essen, that the Brotherhood expedition managed to survive these bands and continue on into Georgia which seemed to have a much smaller presence then previously surveyed in Alabama, even if they were in small pacts. Scribe Thirteen proceeded to record various holo-tapes along the way, documenting the experiences of the team, environment of the states, and various other important details that would prove vital to a proper survey of the southern states. Proceeding along Highway 78, they would exit soon before reaching Interstate 85, proceeding south into Downtown.

As they would march towards the downtown area, civilian traffic would begin to triple around them, with their Power Armor drawing occasional glances and whispers from the crowds as they passed by. Scribe Thirteen would make her way to Senior Paladin Essen, as she would continue to survey the surroundings while beginning a conversation. "Senior Paladin Essen, this population seems to be decently taken care of. We may be in the middle of of nation of some sort." Essen would nod, "I agree. They don't seem hostile to us, but I don't think they've ever seen soldiers like us." As Essen and her expeditionary force would continue deeper into Downtown they would come across the Georgia Aquarium, which would have a significant increase in foot traffic. "Senior Paladin, that Aquarium sure is dragging in a lot of foot traffic. Maybe it's a town center? I recommend investigating and maybe finding whereabouts of our CDC building." Essen soon halted the expeditionary force, as she ordered them to set up a small perimeter to ensure three hundred and sixty degree security, before turning to the scribe. "I want you to take some of the team inside and search for information. Take the Initiate and Scribe Vargos. I'll keep the rest of the team out here, watching for any signs of trouble."

Thirteen would waste not time gathering Initiate Harding and Scribe Vargos, while Essen kept security with the remaining Knights and Paladins, despite being stared at. As the three would make their way inside the old aquarium. Once inside, they would take note of the scenery. Most of the exhibits of the old world were destroyed, but various market-like stands were set up within them advertising various goods and services. "This place is a market. And if there's a market, this confirms my theory of this being a civilized state of some sort. Damn I'm good." Scribe Vargos would chuckle, "Yea, you're good Thirteen. Now outside of stating what is rather-..obvious, we should find like a bar or restaurant of some sort. We can maybe get some whereabouts on our location from the locals." The three would begin to look around, scanning each of the little market stands for some sort of bar-like set up. It would take a few moments, but they would eventually find a round table both and Scribe Vargos would approach the bartender.

"Excuse me, sir. But I'm looking for some information. Do you know someone, or maybe yourself have knowledge on where a certain building may be? In the backwind time, it was known as the Center for Disease Control and Prevention? Ring any bells?" Vargos would lean across the bar, awaiting the response from the bartender.

---

University of Colorado Colorado Springs

"Damn, only small stuff. Nothing that can be used for the airships." Knight Jorge would say, as he would scavenge through a pile of rubble in one of the buildings of the University of Colorado. "Well, let's go a bit deeper. Maybe we'll find something of use in the basement." Scribe Pierce said, motioning to a nearby stairway. "Maybe Knight Remington or Knight Coles could find something, but yea. Let's go deeper." Jorge would stand up, and follow Scribe Pierce down into the basement levels of the university. "It's very dark down here, let me turn on my headlights." Jorge would turn on his helmet light, allowing the two to navigate safely down to the basement level with some familiarity of their surroundings. Once they reached the baseement, they would find various rooms filled with junk and some janitors closets, but would also discover a room that seemed to be locked.

"Damn, locked. Yo scribe, you got a lockpick?" Scribe Pierce would pull out a lockpick and approach the door, "Move knight. This is a scribes job." Pierce would chuckle, as Jorge would roll his eyes within his helmet. "Just hurry up would ya. I actually would like to find something interesting here." Just as Jorge finished his statement, Pierce would already be holding the door open and would motion for him to head inside. "Then get a move on slowpoke." Pierce would enter the room first and would be followed by Jorge. The door had opened to a hallway, with more small rooms on each side of them and a opened double door at the end of the hall that would appear to lead out onto a metal platform. "I'll check the side rooms, and you can check what's at the end of the hallway. Try not to bring back tin cans." Pierce would make his way into a nearby room, and begin to scavenge as Jorge would make his way onto the platform, which would have a small set of descending stairs leading to a weird metallic structure, held with four support beams and a strange beam like projector appearing from the bottom of it. "Ugh, I may have found something..."

With Pierce still upstairs, Jorge would find a nearby console and find it unsecured. On the terminal, he would find research note on something called the Optimus Transportation Device. According to the logs that Jorge made, it was an experiment concerning teleportation initiated in the Pre-War days. It was around this time that Pierce came downstairs, and noticed the strange machine. "What have you found?" Jorge would shrug, looking up to Pierce. "Some kind of teleporter I guess." Pierce would make his way down the stairs, and begin to take control of the terminal as he goes through some of the research notes. "These notes aren't very detailed. Honestly just some logs of a scientist named Doctor Brown. I can't even tell if this succeeded or not." As Pierce would continue to attempt to analyze the information on the terminal for more information, Remington and Cole would come down the stairs and meet back with the team. "Good news gang. We found some useful scrap in the other buildings, and have already marked it for pickup. What did you guys find?" Knight Remington asked.

"A teleporter. One that currently appears to be drained of power." Scribe Pierce would say. "Well, what if we power it up? I'm sure we have some old generators and such lying around." Knight Cole would state, looking at the structure of the machine. "Possibly. But this thing seems to need quite a bit of power, and that would mean more generators then I would be comfortable with. Maybe-..we could wire the power system of the entire facility, specifically to this machine." Jorge would sigh, "Those generators are destroyed, we saw them completely gone upstairs." Pierce would chuckle and nod. "You are correct, but the backups are underground. And I bet the only reason the facility is not powered, is due to the lines being destroyed during the war. So, if we can create a line from that generator to this machine, we should be able to jumpstart it and test for ourselves if this machine works." The knights would all look each other, contemplating in their heads if this was a good idea, before Cole spoke up. "Pierce, I'm not sure about this. Our mission is to recover salvage for the airships. I don't see how-.." He was cut off by Pierce, "If this teleporter works, it could make salvage efforts go much more smoothly and faster taking the construction time of the airship to only a few months. Not only that, it could serve as an excellent way to deploy troops and resources against distances. It would make our life so much easier."

The knights would all shrug, leaving Pierce to get a little annoyed. "Look, I'm going to do this. Whether you wish to help or not is up to you. But I believe this will be a great benefit to at least try and achieve. And I'm going to pursue it." Pierce would back away from the terminal, looking at the three Knights. "You're either with me on this, or you can head back to Fort Maxson. I'm staying." The Knights would sigh, with the three taking off their Power Armor helmets, looking the scribe in the eye. "Pierce, we're Brothers for life. We're not going to abandon one of our own. I guess, maybe we should give it a chance. Can't hurt to try right?" The three knights would nod in agreement, bringing a smile to Pierce. "Then boys, let's get to work."

---

Summary:

• BoS expedition reaches Atlanta. Begins search in The Tank, via bartender.
• BoS salvage party discovers a teleportation device in the ruins of the University of Colorado Colorado Springs, and begin attempting to power it up.

[Turkducken]

The Carter Center

WIP

[Waztaskio]

---

Atlanta

Scribe Vargos, Thirteen, and Initiate Harding would make their way out of the market. regrouping with the main paty outside who by now had gathered an even bigger crowd of people who were either staring, or at this point trying to attempt conversation with them. As the three made their way to the squad, Essen and Thirteen fell into the circle in order to talk. "Did you find anything? Any clues on the location?" Scribe Thirteen would nod, "We didn't get a precise location, but know which direction we need to go. From what I hear, sounds like some faction calling themselves the same name as the name of the building we're looking for seems to be the one in charge. And they believe we'll run into them, long before we get to that building." Essen would sigh, "That sure makes things harder. They may be trying to weaponize the viruses or something. We need to get moving, do you have a route?" Thirteen would begin to explain the route given by the bartender, and soon after the force would begin to dismantle their circle and push back towards highway eighty-five.

After about an hour of travel, they would begin to reach the outskirts of the old Carter Presidents center, not long after getting on the seventy-eight. "Be on the lookout for any trouble. There may be hostiles in the area." Essen would say to her men, as they would follow along the road in a box formation with Essen leading from the center-middle. As they would approach the center, they would soon be greeted by men dressed in a some form of combat armor that appeared standardized throughout their ranks, pointing small arms and energy weapons at the men. "State your business coming this way!" Essen would give a "halt," hand gesture to her men would would begin to pull security. "We're looking for a specific building, the CDC Headquarters. Rumor has it that it's somewhere down this highway."

[Obervalt]

“Hello and Good Morning C.S.P Populace, this is G.W. Davis for Triple 106.9 and this is your one stop shop for all music from all walks of life, today was have a special song going out to the soldiers set to move out from our good friends the Alabama Rebels, but before that a bit of news. Today marks the day our Supreme Commandante has talked about for over a year now, the expansion of the C.S.P. into neighboring provinces, just today we have sections from the South haven guard has been ordered into Memphis Tennessee, as well we have reports of the Alabama Rebels moving towards pensacola Florida and Macon Georgia. We all wish our troops well as they head out in this harsh world in hopes to claim more land to grow and strengthen the glorious C.S.P. go out there and give the world hell. In other News Little rock mines have started to work non-stop to try and dig up as much Bauxite as possible. Bauxite a key component in making more Aluminum for many more advanced machines and weapons is said to become a very large asset once industry can be pushed back into the forefront. For all Soldiers headed out this is G.W. Davis sending you off with a special song from the Alabama” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRfDHmUuD3g

With the events proceeding just as planned the supreme commandante turned off the radio to think, everything was going wonderfully, as he waited the forces of the Miss where moving north to secure points into Tennessee and the Alabama Rebel regiments were moving into Florida 125 strong sent to Tennessee the rest set for guard duty around the state, in Florida the group was split up into 75 each group. All where more than ready to lay down their lives in service of the great C.S.P. if they weren’t they’d be dead or long gone. Everyone had their orders, the 1st miss was ordered up towards Memphis to fortify it quickly for settlers coming in and then move on down the line Nashville. The same for the most part was set up for Macon with the Rebels before heading north towards Atlanta. Other than this thing where relatively quiet, safe for a trade expedition headed south towards the Texas Commonwealth to see about opening up a potential trade hub in jacksonville. The final concern was the Spiders, for the most part they had gone dormant and underground, wanting to keep it that way every effort not to antagonize them was being made by the people in Alabama, more so now than ever with the forces going off to attempt to gain more lands.

Every day life in the C.S.P was a rather peaceful one, everyone had their own farms outside their houses from which to grow food for their families in spare time. If not doing this they were sent to different facilities such as the aeronautics or steel factory in mobile the mines in little rock or the educational facilities now littering Mississippi. Special education had started around one hundred years ago to ensure the populace would be docile and accepting to the order of things, people worked for what little they had and if they didn’t they didn’t deserve it. It was taboo to ask for handouts at this point in the C.S.P. Education was mandatory for all at least the view that the combined wanted to be known, the founders could do no wrong, tolerance to a point was taught between all races so long as they contributed. Anyone else was a waste of time and resources and needed to be reeducated or eliminated. So much so to a point where children were taught to tell local authorities if anyone wasn’t doing their part for the community. The Neighborhood watch ever present patrolled the streets ensuring crime stayed at a minimum, overall safety was the number one concern.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile...

Along the route towards macon an extra group was sent up of 50 scouts from the remaining 125 of the Alabama headed up towards south Carolina and if possible to Washington. The point was to scout up for any hostile tribes or anything out of the ordinary, it would take a bit to get there but the truck was loaded up with explosive crazy soldiers. The rebels always had an affinity for blowing just about anything hostile up without mercy never had a problem with doing it and never will. Not exactly the best for any diplomacy missions but the perfect crew for killing anything in their way, most people from Alabama had to be or risk getting on the bad side of a acid spitting spider. They were sent out above the original occupation force of seventy five headed for macon they took the backway towards Savvanah before heading north again trying avoid traffic jams heading straight into South Carolina as quick as they could making sure to mark potential spots of internist for the company behind them along the way. It would be a long and boring journey for the most part, hopefully without to much hassle however they couldn't afford to be put back off schedule.

[The Holy Twig]

Downtown Vancouver

The Battle with the last remnants of the Republic of Vancouver was drawing to a close, Mr. Wright noted with satisfaction. Scattered skirmishes were still occurring across the Vancouver ruins, but those jokers that still called themselves a Republic had retreated to the Vancouver lookout, a tower overlooking the entire city. The tower had been surrounded by a ramshackle town that the Vancouverites called New Vancouver. More of a scrap heap nestled around an impressive tower, it was hardly a defensible location. The gates had already been smashed open by Bearsark ramming parties and smoking heaps of corpses and the occasional wrecked car littered the streets. All around Mr. Wright's car, snowflakes whirled through the air accompanied by the pained screams and gunshots of combat. It was clean snow, at least, because his geiger counter wasn't joining into the cacophony. Small mercies.

Mr. Wright's driver brought him through New Vancouver's gates and into a city on fire, a settler ran screaming in front of the car and was crushed by its chained wheels. Mr Wright winced underneath his gas mask. Every settler dead was one fewer settler paying tribute, "The firebugs are causing enough carnage, Lucas. Between their fire, the Bearsarks' lunacy, and your driving there'll be nobody left to pay tribute." Mr. Wright would have liked to drive his own car but had to settle for a passenger seat since the damn Vancouverites mangled his leg nearly two years ago. He could walk on it, if you could call his limp walking, but it still hurt like hell and driving was just about out of the question.

The driver hunched over, chastised, and swerved around a settler who had stumbled and fallen into the road while fleeing his burning hut. The radio crackled to garbled life, "M- ...ight, the p- ... ecure. Main security forces have with- ... still some in the town. They're holed up in - ... tearing up the Bearsar- ... tack the building. We're stuck- ... acro- ... yard."

Mr. Wright picked up his own handheld radio but paused before sending out his orders. A handful of scattered Bearsarkers were lying dead on the ground, wrapped in their furs and scavenged armor with an eclectic collection of half-broken melee weapons, in front of a partially collapsed prewar building adjacent to the tower. Across a courtyard, bullets fired from the building pounded against cover where he assumed his own men were pinned down. "Bugs. Take care of this."

No sooner had he put down his microphone than a spray of bullets tore through the car's window, pulverizing Lucas' head and bringing his car skidding to a halt. Mr. Wright braced himself as the car spun out. Of his two guards, Spiker slammed headfirst into the side of the car and fell to the floor while Drill, in the front seat, gasped desperately around bullets which had pierced his torso. Mr. Wright slumped back in his seat as the shootered revealed themselves.

Two wastelanders, a man and a woman dressed in prewar clothes that had seen better days stepped out from the alley they'd been hiding in and rushed towards Mr. Wright's car. He could hear the man shouting as they hurried over the fresh-falling snow, "Come on, before these lunatics send in the ghouls. This car's our ticket out of here." The man opened the door and dragged Lucas to the ground, followed by Mr. Wright's own door as he looked back at the woman. "If we wrap ourselves in their furs, they might even think that we're -"

Mr. Wright interrupted the man by jamming his combat knife through his throat, twisting and ripping it out, and pushing him to the ground as he stepped out of the vehicle.

"George!" She cried and fired several shots from her pistol at Mr. Wright, scoring one grazing shot on his arm and hitting him just left-of-center only for his combat armor to deflect the shot. Mr. Wright limped forward, pushing off hard on his crippled leg and landing on his good leg, falling into a well practiced, animalistic loping stride.

With a limp and a lunge he closed the distance and tackled her to the ground, where she had no time to scream before he planted his knife firmly between her eyes. Planting his foot on her chest, he wrenched his knife out and limped back to the jeep. Leaning over, he cleaned blood and brain from its blade on Lucas' stained furs. His radio - he needed that. Ah, there, in the snow - Mr. Wright recovered his radio and held down the talk button.
The gurgling man had crawled over and grabbed ahold of Mr. Wright's ankle, trying feebly to point his submachine gun at Mr. Wright. "For me?" Mr. Wright feigned flattery, plucking the gun from the dying man's hands and shaking his ankle free. "Thank you."

That business dealt with, he returned to sit on his car's hood and watch the firebugs carry out their assault on the Vancouverite stronghold, sparing a brief glance for Lucas and the slaughtered couple. "The Vancouverites haven't seen an attack like this in their lifetimes. This is probably their first time seeing raiders inside their walls." Mr. Wright growled into his radio. "Don't be gentle."

---

Vancouver Tower, Vancouverite Strongpoint

Martin had never felt like he was living his life right until he joined the Firebugs a year ago, when they were formed. Guns had always bored him, and he didn't have the body to swing a baseball bat and actually do any damage. Beautiful, gorgeous flames reaching up, spreading, consuming, lighting the way for his brothers' march - that was his job now. Martin stood in his car, leaning out the top of the open frame, he directed his flamer at the window as Lyle steered wildly to avoid the Vancouverite strongpoint's gunfire.

Martin pulled the trigger and a blossom of bright orange-yellow flame erupted from the tip of his flamer, flowing into the window, where Vancouverite warcries mixed with screams of panic and anguish. Four other firebug cars began circling, doing the same, blasting beautiful flames into the windows to stop the suppressing gunfire from the windows. Behind him, martin heard cheering and whooping as Bearsarks charged towards and into the house, now free from its oppressive gunfire.

"Flames off!" Baker shouted, and Martin had to comply, releasing the trigger of his flamer with a sigh. Baker was one of the Firebug captains, given his position mostly because he knew when to stop firing his flamer. Baker hollered another command, "Make sure the Bears can finish the job! Keep yourselves under control!"

With a whoop of joy, Martin leapt from the car. If he was lucky, he could still bring more fire into glorious existence. Four other firebugs, one from each of the cars, rushed into the house alongside him, eager to wreak havoc. The building was solid, pre-war, some kind of visitor center or museum, several dead vancouverites lay bashed on the floor, surrounding a badly shot-up, dying bearsark. The firebugs split up as they enteredTwo went up the stairs to the second and third floor, one through a doorway to the left, and one through a doorway to the right. Martin continued through the door on the other side of the entry room, down a staircase and into the basement. His luck hadn't run out: at the foot of the staircase was a Vancouverite soldier.

"No, wait-" the soldier didn't have time to finish pleading as he was bathed in the warm orange glow of Martin's flamer, twisted and blackened.

Martin stepped into the basement proper, "Mother of god." Before him was an enormous stockpile of ammunition, explosives, even a mini-nuke, stacked against the basement wall nearest to the Vancouver tower.

"Martin!" Baker called from above - he had walked halfway down to reprimand Martin as Martin stood, staring in rapture, "Martin, come on, we're gearing up to siege the tower!"

Martin turned slowly around, "Go and get everyone out. I'll do my part for the siege. Years from now, remember... how beautiful the fire was."

"Okay, man, whatever, just be there in time to actually help."

Martin waited for the footsteps above him to subside, barely able to contain his excitement long enough for everyone to leave the house. Martin primed his flamer. Finally he could be a part of something truly beautiful.

---

Downtown Vancouver

Mr. Wright sat on the hood of his car as Spiker struggled under the weight of the deceased Lucas, moving him into the trunk. Drill had fallen unconscious but was still breathing, presumably dead, but Mr. Wright didn't like to give up on salvageable cases. Needless to say, as soon as Spiker had finished moving Lucas to the trunk and stripping the dead of valuables, Spiker would be his new driver.

"Alright, boss, I'm ready." Spiker slammed the trunk shut.

Mr. Wright nodded to the corpses of the couple on the ground, "Strip them of valuables. We don't want to leave anything valuable behind, and they sure as hell seemed to have enough ammo to -"

Boom! Mr. Wright whipped to look right, at the Vancouver tower, the objective of his conquests as it collapsed to the ground with an earthy rumble. An enormous fireball topped off by a mushroom cloud had replaced the Vancouverite strongpoint. Raiders scrambled to get out of the way as the tower fell, condemning the Vancouverite government trapped inside to be killed or trapped under the frozen rubble of Vancouver Tower until they die of dehydration.

"That's a pity. I wanted that tower."

---

Raidio Earstab
"Hey there Murderers and Murderettes, it's Twitch McBoom you know what time it is - Time for Raiiiiiidio Earstab News!
"Our Warboss Mr. Wright went right ahead and lead our gangs at the Battle for Vancouver and took a bullet to the arm for his trouble. He still has no plans to step down, though - not unless it's on someone throat, anyway. Now you didn't hear it from me, but the way I heard it, two of his bodyguards were shot dead by a pair of overly cocky Vancouver "freedom fighters," so he's hosting tryouts! All you Wendigos out there who think you're tough enough to guard the boss, go ahead and put in your applications.
"Now that all you little lovelies have gone and put the Republic of Vancouver out of their misery - you beautiful maniacs blew up the whole goddamned tower, that must've been a fireball for the ages, am I right? Anyway, now that the Republic's been put out of its misery, word is the big boss has got some new plans... No word on what he's planning yet, but if if I were you and you're within two hundred miles of Vancouver, I'd start signing my surrender right away.
"Now with that news trash out of the way, I'd like to play you a little song I wrote just today: You should'a just run"

Summary:
Wendigo Federation: 1,200 troops.
RoV: 350 troops.
Republic of Vancouver was destroyed, along with the Vancouver Observation Tower.
City of Vancouver captured and assimilated. More or less.
Wendigo Casualties: 9 Wendigos, 3 Firebugs, 26 Bearsarks, 32 Bearsark Slaves, 1 New Man
"Raidio Earstab" station range extended around Vancouver Area.
Firebugs found enormous ammunition stash.
Firebugs destroyed enormous ammunition stash for the sake of art.

[Zepplien]

Neo Fransisco
Sabrina opened the sliding door of her house, bowing to her mother as she tried to escape. "Young lady..." her mother said quietly, and she froze halfway to freedom. "I uh... yes mom?" She looked like a deer in the headlights, looking at her mother who still smelled of the sea from the fishing trawler. She had a manilla envelope on the counter, sitting to the side "I have been waiting to look at your report card, to see if you are in trouble for not calling home to check if you could stay out." Sabrina just tried her best to look brave, she thought she had good grades but... one could never be 100% sure. Her mother got the letter opener out, and sliced it open, setting the paper to one side before drawing out the paper. Her mother's eyes looked over the various boxes on the grading scale, and Sabrina felt her heart pounding in her chest. Her mother loved a good game of poker, and that showed as she lowered the paper, sliding the envelope into the paper recycling bin. She folded her hands in front of her "Well..." she began, Sabrina nearly felt her heart stop before her mother smiled a little "I am very proud of you sweet pea, you brought your grades up quite a bit..." Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief, as she felt a great weight lifted from her shoulders. Her mother lifted her pip boy, and indicated the ad store on 8th and Market "You deserve a treat for getting all As and Bs, so I guess I can approve of the computer you asked for..."

Sabrina was exhausted as she lugged the massive box home, barely managing to get it into her bed for safe keeping. She quickly cleaned off her desk, finally putting her manga back on her book shelf, and running some trash out to the trash can. When she had only a clear desk she finally let herself open the box. There were packing peanuts everywhere inside the box, and you got 5 caps rebate for bringing them back, so she would make sure to do that. The computer itself was stamped with the seal of Mitsui Heavy Industries, and had a seal of quality from the Santo Rosa's Electronics Guild. She felt her heart racing again as she pulled the massive metal computer out, puffing out her cheeks with effort as she carefully dropped it onto the bed, and got out the manual. She tossed the manual aside, but took a mental note of where it was as she stripped the plastic from her computer. She set it with the packing peanuts, and brought the computer over to her desk, barely fitting it on when you included the space for the keyboard. She plugged the cord into the wall, and hit the power button, hearing the fans spin up as the computer started up. She sighed as she got her manual, looking over the instructions for setting up her computer, figuring out the entering of a password and user profile. After some debate she decided to leave it alone, her terminal without encryption. She could always add it later after all. She went to clean up her room a little as the computer booted up to full speed.

"You are now connected to PoseidoNet." the green screen read as Sabrina sat back down, grinning a little as she looked over her options. Her mom always told her that she shouldn't take PoseidoNet for granted, because the Navarroans had only installed it 12 years ago, but Sabrina couldn't imagine life without it. She kinda looked depressingly at her built in holodisk reading 'no programs installed' but instead hit the button to select 'PoseidoNet Services' the text on her screen vanishing and more typed out onto it, with a few strokes of the key she pulled up a list of downloadable books. She had to search several times, but eventually found a digitized book Communism and YOU!, an old pre war book that she thought would be good for writing her paper on the protestors and how standing up against your government was wrong. She pressed the button to download it, then stepped away from her computer. A smile sat on her face as she got her books out, and opened her copy of Girls und Power Armor with a grin on her face.

It was not surprising that Orai won over the Charlotte team, but that was hardly surprising given the nature of the manga, the best part was always reading how they won. The best part of the battle had to be when Duck team had tried to sneak forward in their Tesla suit covered in a large shrubbery, trying to hide. It wasn't the outcome of the battle that was the big twist, it was the team that was facing Orai after Charlotte. The well dressed, blonde haired blue eyed steel of the Volksaufklärung team from the Pact. Lead by Captain Erika, they brought mostly T-45s, with her second in command having a T-51 suit, and Erika herself dressed in a captured (And repainted) suit of Concordian power armour with a Death's Head medal covering the hole in the armour's forehead that had caused its capture. Sabrina almost despaired at having to wait a month to see how Orai fared against the crazy fascists of the East Coast.

Eureka, former Northwest Commonwealth
The members of the Vault Tec Expeditionary Force, lead my Major Augustina Sinclair, marched along the roadway toward the town that was known of Eureka, the slow march of her power armour followed by the bootsteps of her soldiers. She cradled a plasma rifle, her soldiers mostly carrying laser pistols, all courtesy of the Van Graff family who looked to impress the sister of the Overseer with their funding of the expedition. Her pet Vault 42 sniper cradled her Gauss rifle, and a Vault 36 soldier had brought a sword of Saturnite and was twitching for his next dose of fixer. A bakers dozen of Vault 27 conscripts followed them, gossiping to each other and observing the worst firearm discipline as they showed off their WATZ pistols to each other. The slow rumble of twin trucks behind the force came, Katusha launcher trucks that were loaded down with the provisions of the force. "Commander!" called their Vault Loyalty Inspector, who lowered her binoculars and indicated the group of woman who were overlooking them. Augustina grabbed her helmet, made from a duriframe eyebot,and slid it onto her head, indicating them to her men. The trucks stopped, and the drivers began consulting their pip boys and firing tables, setting the launchers to fire on Eureka if something went wrong.

The leader of the group of tribals came down to greet them, their group carrying ten millimeter pistols, SMGs, and one with a baseball bat covered in nails. "I don't imagine you are here to be talking about trade?" The leader of the group, dressed in metal armour over her Vault 69 Jumpsuit. Augustina Sinclair nodded slightly, putting her hands behind her back as she puffed out her power armoured chest. "This is correct we are here for one reason. We ask that that you immediately submit to annexation into the United Protectorate." the leader the group of 69ers glanced at her fellows, then indicated the rocket artillery "They gonna level our town if we don't submit?" Augustina gave a firm nod, glancing back at the two racks of rockets "This is correct, however you will receive full benefits of joining our group. A common market, you will be connected to our other cities by road and rail eventually." the woman looked distasteful, but she was not as stupid as she looked. The scream of fire that had been tested by Shasta down upon the small tribes that had fled to the open arms of Vault 69, and they told of the fury of even one of those launchers that their trucks carried. "I will inform you of the Matriarch's choice." the warrior grumbled, walking back down the road toward her hometown.

"Outrageous!" First Spear of the Whaler Flotilla shouted, pounding her blue and gold jumpsuit as she laughed "We should take their so called cat usha trucks and rain fire down on their cities. See how they like it!" the only man on the council, a younger pretty looking man who had done so many unsavory things to get to his post jumped in against her "They would have time to launch before we got close to them, and they would wipe out everything we have built above ground. I still support joining willingly, their trade will let us grow wealthy, and powerful!" the various other leaders of Vault 69 were shouting at each other on the council, the wise old Matriarch sitting upon a throne of scrap metal and furs and listening to her people. It was with a groan of displeasure she stood up, slamming her 10mm pistol on the desk she was behind, using it like a gavel in the days of old. "QUIET!" her booming voice demanded, the various warlords of her hunting parties looking like nothing more than scolded schoolgirls in front of their Overseer. She sneered at them "We will accept their terms, but we accept no foreign influence. We are not one of their pitiful cities to be bossed around." she raised her fist to their flag, a 69 with their motto 'till the final man' in reference to the fact they had the last man on earth in their Vault when it first closed. "We will pay our tithe of women and cash, but nothing more!" her lower soldiery all agreed, and a messenger was dispatched to inform the Vault Tec soldiers to turn around, that they were complying.

V.T.S. Preordained Profits, Osaka, former State of Japan
Several men and women with swords on their hips stood before the strange men and women with pistols, bamboo and metal clashed against blue jumpsuits. It was only one of them who could communicate with the others, a Japanese subject of the Overseer-Chairwoman Shi. "We request rights to build ourselves a trading outpost here, something that will benefit both nations. We are willing to offer fair payment for the and, and in fact, shall support you in any defense of this fine port city." the lord they were facing, dressed in the silks that were known to only the wealthiest Neo Fransiscans back home. He barked off some words in the strange tongue, nodding to the Shi man "In representative of his Heavenly Majesty, the Tenno of Nippon, I, He who shall expel the barbarians, Tobaru of the House of Oda deny your request to occupy the Land of the Gods with a outpost." the Vault Tec ambassador looked over the assembled Samurai and Riflemen, noting something about their forces. Only the best Samurai actually had rifles, and then it hit him like a train, before the bombs dropped Japan cared not for firearms like America had. He had to laugh as he called up to the crew of his ship to bring down a machine gun. "Your men, not a one have something like this?" he asked through his translator. The strange man in his silks held up a hand to his Samurai who moved forward to force the foreigners onto their ship. "Allow a demonstration, please." the Vault Tec ambassador asked, and with a stiff nod he was brought under guard with his soldiers to demonstrate this weapon before the leader of this clan.

A Buddhist warrior monk came to observe this weapon, alongside the various Samurai who watched. "Now you see..." a suit of metal armour, a cinder block and a chicken in a cage were all set up by the warlord. The expert Vault Tec loaders prepared the heavy gun with a long belt of ammo. "Good sirs, I advise you cover your ears." the Vault Tec ambassador offered, before wisely taking his own advice. Only some of the Samurai took his advise at first, but as soon as the .50 cal weapon opened up on the targets everyone scrambled to cover their ears. The two Vault Tec soldiers expended a fair amount of their 300 round belt to truly prove their point, and utterly destroy the targets in front of them. The ambassador gave a swift bow, smiling as his gunner coughed gently and hefted the gun onto her shoulder. "Your Nanban traders shall be welcomed in Osaka, and we shall offer you a fort. Your firearm trade is approved, but you may not bring in drugs to our Heavenly Kingdom." the ambassador gave a firm nod "You have my word sir, shall we get a contract written up?" he paused for a moment before bowing, and offering his gunner "I would like to offer you this machine gun, as a gift for your gift of friendship." the Japanese lord let a grin cross his aged face, the translator offering "Let our friendship last for ten thousand years."

[New Minahasa]

Vault 122

Most of the forces from Hoover was pulled back to Vault 122 along with President Cannon and Vice-President Stark. The vault was considered a lot safer and less-exposed than Hoover Dam, now that Texas had built a strong bond of friendship with the Concord, they felt much safer being in Kansas. The Nebraskan Empire in the north could still prove to be a threat, but their expansion into Kansas seemed to be halted. Cannon wasn't sure whether this was intended, or just a coincidence. Either way, even if the Nebraskan DID besiege Vault 122, it would prove to be a vain attempt. The thick steel mixed in with concrete that made up the vault door would take decades before it could be pierced open. No doubt that the Texans would have the Concord's back if the Nebraskans chose to be a nuisance against them, as well.

The Concord settlement above the vault, up at the McConnel AFB, served as the perfect disguise that blanketed the Concord personnels underground. If not for the settlement, prospectors and scavengers could find themselves rummaging through the old AFB, and sooner or later stumbled upon the entrace to the Vault, a small hatch inside one of the AFB's hangars that led to an underground entrace to Vault 122's vault door, that when opened, revealed the elevator that would descend further until it finally reached the vault.

Although most of the forces from Hoover Dam was retracted back to Vault 122, there was still a signifcant defense force stationed at the dam. The howitzers and artillery were still situated on the dam alongside a few hundred Concord troops and Starbots. The dam basically became one of the Concord's major bases. The security holograms were a different story. Half of them were kept in the dam to act as the internal security force, and the rest were brought to the vault to be assigned into the vault's defences. The vault as well was massively renovated and overhauled. Unneeded rooms and chambers were removed to add more free space into the vault. President Cannon planned to expand the vault a lot bigger, though that would take them some time to do so.

---

Alberta, Canada

The increase in activity of a well-known alliance of different raider gangs, known as the "Wendigo Federation", had forced the stationed Concord soldiers in the Edmonton and Strathcona Refinery to abandon the locations and take with them whatever oil they could still carry. Luckily for them, they still had in control of another oil refinery somewhere in Fort Murray, where the Wendigos haven't yet made their presence. The refinery was soon filled with approximately one hundred Concord troops accompanying the few teams of engineers. Under the leadership of Captain Goodwin, the Concord personnels had managed to convince the local settlements and wastelanders to provide them with food and supplies in exchange for protection against raiders and mutated creatures. Captain Goodwin and his men proved their capability by swiftly crushing a nearby raider camp that had been harassing the local settlements.

The place, called the Suncor Oil Sands in pre-war times, commonly known as "Suncor" to the wastelanders, accomodated more oil than the Strathcona and Edmonton combined. The location of the place itself was strategic, surrounded by the few local settlements whilst having large and tall towers that could be used as look-out points. The refinery was only recently found in 2251 by Captain Goodwin, but the engineers had managed to repair most of the refinery within months. Due to the increase in raiders in Alberta, mainly south, Captain Goodwin had gone as far as allowing local wastelanders to join their ranks as volunteers. They were given poorer equipments than those of the Concord's, but still better than the average raider makeshift firearm. When asked by the local citizens who they really are, Goodwin only answered by saying they were "descendants of the people of the old", and the future of the American Wasteland. He didn't go as far as explaining the details to keep the Concord's secrecy intact. If he did, he knew his superiors would have his head once he returned to Vault 122.

---

Vault 22

"Watch your steps. We don't know what's inside the vault yet other than the usual critters. There could be more than that. We'll just have to see," spoke Sergeant West as two Concord squads and a scientist moved in to the entrance of Vault 22. He was the assigned to lead the expedition into Vault 22 and given two objectives: the first was to secure the GECK inside the vault, and the second to retrieve data and information of Vault 22's experiments. Dr. Dexter Connors was the scientist responsible of retrieving said data, with the Concord squads only there to guard him and at the same time retrieve said GECK from the vault. The group was attacked by Giant Mantises in front of the vault, where the critters had made their nest. The troops made it quick with their high-grade weapons, exterminating all of the Mantises that lounged upon them.

They began to approach the vault door as the critters were dealt with. "Look at all these plants," spoke one of the Concord recruits. Their attention was directed to a sign written near the entrance. "Stay Out, The Plants Kill. What the hell is that supposed to mean?," said another Concord recruit. "Shut it. Your job here is to follow orders, not question things. Now you better follow my directions if you don't want to get killed by whatever the hell are inside this vault. Now, we're gonna move in two columns. Me and Corporal Jennings will lead the way. The rest of you watch our backs. Understood?," briefed Sergeant West. The men replied with nods.

They formed up in two columns as commanded. The first was led by Sergeant West, and the second by Corporal Jennings. As they entered the first floor, they noticed a group of feral ghouls waiting for them at the hall. "Shh. Ghouls. Hold your position," spoke Sergeant West as he slowly took his helmet off. He let out a loud whistle at the direction of the ghouls, taunting them. The ghouls were alerted and charged at West. "Fire!," screamed West to his soldiers. The hall was filled with gunshots and plasma and laser as the horde of ghouls were easily taken down by the massive fire of the troops. The first floor was swiftly cleared of the ghouls, as they began their journey to the next floors.

The group was ambushed here and there by spore plants and spore carriers as they made their move into the second, third, fourth, and eventually the fifth floor, where the Data Room and the GECK were located. They quickly retrieved the information and GECK as they scurried out of the vault in a hurry, afraid that there were more that might chase them down. Their casualties totalled to three dead recruits, but their mission was a success.

---

Various Concord outposts

Recent activities from nations that, unbeknownst to them, contained one if not several Concord outposts compelled the troops inside the outposts to make a retreat to the nearest base or outpost. The troops in Camp Grayling, Michigan, and Rock Island Arsenal, Illinois, withdrew towards Fort Snelling in Minneapolis, Minnesota, whilst the troops in the Tooele Army Depot, Utah, withdrew towards Hoover Dam.

[Alinora]

- THE INSTITUTE -

---

The Institute | The Commonwealth
Director Michael Hampton

Ever since the Institute had begun it's campaigns to reclaim the Commonwealth, it's internal workings have been busy to say the least. There was never a dull moment - something was always happening, and people were always busy. Often times, people worked themselves so hard, they would fall asleep on the benches in the concourse, and would have to be awoken by synths who would escort them to their homes. Director Hampton retired his quarters after a long discussion with Dr. Zimmer on military strategy, and he was exhausted. He, like most others in the Institute, often found himself going many hours without sleep, but he still had work to do before he could enter sleep's warm embrace. He sat down to his terminal, and began typing a message to the leader of the Concord.

Code: Select all

To: President Canon; Concord
From: Director Hampton; Institute

==CLASSIFIED MATERIAL==

Mr. President, while we have not spoken before personally, our two organizations have been good friends for a good many years now, and while there is little I can say over message, I have a request.  I would like to give you the rare honor of being a guest here, at the Institute, where we may speak personally.  I will be sending a synth to retrieve you within the next two hours, if you choose to accept.

[Turkducken]

Beware those who enter here, this is uncut, unfiltered bulk post. When you click on that button you will have a wall of text. You have been warned.
Part 1

The bartender looked over Scribe Vargos, he wasn't familiar with that outfit, it was foreign to him. "You's gonna buy somethin mistah?" he said as he washed a glass in one hand, he also glanced at the armored man behind him, "That your robit? How much you's willing to part with it fo'?"
Scribe Vargos would look back at the Initiate, who would be carrying his laser rifle, keeping some distance between the two, then look back at the bartender. "He's not my robot. That's one of my team mates, fully human. I'll buy something from you, if you can answer my questions."
"Jus' pullin' your leg stranger, I can tells you's where you's need tah get tah."
Vargos would smile, with Scribe Thirteen soon coming up beside him and listening. "That would be great. Me and my, organization. Are very interested in this location."
Thirteen would look over to Vargos, seeing him look at the bartender with a smug face, as she would roll her eyes. "Show off..."
"All's you's needs to do is follow Eye-Eighty Five until you get to GA Highway 78, go Eastwards down that. I dunno if you'll make it past the President Center though..." he begins to go back to work.
Vargos and Thirteen would look to each other, before turning back to the bartender. "And why would we not make it past the President Center?" Scribe Thirteen would ask.
"Cause of the CeeDeeCee havin' guards and such out that a way, they don't let anyone by without a good enough reason. Can't even move shit without permission, damn brahmin trains haven't been carryin' nearly as much as they used tah." he became visibly agitated, but then sighed before adding, "Ah well they do their parts to keep this place safe, and they give out doctorin' fo' free you see."
"Interesting, thank you for this information. You've been very helpful." Scribe Vargos said, while dropping a bag of thirty caps on the bar table before leaving with his team.
After about an hour of travel, they would begin to reach the outskirts of the old Carter Presidents center, not long after getting on the seventy-eight. "Be on the lookout for any trouble. There may be hostiles in the area." Essen would say to her men, as they would follow along the road in a box formation with Essen leading from the center-middle. As they would approach the center, they would soon be greeted by men dressed in a variety of different armors, pointing small arms weapons at the men. "State your business coming this way!" Essen would give a "halt," hand gesture to her men would would begin to pull security. "We're looking for a specific building, the CDC Headquarters. Rumor has it that it's somewhere down this highway."
Captain Merritt was uneasy, who were these strangers, what were they wearing, and why did they know about the CDC? "You've found it. Now, identify yourselves!"
Senior Paladin Essen would remove her power armor helmet, and lower her weapon. "I am Senior Paladin Essen, with the Brotherhood of Steel. We are here to secure the CDC HQ, and protect it from intrusion and any mad scientist who thinks they can cook up some New Plague. We came from over five states to Georgia for our mission, and we intend to complete it."
Captain Merritt began to sweat, they outnumbered these strangers, but it didn't appear that they had anything substantial enough to pierce that armor. "You've come far enough stranger! Go Home! We don't allow anyone on Campus! Especially not heavily armed strangers with an ax to grind!"
Senior Paladin Essen sighed, beginning to place her helmet back on her head, looking directly at the captain. "My men and I have not travelled this far, just to be turned away. We have our mission, and we will see it to completion. If you and your men wish to step in our way, then I must give you a quick history lesson. The Brotherhood descends from the Pre-War United States Army, with all the Pre-War equipment, armor, and knowledge that comes with it. And if you know anything about that army, or this armor, this piece of machinery almost single handly conquered an entire country. Something your average soldier was simply not fit to do with the amount of resistance they faced. I say this because, if you do not allow us to pass. We will force our way through. Now you can either give us a peaceful solution to gain access to the facility. Or we simply will slaughter any resistance that stands in our way. Choose wisely, because I'm in no mood for any unnecessary delays." Senior Paladin Essen would say.
Scribe Thirteen would make her way up to the front, as she holds out her hands to make an imaginary barrier between the two. "Now, now. We don't need to resort to violence. Perhaps there is someone who can give us access? Someone we can talk to who has the power? I really don't want to just start meaninglessly killing each other, if both have good intentions at heart."
Captain Merritt shouted down at them again, "Look I don't know what to tell you other than go away! You're not coming in and you're talking to the man in charge!" he turned around to another guard and whispered, "Report to the Master Surgeon General and let him know we have an issue."
Scribe Thirteen would look to the Captain and cross her arms. "Sir, if you value the lives of your men here. I would do my best to resolve this peacefully. Paladins and Knights aren't someone you wish to start a fight with, take my word. And I'm not going to be able to hold them off. Please...don't let them turn this into a slaughter."
"I hope the Master Surgeon comes soon." Captain Merritt thought to himself, "Look if you really come in peace you'll disarm and walk away. We didn't come to your doorstep and threaten your lives! You came to ours!"
Senior Paladin Essen would shake her head in disgust. "Men, pick your targets!" Scribe Thirteen would sigh, and begin to walk back to the Brotherhood circle. "Open fire!" The expeditionary force would begin to open fire. Senior Paladin Essen would raise her gauss rifle, with the Paladin carrying a Gatling Laser, and the two Junior Paladins carrying Tri-Beam laser rifles. The Senior Knight would have his Laser RCW, with the other knights carrying your standard Laser Rifles, and the Scribes carrying their laser pistols. In unison, they would open fire on the positions of the CDC forces, crouching in order to make their shots count and Knights and some of the Paladins attempting to occassionally move up.
As the fighting would go on, Scribe Vargos and Thirteen would have their laser pistols out, occassionally shooting back, but mostly allowing the Paladins and Knights control of the battlefield. "Negotiations gone sour?" Vargos asked, while taking a few shots at a nearby trooper. "Kinda..." Thirteen would say.
Lasers began to fire off from the ground at the Captain and his men, one met its target turning the guard into ash, "Men! Fall back and regroup!" Captain Merritt yelled over the gunfire, "Shit now we're in for it." the guards moved back and across from the entrance. Hedges were the only thing separating the complex from the road. Taking defensive positions inside the welcoming building, the Captain yelled for engineers, "Get some damn heavy firepower out here now! Do No Harm should still be in storage! Bring me those robots now!"
Senior Paladin Essen would get out of her crouched stanced, motioning for concentrated fire into the direction of the retreating men. "They're falling back, common push forward!" The team would begin to fllow in a triangular formartion, putting the full force of their firepower on the Hedges, as they push forward with the Paladins leading the charge, followed by the Knights, with the Scribes keeping the rear guard with the Intitiate.
"Is this what we do now?" Intitiate Harding would ask, as they continue with rear guard. "We do what the mission requires of us kid. And right now, it's to achieve access to the CDC facility." Scribe Vargos would say, causing Harding to sigh.
"YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF A UNITED STATES MILITARY INSTALLATION. CEASE AND DESIST NOW AND YOU WILL BE SPARED." Three Sentry Bots had rolled into formation, synthetic voices booming over the noise of combat. Coated fully white, with the exception of their "eyes", they stood as menacing figures defending the Welcoming center. Captain Merritt smiled coolly, "Ha, now they're in for it. No Raider group has ever stood a chance, so much as made a dent in the Do No Harm Squadron. Surely Apophis, Hippocrates, and Corpus would defeat these strangers."(edited)
The guns on the sentries began to spin up, "WAIT! WAIT!" a disheveled man had appeared from further inside the complex. A group of guards attempted to stop him, but he shoved them aside as he ran towards the entrance.
Senior Paladin Essen would halt her advance, halting fire as she would watch the man who had appeared.*
He waved his arms wildly next to the building, signalling for the attackers to stop firing, "Guards cease fire! Cease fire!"
"Cease Fire boys, cease fire!" Essen would yell, as the BoS expeditionary force begins to cease fire.