Fallout: Dog City|IC|Open

[Pacific Brotherhood of Steel]

Dog City

Dog City. A city of untold riches and treasures. All ripe for the taking. She's untamed and she's wild just like the packs of dogs that roam her streets. Everyone's got their eye on her. The Legion, the Brotherhood, the Salvagers. All of ‘em want a piece. And all of ‘em have had their own piece at one point or another. But now it's different. The Brotherhood's been coming outta their bunker. The Legion is coming to try and tame the city once again. The Salvagers are building an army and getting ready to weather the storm once more. Meteors at night fall from the sky towards the earth, ill omens from those above. Death is coming to Denver and this time there shall be no compromise.

We can no longer stay here. Denver is not safe anymore for anyone. I fear that there will be no winners this time. I do not feel as if we can stay any longer. I know that these are our ancestral homelands where we have resided since the Scourge that ruined these lands long ago. If we stay any longer we shall be destroyed. Another unmarked grave site destroyed by whoever. It is with a heavy heart that I have decided that we shall flee north to safer lands. One day we may return but for now we cannot survive without being involved. And getting involved will be the death of us all.

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=419828

---

Mediolanum|Horus Lupercal

Failures and profligates the lot of them. Their stupidity knew no bounds and they had been defeated because of it. They allowed themselves to be divided by the profligates and conquered. It was not the men's fault. No. This was the same cancer that caused their defeat at the dam. The dam. Memories flooded his mind of that fateful battle. They lost many good and loyal men because of the stupidity of their commanders. The situation in Denver was all too familiar to him.

Horus looked at the rifle that was sat on the large oak table covered in maps and battle plans. The failures had thought to appease him with gifts and honeyed words. The gun was nice. Quite nice in fact. But it would change nothing. They would be punished for their crimes against the Legion. Infighting over who would become the leader? They were dissolute now and they would have to be purged.

It was decided then. There was no other option or route. They would pay for their crimes in blood. Horus flung the flap open and walked out of his command tent into the area that was once an airport before the Old World was burned away in righteous fire. Now it was his war camp where his men stayed. Defenses of concrete and wood had been erected around the camp after they arrived. Just in case the profligates to the north decided to pay a visit. Before him was the city of Mediolanum. The farthest north the Legion reached, for now. A rather large city compared to most you would find in the wasteland with a large amount of freemen. It was from here all the Legion’s cotton was made which gave them a steady supply of cotton for their men. The city itself had also had defenses erected around it but this was many years ago when Caesar himself conquered Denver.

To the north Horus could barely see Denver. He caught himself in his own mind. Urbem Canum. He mustn't even think profligate words. It was unclean. It’s large buildings reaching up into the heavens above. The Salvagers rule from there and soon Horus would bring holy retribution and fire upon the heathens. Already his Frumentarii were worming their way into the city to destroy and disrupt all they could. Soon the city would be his and his god, Caesar, would welcome him with open arms as if he was his son.

To the east lay the Hangdog camps. They were never fully integrated into the Legion as the Hangdog’s were many different groups and not everyone had bowed to Caesar’s glory. Only recently had a local tribal chieftain by the name of Harwerth had conquered the scattered groups of Hangdog’s along with a few other tribes under his banner. He was a powerful ally indeed and his men would soak up the damage while the Legion came next to mop up the stragglers.

Horus came back to reality after he realized more than a few of his own men were staring at him as he silently scanned his surroundings. He looked around a bit more looking for his right hand man Lucien Lachance. A faithful follower who had been with Horus since he had left his former immoral lifestyle for that of the Legion. Finally spotting him among a crowd of recruits Horus approached him from behind where he could plainly hear him boasting of their exploits.

And that’s when the rangers surrounded Horus with their knives drawn. Knowing I had to do something I lept across the room with nothing but my trusty Gladius and slew two of the rangers in the blink of an eye… what are you staring at…?

Lucien spun around and came eye to eye with Horus. Lucien yelped in surprise as he hadn’t expected Horus himself to be behind him. The children behind him started to giggle and Lucien waved them off to talk with Horus who sat patiently with his arms crossed, a small smirk across his face.

Regaling the recruits with your tales of heroics I see.

Lucien smiled and grabbed Horus by the shoulder and took his hand in the old Roman handshake style.

If I didn’t then who would?

Horus returned the smile and nodded his head for Lucien to follow him as he walked deeper into the camp with towards a large clearing where the slave cages were.

Assemble the men. Tonight we will make an example of the ex-centurions who deigned to take matters into their own hands following the death of their former master. We shall meet at the auction area west of the camp. Have three crosses prepared.

---

Later that evening…

Drums beat as the men gathered around in groups and participated in various shows of skill and strength. A feast had been cooked in Mars’ honor and now a small celebration was being had for the Legion’s return to Colorado and to hopefully gain favor with Mars to help them take back what was rightfully theirs.

Several sacrifices were performed including some animals and one live human slave girl. The readings of their guts had confirmed what Horus already knew. The Legion would be victorious in their conquest of Urbem Canum and the banner of the bull would fly over the city once more.

But now came the culmination of the ceremonies. Horus walked up onto the wooden stage where auctioneers would sell off slaves to the Legion soldiers. As he walked across the stage the celebrations became silent as all men came to attention for their leader.

WE ARE LEGION!

A throaty roar erupted in the men below at Horus’ words. After a few moments they quieted down as they waited for Horus to speak again.

But not all of us are worthy. Some of us have betrayed Caesar himself! Those who were to lead you and Urbem Canum to glory instead lead you to damnation. When the you were at your lowest they kicked you all by having you fight each other instead of the profligates who think Urbem Canum belongs to them! You were loyal. You fought hard for your centurions no matter if you did it for the wrong reasons. For that you are to be commended. Just like at Hoover Dam we cannot allow us to be weak! To this I condemn the centurions who lead you to death by crucifixion! We will not let the disease grow! We shall take Urbem Canum for Caesar once more!

As one the men below erupted into cheers meanwhile behind him Horus could hear the sound of hammers striking nails into flesh and the occasional scream. This was the beginning of the end of those damnable Salvagers and any other profligate who dared oppose them.

[Waztaskio]

Boulder Dome - Undisclosed Location

---

Boulder Dome. Back in the pre-war days, it was a center of private research. A technological marvel in the private domain, conducting experiments vital to the interest of national security, under the banner of an old world company. Poseidon Energy, one of the most powerful pre-war institutions in the United States has indeed seen better days, if anyone can call Boulder Dome a direct continuation that is. After the bombs dropped in 2077, Boulder Dome officially went through a transformation that would define it's place in the new world. Secluding itself in their hidden facility, they began to observe the various wasteland tribes begin to compete with one another for territory. War...war never changes in the eyes of the world, even when it supposedly ended on that fateful day in October. Throughout the years Poseidon continued to run it's operations underground, making scientific progressions unrivaled by many of the tribals present on the surface that would ensure the dominance of Boulder Dome for centuries. Or so, this was the going theory devised by the Boulder Development Commission.

Victor Presper had been elected the chairman of the Boulder Development Commission in 2277, after spending decades lobbying for changes and opposing the stagnant leadership he accused previous chairman in the past of engaging in. Once he was finally in power, he new it was time for change. After taking office, he began to call up a meeting of the Boulder Development Commission to begin to discuss his plans for the future. The first was commencing what Presper nicknamed, Project Skyline. A project involving the capture of many of the rabbid dogs present in Denver, to transform them into cybernetic hounds for future operations. Another project that was initiated with Project Dragon and Project Skyline Horizon, involving the the spread of propaganda around the locals by means of rumors, urban legends, etc that dissuade anyone from actually coming close to Boulder Dome. The programs would include assassinations, covert operations, and observation of various wasteland groups in order to reinforce Boulder's secrecy, and eliminate all known threats.

Presper however, was still not satisfied and sought to engage in another activity in order to ensure the safety of Boulder Dome. He ordered the Clandestine Operations Bureau to begin operations in Denver involving the kidnapping of local citizens, to be brought back to Boulder Dome for the purposes of "Reeducation." Presper justified this to the council, stating that the upcoming threats can not always be foreseen and distractions for our enemies will allow us to move as silent as the grave until it's time to fully unveil ourselves. With these orders, in addition to existing projects, Boulder Dome continued to crank on in secrecy. Awaiting the time in which they would be most needed.

[Vacif]

Woodrow Belrose
Grand Bazaar

The Grand Bazaar was its usual packed self. Hundreds of feet stomped across the centuries old asphalt. The sound of hundreds of voices talking dominated the area. Merchants selling their wares, buyers haggling, or people just having a conversation while sitting down for lunch. An oppressive heat hung over them as the sun shined down on them. In the old Denver International Airport stood elements of fireteam Dragon, one of the specialized teams of Brotherhood soldiers tasked with procuring food stuffs and other necessary supplies for the Brotherhood's Colorado chapter. There were 12 of them in total. 16 if you included Chimera, who was tasked with reconnaissance. Dragon, with another two fire teams, Angel and Cyclone were composed of elite four man teams of seasoned Brotherhood veterans.

Cyclone was back at the safe house, a rather large sized condo nicely hidden away in the urban jungle. Angel was scavenging somewhere near Lakewood and they were here in the Grand Bazaar securing their next shipment home. Problem was Chimera reported Legion movement near Colorado Springs. The last thing they needed happening them was being intercepted by the Legion. Paladin Chambers was being called back to base for some urgent matter, however there was still work to be done here. Chambers, Khan, and Dobs would escort the supplies back home while he stayed in Denver to take care of business.

That business was scavenging Buckley Air Force Base. Place had probably been ransacked by now but intelligence from Chimera suggested that there was some pretty interesting data regarding robotics and communications technology. The base wasn't too far from there present position. They'd pay each participant 80 caps upfront and an additional 100 caps when the job was done totaling in at 180 caps once the job was done. The primary objective was the data stored in the underground data center below the base. Whatever the others picked up was theirs, within reason of course. His orders were simple, and he already had the map and plans. After posting the work notice on the large notice board in the middle of the Bazaar, Woodrow said good bye to his departing team members and waited for his new ones in terminal 1.

Mercenaries Wanted

Handy with a gun? Got a cool head? In need of some cash? If so, come by to Terminal One. Pay is 80 caps up front.
An additional 100 caps will be paid out at the end of the job. Keep what you find. We leave ASAP. Details will be
provided in person.

[Tayner]

Clayton Reynolds
Colorado

Clayton walked through the brush, eyes batting down to the folded up map in his left hand, his right had staying near his six-shooter that was sternly placed in a leather holster at his side. He was almost where he needed to go, at least he thought he was. He put the map away and looked around, scanning for signs of previous travel. Brahmin tracks, drag marks, the occasional discarded water bottle or chewed up bone of brahmin steak, the looks of someone who was traveling with a few captives. He soon found his destination.

A few red tents, a campfire, and a few brahmin tied up just outside of a chain link fence where an electrical substation would've been. A small legion raiding and slaving camp, there were dozens of them across the northernmost areas of the legion's extent. This one was targeting caravans on a rather well beaten path to Denver, and a few people would like it more than taken care of, but it didn't matter, Clayton was here on his own accord. The sun was setting, and the recruit decanus who was in charge left some recruits to stand watch in the night hours, although they were facing north, the direction of their enemy, but their hunter approached from the south.

He snuck through camp, took a bottle alcohol and threw it into the embers which were now the campfire. The fire made a distinct swoosh sound before growing to illuminate the whole camp. The two recruits standing guard were the first to respond, but their fates were sealed, before they could turn and draw their machetes they each recieved a bullet in the back of their necks. Four more legionaries jumped out of their tents, a decanus, recruit decanus, and two more recruits. One of the recruits wielded a 9mm pistol, the other a single shot shotgun. The decanuses both wielded 10mm pistols.

Bit they were blinded as their eyes adjusted to the light, their shots missing wide as Clayton gunned them down. One by one they fell as Clayton dual wielded revolvers, firing off shots like a string of firecrackers. Just as fast as the whole fight started it was over, the slavers dead, laying in pools of blood. Clayton retrieved the food they had on them, and the coins and supplies they kept in their footlockers before approaching the brahmin. Unlike he first concluded the brahmin were tied up on the outside of the fence, while on the inside there were a few more than frightened caravaners.

Clayton shot the lock off, and spoke. "I'm heading to Monument, east of here. You're welcome to join me, we should get there just in time for daybreak." They all looked at eachother and seemed to agree that they would travel with the mysterious gunslinger that saved their lives.

---

Clayton Reynolds
Monument

Three brahmin and six caravaners; three merchants, two guards, and one traveling doctor were brave enough to travel the roads south of Denver. Each of them had a tale of how the slavers surrounded them and bound and dragged them back to their camp. One of the merchants was quick to loot the bodies, even tossing the legion uniforms into their brahmin's pack. They made it to Monument as the sun rose over the plains to the east. Their first stop was naturally the closest bar, where tales of the gunslinger at the counter spread. Stories were exchanged and drinks were bought, and Clayton enjoyed making friends and telling tales. But not before long Clayton had to set out.

"Where are you going?" Doctor Holliday asked as Clayton stood up and dusted off his hat to leave.

"My job's not done yet." He said.

"You'll end up dead sooner or later of you keep up this one man war." The caravan guard by the name of Werner said as Clayton started bidding his farewells as he walked to the door.

"Then join me." The notion stopped the noise of the bar to silence, the two dozen patrons starring at the gunslinger as he stood at the doorway, contemplating what he just proposed. "They're coming here next, but we can take the fight to them." He added.

"Free drinks to anyone who joins him!" The bartender yelled, having been pleased with the amount of customers the charismatic gunslinger had brought him, and how much business was drummed up because of it. An hour later when Clayton hit the road he had a dozen men at his back, and a few brahmin, ready for a fight.

It was high noon when they made a plan. They would travel a know route for legion raiding, sending one of the merchants foward with a brahmin, the rest of the men staying behind until a signal was given, and they would charge in and kill the legionaries who opposed them. Two hours later on the road their plan was put in action as a whistle was blown, and gunshots were heard over the next hill. A dozen legion recruits lead by a decanus were exchanging fire with the caravan, who had taken cover behind the brahmin's corpse. With the arrival of the band of warriors the legion raiding party was caught off guard.

The firefight that ensued was vicious, but Clayton himself killed six legion troops, including the decanus before the recruits flead, four of them being gunned down by the militia, the other two escaping into the brush. However one of the bar patrons had caught a bullet in the heart, being the only casualty. Their next direction was hard to determine, continue fighting the legion out here or round up more militiamen.

"Take what you can from the corpses, bury our own but leave theirs for the dogs. We head west to
Westcreek, the legion would expect us to head north to Larkspur, so they'd be watching that route closely. We may not be in their territory but that doesn't mean they aren't here, scouting around the trails and roads. It'll be a couple hours walk but we'll rest and recruit once we get there." He said, and with that they were off on their journey.

[Elerian]

Judge Kersey, Denver Outskirts

Judge exhaled a breath slowly into the chilly Denver night. His breath turned to vapors and curled up over the black binoculars he held to his eyes. In the distance, several figures sat around a campfire, one was playing a guitar and strutting about drunkenly singing, oblivious to the death that was about to come to him and his friend’s. Judge turned the old loose nob of the radio. It crackled to life and as it picked up a signal, a familiar tune began to quietly resound off the walls of the surrounding buildings that Judge lay near. He inhaled a deep breath and grabbed his nearby Rifle. He’d had the gun for many years, and all through that time she hadn’t failed him once, he wouldn’t trade her for any other. He’d modified the gun many times over the years, adding his own personal touch. He pulled the lever of the rifle and loaded a round into the chamber.

“Believe me; I don’t want to set the world on fire.” Judge pulled the trigger. Metallic death sped at 2000 feet per second straight into the chest of the drunken man, killing him instantly. The man lurched backwards and with blood spraying on his companions, he fell into the fire. The shouts of surprise of the soon to be departed echoed off sounded off into the vast wasteland. But no one would hear them. Not even the Judge, he had ears only for Orville Jones, and the Ink Spots.

“I just want to start a flame in your heart.” He pulled the trigger a second time. Moments later another man was dead, his life’s blood swallowed up by the hard dirt of the Platte, by morning much of the evidence of what had transpired would be wiped clean by nature, such was the way of the wastes.

“In my heart I have but one desire.” His aim was off this time, shredding a man’s knee, and nearly severing the man’s leg. There were two left. One had hit the dirt and hid behind a rock, the other was running off into the wilderness, sealing his fate.

“And that one is you.” Another round fired, another man dead, though Judge had been off target by nearly a foot. Damn he was getting old. The maimed man was screaming out in pain as he clutched his ruined leg. The other man had found Judge’s position in the hills above the road. Shit.

“No other will do.” Judge quickly loaded another round and shot the screamer in the chest, blood sprayed all over the fire, nearly putting it out. It had been a mercy kill, while Judge was no saint; he disliked needless pain, and bloodshed. But tonight wasn’t a night for peace, tonight was a night for murder.

“I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim.” Judge took aim as bullets rained down on the dirt all around him. He needed only one shot to ensure this kill. His foe ducked back down behind the rock to avoid being shot, or to reload. It made no difference, Judge would kill him as soon as he was in sight. Seconds later he popped his head back over the top of the rock, but he fired no more, he was dead before he could pull the trigger. Judge got back up into a sitting position, all the while humming along with the rest of the song. The rest of the Gang were already on their way to loot the bodies, take the pack Brahmin, and clean up the mess. It would be as if it had never happened. Judge really didn’t want to see the world burn, but in the wastes, anything goes.

[Beutarch]

Mediolanum - V. Decanus Quintus

---

He almost wanted to put a bullet in the former Centurions' heads. Almost. The three men looked miserable, stripped of their glorious armor and inspirational smirks. Shown to be the degenerates that they are. Quintus had served under one of them, disgusted now that he had followed their power-hungry lead. Soldiers from that survived the escape, from the lowest recruits to the few still active Centurions were persecuted by Lupercal's men for some reason or another, cowardice in their exodus, following the profligate officers or some fabricated reason. Being the de-facto commanding officer of a mobile group of scouts offered some freedom from the monotony and strict chain-of-command that Mediolanum radiated and Lupercal wished to enforce with brutal efficiency.

His adviser, a recruit Decanus grabbed his shoulder. "We must return to the Collegium within the night." The Air Force Academy, or the Collegium as the more eccentric troops had dubbed it, served as a halfway-house for scouts and frumentarii between Mediolanum and Urbem Canum. A centurion officially presided over the base, but after the rumored crucifixions of his comrades and failure to do anything notable prior to Lupercal's arrival had sent him into a state of self-preservation induced hiding. The day-to-day management of the camp was left to Quintus, his second in command.

The two men set off from Mediolanum, accompanied by two scouts and a dog. There was no need to take a long winded route through the rocks and sand. What little raiders and bandits roamed around the Springs still dared not attack four Legion soldiers. Coyotes, however, had no knowledge of the Legion's reputation. Three sprung from the sides of the road, apparently disturbed by the Legionaries presence.

A scout in the rear was first to draw, firing two quick rounds into one of the hound's torsos. The dog bounded forwards, but was ill-experienced and was locked in a growling match with one of the coyotes. Quintus took action quickly, unsheathing and swiping down with his gladius in two simultaneous motions, removing the hound's head from its neck. The final coyote jumped upon the second decanus, scraping at the man's face mask with its claws. Quintus threw his machete into his left hand, unholstering his pistol and firing a round into the coyote's skull. It fell limp, collapsing on top of the decanus. The man scrambled to stand up, thanking him and putting away his unused blade. "There could be more, we should move quickly." suggested a scout, fitting two rounds into his Varmint Rifle. "Agreed. Tread lightly, we are still in the animal's domain." stated Quintus, resuming their trek.

[Alouite]

John Raymond
Peyton Fire Station,
February 27th 2278,
22:03

The Night was cold, still showing some resemblance of the long winter that had passed, and John was only thankful he had only been forced to endure those conditions for about a week as his group scouted out the Colorado territory, which clearly had seen far from the worst of the conditions suffered elsewhere. But then again, it certainly did a good job making up for that with the bitter cold conditions. The morale of the entire squad was lifted when they finally found a building that they could make function. Switching the nuclear generators back online, the fire station roared to life and as the lights flickered the heating system slowly warmed the entire building, though due to years of decay, not nearly enough. They made a fire-pit in an open room and soon the warmth covered the room thoroughly enough for them to roll out their sleeping bags and rest well. The irony of the scene was not lost, with Lewis commenting on the matter of fact and them all silently chuckling. There was a moment of silence after that, the journey to the Denver area had been laborious and nearly took their lives during their journey through the Appalachians, over the Mississippi, and across the vast, desolate plains. John was officially supposed to brief his subordinates on the actions they would take once they got to Denver, but they had been over it so many times it would be pointless. As the fire's heat grew to a comfortable level, the travelers set a watch schedule, and went to sleep.

---

John Raymond
Peyton Fire Station,
February 28th 2278,
04:06

John was woken early by Sandra, who had finished his watch for the night and was handing the last stretch off to his superior. John stretched, the sleeping bags were of great value to the group, but he missed the poorly maintained beds at the Citadel that were luxurious in comparison. John drank a sip of water from his canteen and put a can of water on the fire so that he could boil some Quail eggs they had purchased at a town back by the Cedar Bluff Reservoir. When it was ready he ate, and when he finished he found a room on the upper floor that was separated from the others by a wall. He changed out of his Brotherhood equipment and switched into his incognito outfit, the group would enter Denver looking as though they were any other civilians to avoid association with the Enclave or Brotherhood and thereby enhance their ability to take in information. After changing into his clothes, John slipped on his combat boots, put on his sunglasses, and wrapped his red Shemagh around his face. Back home this would have made his allegiance clear, as it was associated with the old militia he once led, but here it was only a reminder of home.

He walked back down the stairs and checked his watch which read 05:15. While the group had agreed on six being a good time for the day to begin, everyone was awake, anxious to get to work in this new, different land. They all geared up and the two suits of power armor, one being T-51b and another T-45d were stashed in the basement, which they bolted shut. They then put on their pistol belts. John had custom made handguns for each, which he dubbed the M9 Cutlass. These nine millimeter handguns and the various knives the members of the group had on them would be the only weapons they would display on scouting trips. Though below with the power armor were laser rifles, plasma grenades, and a sniper rifle. Together they were prepared for the road ahead, and would do what was required of them to complete the harrowing task ahead.

However, John requested that he take the lead in scouting, having Jack take over the group and ordering them to salvage the materials in the area and prepare the building to become a forward outpost. He went over to Sandra, who had already taken out her long range radio. Their entire radio network was fragile. They had set up radio networks in several police stations along the long road over from DC, and taken care to have each protected, either by protectrons and turrets that Lewis hacked, or surrounding their placement with mines and traps. Though this would inevitably fail, it would buy them a few weeks of direct communication with the Citadel, and that would hopefully be sufficient to setting up an operational forward post. They relayed a short message to the Citadel via morse code, as due to the current frequency already being fragile, they would have a hard time communicating by voice. The message sent was that they had arrived in the outskirts of Colorado Springs and were ready to begin scouting operations in the Denver area. The radio indicated that they were getting through, but the response was hazy, so they Sandra got to work on the roof repairing the old radio antenna so that their signal could be amplified. In the meantime, John would get to work taking his own ham radio and putting it in his duffel bag before venturing into the City of Colorado Springs proper.

---

John Raymond
Near the Former Colorado Springs Airport,
February 28th 2278,
11:32

John had learnt to keep distance from areas of especial importance from prewar times, as it tended to attract very territorial people, and what he saw near the former airport only confirmed those instincts. He could see men who seemed to be dressed in very odd uniforms. Based on his education with the Brotherhood and his reading of a recovered copy from a library in the capital called Cincinnatus: George Washington and the Enlightenment, they seemed to almost be emulating the old ancient culture. However, to him this did not indicate that they would also emulate their mannerisms, nor their philosophical approach to society, so he hung back and took a longer route around the city to avoid what could easily escalate into a dangerous situation. He worked his way further south, towards a pre-war highschool called Mesa Ridge, walking along I-16 until it became Magrath Avenue.

He continued the walk into the town, known as Fort Carson for its central military facility. Indeed, that location was John's intended destination for the day, and when he arrived he found the facility abandoned as expected. John picked the door to the main building in the fort and found a turret aimed straight at his head. Thankfully, the entire energy network was shut down, otherwise he may well have died in that moment. He would need Lewis to ensure that when the entire network was flipped on, the on-site security didn't skewer him, so he instead opted to set up an AM Frequency that would inform his comrades of his new position and it's superior layout. He flipped the radio on and heard static, he had wandered too far out of range, however, he opted to leave it on out of curiosity and secured the room he was in, locking the doors and bringing a chair over to his radio set before deciding to sit tight. He would look through the rest of the base in an hour, but for now decided to eat lunch, opening his duffel bag and taking a bottle of water, some Rad-X and a chunk of cooked Brahmin jerky. Downing the Rad-X and half of the bottle of water, he began to eat the jerky but suddenly the radio frequency stopped sounding like radio snow, someone was on the other end. He picked up his mic and said "This is KCJR come in." There was no initial response so he said, "This is KCJR, do you copy?"

[New Minahasa]

Golden, Colorado

In downtown Golden, walls made of scrap metals and the surrounding ruins of the buildings stood tall, overlooking a fair amount of the whole area around them. The walls, though looking crude and felt like they could fall at any time, were actually pretty durable considering the materials that they were made of. Surely, the man who had designed the architecture could be said to be genius. Not to mention the strategic points that these walls were made around, with tall concrete buildings that didn't receive as much damage as the average building would in Denver.

The men that patrolled the walls weren't any worse either; equipped with high quality military guns and metal armours, their eyes shifting through the ruins and debris of what used to be Golden. Only rarely did the guards of this stronghold accept entry into their fortress. Any trades done with the occasional passing traders and caravans were only allowed to be done at the gates with heavy supervision from the guards as well.

This fortress was pretty well-known around Denver. After all, it's where the Denver's most famous merchant company, or so they said, took shelter. The Capitol's Market, their name which derived from their fortress, the Capitol. They were renowned for their high quality guns and weapons that they gladly traded with Denver's denizens, most notably the Salvager Lords that ran the city. Not only that, but they were known for their participation in the slave market as well, which a lot of people might've not agreed with in the first place.

They claimed that the slaves that they sold were mostly bought from other slavers, and then resold to the Salvager Lords. 'Mostly'. They claimed that the rest of them were just war prisoners, slavers and raiders that foolishly decided to target their heavily guarded merchants and caravans looking to enslave them, but found themselves enslaved instead, most without a few limbs. Oddly, the bulk of their slave products rarely ran out, and the majority of their slaves sold always seemed fresh and healthy.

Everyone in Denver knew that. But there's still more to it they didn't know. That the Capitol's core members were in fact Legion deserters. That the slaves that they sold were in fact gained from raids. That the Capitol was erected not by themselves, but by the hardwork of their slaves that they still kept in their cages. Well, some of them at least, since most had died from the lack of food and medical assistance that they barely received. And that the leader of the Capitol, Romulus Rex as he was called, or just Rex, was in fact the infamous Decanus Titus that had led the Legion uprising in Denver, resulting in the Legion's demise from Denver.

Only the powerful and influential of the Salvager Lords knew of the Capitol's true self, but most would know better to keep it to themselves. They saw the Capitol as a dangerous ally. Dangerous, but still profitable as an ally. So profitable that said Salvager Lords had considered Rex to be one of them, a Salvager Lord, and had promised to protect the Capitol as they would their own kin, as long as the Capitol assisted them in their strife against the Legion. The Salvager Lords were in need of allies, and so was Romulus Rex, especially now that Horus Lupercal was leading the Legion in Colorado Springs.

[Tayner]

Clayton Reynolds
Westcreek, Colorado

The sun broke the horizon, shedding light over the small settlement as Clayton sat at a table in the bar. He wrote down the names of everyone who joined his militia, and was taking the names down of a few new members. Eleven militiamen entered the town, and seventeen left. Any extra gear like armor and weapons were sold off to produce caps for medical supplies and food. The men pooled their resources to ensure that the militia was well supplied, but many were hesitant about walking all the way to Denver when the enemy they were to fight was south. Before they set out Clayton addressed the men who had gathered at the steeps of the inn they stayed in.

"I know I'm asking much of you men, and I know your hatred for the legion runs deep, but our enemy stands as a crimson wave against us. We march north to gather more men, to seek out allies, and gather supplies to fight our enemy with. We recruit men wherever we travel, and make allies with whoever will offer their hand. Sure, we can fight the legion, we can hinder them, but if we gather more men we can do much more than hinder and fight them, we can defeat them! So I ask, one week, one week to raise men and supplies for the cause, one week before we take the fight to our enemy, one week before our true mission begins. Now, follow me while I travel, for men will join a cause as just as ours, and if they see how many men we have, they will realize that they too can join. Now, let's get going!"

A few yelps and hollers came from the assembled men and with that, they set out. Their destination; Deckers, the next settlement up the road, and a day's travel. As they marched the sun climbed higher, and as it reached it's zenith they stopped to eat and rest. Some men watched the road and the brush while others ate and rested, but Clayton wanted to go for a walk around the area. He walked down the road until he saw a radstag trail, a narrow gap in the brush. He followed it, noting that the tracks in the dirt below were days old. He kept walking until the trail ran adjacent to a small lake. He kneeled down and observed the scene.

The water stood still, only interrupted by the wind or when a bird swooped low over it to snag a small fish. It was almost tranquil. Across the lake was a small hunting shack, mostly collapsed besides the brick chimney. His view was only interrupted when he heard a dry twig snap behind him. Clayton turned around quickly as he withdrew his left revolver, eyes meeting the sight of four legionaries not five yards away. A decanus and three veterans stood facing Clayton, although their weapons were holstered.

"Your deeds are known to many, profligate. The legion has marked you as a enemy. Tell your men to return to their homes and your deeds will be forgotten. Refuse and you will die where you stand." The decanus threatened. The response was a crack from Clayton's revolver, the decanus falling back as the bullet entered and exited his skull. The veterans didn't take kindly to the death of their commander, and drew their weapons, one wielding a hunting shotgun, another with a hunting rifle and the third with a varmit rifle.

The veteran with the shotgun was the first to fall, as Clayton drew his second revolver. He fired twice into the veteran's chest, forcing them to fall backwards as they bled out. Just as this happened the legionare with the varmit rifle shot Clayton in the arm, and the other narrowly missed hitting Clayton's head. Clayton fired each pistol at each man as he cried out in pain, most bullet finding their mark while some kicked up dust behind the would be assassins. Two of the men were squirming in the dirt, trying to keep themselves from bleeding out, while the other two laid there with lifeless eyes. Four militiamen ran to the scene, taking it in as Clayton swore as he examined his wound.

"Go get the doc!" One of them yelled. Shorty Doc Holliday got on scene, heading straight for Clayton's arm, inspecting the injury.

"It's only a grazing wound, you'll survive." Holliday said as he withdrew a bottle of whiskey, offering Clayton a sip before he dumped some on the wound, sterilizing it before he applied clean bandages. "It'll heal in a few days at the least. I'll check the bandages daily to make sure you don't get an infection." He concluded.

"Thanks doc." Clayton said as he was helped up by a militiaman. "Well, that's that. Loot them and we'll be on our way." Clayton said, and the six men followed the trail back to the camp and prepared to set out. No doubt more would come, but for now they were ahead. And from now on a militiaman would always stand at Clayton's side, only taking his eyes off of him when he had to piss or shit. Just as the sun set over the west they found their way into Deckers, heading to the bars and inns to spread word of their cause, telling tales of Clayton's actions and raising volunteers for the militia. The next step in their journey would be Sedalia, a small town just south of Denver.

[Waztaskio]

Boulder Dome - Undisclosed Location

---

"New discoveries, make new man. And new men, make new societies." These were words spoken within the halls of Middle School, repeated to an extent that would turn the most die-hard supporter of a failing regime, turn a blind eye every now and then. These words, etched into the mind of Victor Presper served as his guiding philosophy. It's the same words written within official Poseidon records, and the same words that hang above Presper's own portrait hanging in his office. The one problem in the mind of Presper with these words, were the fact that outside of the walls of Boulder, no-one seemed capable of truly grasping the concept in which Boulder has intended to pursue. Maybe this is why secrecy had to be maintained. Maybe, there was no hope anymore for such a troubled place and that earth was merely a stepping zone to realize that humanity needs a fresh restart on another planet, with different morals.

These thoughts served as a constant reminder to Victor, of how humans can be the most fascinating creatures in existence, they have many negative traits that a majority of the time, ends up destroying itself like back in the Sino-American War. Was Boulder engaging in a line of thought, that is neither substantiated nor proved that humanity was worth saving? As of now, an answer was not yet available and Presper's line of thought was interrupted by an abrupt knock at his office door. "Doctor Presper, our next rocket test is ready. We're pretty confident about this one," said Molly the Doctors personal secretary. "Thank you Molly, I'll head down as soon as possible. Tell them to hold the launch until I arrive." Molly nodded, as she proceeded to shut the door behind her and Presper sighed. "Let's see if they actually manage to do what they need it to do." Presper reached down to the table, picking up his pair of prescription glasses as he proceeded down to the launch bay.

The launch bay was rather separate from the main Boulder Dome area, in that you needed to take a five minute train ride on their underground lines to reach the facility. However, this was nothing new to the people of Boulder. Due to the growing community of the original scientists, new testing facilities, and offices, there simply was not enough room in the main complex to commence research on everything they needed to have researched. In 2219, The Boulder Development Commission began to order the construction of a variety of separate, but interconnected facilities that would be accessible by an underground rail line system to provide efficient transportation to and from the worksites. The list of the on-going facilities are as follows;

• Cronus Complex - Agricultural Botanical Gardens
• Ares Complex - Military Operations Bureau HQ.
• Circe Complex - Clandestine Operations Bureau HQ.
• Athena Complex - Science and Development Branch HQ.
• Asclepius Complex - Biological Applications Bureau HQ.
• Hephaestus Complex - Engineering and Construction Bureau HQ.
• Tyche Complex - Futuristic Solutions Bureau

As Presper approached Tyche Complex, named after the Greek Goddess Tyche, the Goddess of fortune and prosperity, he was greeted by the standard security line-up that was present at each job site. Almost like the pre-world airports of a dead age, all personnel requiring access into various facilities were ordered to present appropriate identification to the waiting security stations and have everything scanned and searched, before entrance was granted. The guards, equipped with only the latest weaponry Poseidon had to offer were always assisted by hidden agents of the Clandestine Operations Bureau, who nobody except a select few knew the identities of, but knew they were around. As Presper approached the checkpoint, he was waved right on through with protocol simply having him escorted by two security personnel on duty while on the job site. This wasn't because of any previous incidents, but was simply a measure of authority. A way to show status, Presper thought. But alas, the policy was made decades before he was even born.

As he approached the launch bay, he was handed a set of specialized googles which he promptly placed on and was guided to the viewing area. In front of him behind a glass window, stood the "Urania-05," the next rocket to by launched under the line of another Greek Goddesses Urania who represented Astrology and Astronomy. Although Boulder was able to place rockets into space, it has hence-forth only been able to send things one way and not be able to round-trip with much success. This new design, would hopefully be able to send a crew up to the stars and back down, but until this was proven the ships were to be flown by electronics with the Control Center present in the facility. Presper, watched the various ground crews ready final preparations before a messenger had informed him that it was ready for launch. As Presper glanced at the craft once more, he soon gave the go-ahead as the ignition process for the craft began and soon the craft begin to shoot into the air towards the stars.

Although Presper couldn't see the craft anymore, he could only imagine what the wastelanders were thinking seeing another pair of "Strange Lights," scorching the skies of the wasteland heading towards the sky. "Maybe the thought of aliens would form? Did the Wasteland still believe in such tails of little green men from the stars, coming for the vast resources of earth? Nonsense, most of it was destroyed already, but could the story still inspire fear into the wasteland?" Presper again was lost in his thoughts, as he imagined scenario after scenario of a lone wastelander seeing glimpses of the craft shooting across the sky. These thoughts however, would soon turn into nightmares. Yelling was soon heard throughout the facility, as one of the scientist rushed to the Director.

"Doctor Presper, we lost the craft!" Presper, unphased looked to the scientist and studied her expression with a smug look on his face. "You lost the craft? Well, then I guess this means there is room for improvement, don't you think?" The look the director gave her sent chills through her spine, even though it had no evil intent behind it. "Sir, I don't think you understand. It's gone. We lost navigational control, and it crashed. It's in the wasteland!" Now the day was getting interesting, at least to Presper. "In the wasteland? Where?" Presper, dropping his look began to focus on the scientist. "We believe-...a little north of Denver in Thornton! What are your orders?" Presper merely chuckled to himself and shrugged. "You, nothing. I believe you've all done enough for now. Clean up this lab, and get started on plans for the next rocket. And this time-...don't make the same errors you made today. Learn and grow."

With these words, Presper soon began to leave the baffled scientist and her team to their own devices. All the while, he proceeded back to the rail line to head to the office, seemingly unphased by these developments. "I guess it's time to pose a new question to the wasteland. What will packs of degenerates, do when they find something they have no hopes of understanding?" As Presper reached the rail line not long after, the phrase from middle-school began to repeat in his mind again. "New discoveries, make new man. And new men, make new societies."

[The Enclave Regions]

The Grand Bazaar - Daniel Jakobson

Daniel woke up in a cold sweat, his rough reddish brown beard wet with vomit and other more mysterious substances. He positively reeked. Standing up and stretching his old bones he tried to take in his surroundings. He couldn't remember much except that he had gotten in a bar fight of some sort, a dispute, which to his memory, was over the validity of Daniel's own stories of cross-Atlantic travel that he so often spread around when drunk. It didn't take a keen eye to notice where he was... the Terminal Two Jail, a makeshift holding center where the Grand Bazaar's Security Forces locked up drunks and troublemakers to sober up or calm down. He wasn't hurt, and he seemed to have all of his possessions (excluding his weapons, which were likely confiscated until his eventual release).

Daniel sighed and collected his thoughts, his head throbbing from Med-X withdrawal. He felt a deep rumble in his gut, a gnawing hunger taking over. He'd have to numb it soon, his cravings, lest he finds a way out of his cell and eats the guard who locked him up here. He didn't let his mind linger on his hunger for long, it wasn't healthy. He could determine that feeling was returning to his outer extremities, due to the lack of Med-X in his system, and it was unsettling to him. Calling out for the guard, Daniel convinced the man he was fit for release after a short conversation and a small bribe. Leaving his cell and gathering his equipment, his satchel, and weapons, he dusted off his reinforced leather armor and exited the molded interior of Terminal Two and out onto the asphalt runways of the Bazaar itself.

Now light on caps, after that bribe for his release, Daniel decided it best he search around the Bazaar for some easy work so that he could afford more Med-X. Before that though, he had to get his fix. He had some Med-X stowed away in a hidden pouch within his satchel, just enough for one or two more doses, and so he reached in and pulled some out. Looking around nervously he quickly stuck himself with the needle in his forearm when he assumed no one was looking his way. Then, after discreetly disposing of the used syringe, he started off towards the bulletin/bounty board near Terminal One, avoiding guard patrols and "high-profile" residents along the way. Daniel wasn't the shady type, although he acted like one, he simply hated attention whenever he wasn't drunk. He tried keeping his Med-X addiction secret, considering most caravans didn't hire-on "junkies." Luckily, Daniel had been pretty successful with that in the past and to anyone untrained in the medical arts he could probably pass for normal. Daniel hated the thought of being judged for his addictions, but he couldn't stop... not anymore, he was too far gone.

His pneumatic gauntlet on his right hand he arrived at the bounty board. Looking over the jobs with scrutiny, he finally managed to choose one which seemed to pay pretty lucratively. Someone offering 80 caps up front and an additional 100 upon completion. He turned from the bulletin board and headed off to the interior of Terminal One looking for his prospective employer. He patted down his unruly receding red hair and shifted his rapier's position on his belt as to place it snuggly between his Royal Military satchel and the reinforced exterior of his leather armor. To anyone watching him from the crowds it would be obvious he was a merc.

[Intermountain States]

Derek Frost
Milton E Proby Pkway

It was just another salvaging trip for Frost's team as they walk through the roads with merchant gears. While they don't have brahmins to lug the gear, they do have a cart filled with junk that they could use to make some caps along the sideline of their salvaging mission. They gotta act natural around the Legion or the Salvager Lords. No one would really bat an eye to a group of merchants and hired guards walking around with weapons. Even better is how common energy weapons are in Denver, which for the first time, is a blessing for the Brotherhood.

To set off any suspicion, they ensured that they look like they fit in. Being a scribe and two knights; Alex Song, Richard David, and Jared Hanson wore leather armor and carried laser guns to act like merchants while Frost and Martin Lopez wore combat armor and were equipped with heavy weapons to resemble mercenaries. While Frost would rather go around wearing the T-49XV Power Armor, he's fine with wearing the combat armor, given the Brotherhood's current condition. They do a somewhat decent job protecting him from bullets. Couldn't really say the same for Song, David, and Hanson wearing leather armor though, but those are what most merchants wore.

The team kept on walking with Hanson pushing the cart while the radio was turned on. They found a small cave to rest in and Frost took guard. He looked around for any hostiles, gripping his machine gun to ensure that they won't be ambushed by any hostiles, although trip was so far peaceful. He had to give the Legion credit where it's due. For being a clan of savages, they know how to keep a place safe. That's the only nice thing he has to say about them.

His train of thought was interrupted when Hanson called out to his name. "What's going on, Hanson?" he asked.

"We got a radio message," Hanson said as Frost walked to the radio.

"This is KCJR come in," the voice said through the radio. "This is KCJR, do you copy?"

"KCJR? What's that?" Lopez asked.

"How did someone get into this channel?" Song asked. Hanson shook his head.

"No clue, should we respond?" Hanson asked. Frost simply reached for the radio to respond.

"If they are Brotherhood, then they know this question. If they are Wastelanders, then they would not know this question," Frost said. "Answer this question, whoever you are," he begins. "What is Lost Hills?"

[Tayner]

Clayton Reynolds
Sedalia, Colorado

The march had been rather uneventful from Deckers to Sedalia, five men joining the militia as they marched out of town bringing the total to 22, not including Clayton. The men were bonding and telling stories on the trail, only stopping to use the restroom or scavenge the eventual building for supplies. Nothing but radroaches and mole rats opposed them, and Doc Holliday was quick to treat the minor injuries caused by these encounters. By now most of the men owed Holliday a solid for getting patched up, it was a wonder why the man stuck around in the first place, it certainly wasn't for the caps, because there weren't any.

Aside from a few small payments or gifts the doctor had gone without much pay, like all the other men here, only being paid with the gear scavanged off of bodies or out of buildings. Clayton started to think what he would say to the salvager lords when he would ask for their help. Certainly he'd ask for men, but maybe he'd procure some caps to pay those who had already joined the cause. They'd also definitely need weaponary and munitions. He heard of the Capitol Market having good firearms at cheap prices, not to far from Denver. He'd have to investigate there too if he wanted to make sure all his options were ready.

As they entered Sedalia they were greeted by the townspeople, apparently word of their cause had traveled ahead, and hatred for the legion ran deep in Sedalia. They were given free water from the well and discounted food, and seven people were quick to sign up. Clayton was invited to visit the mayor's office to meet with the leader of the city. When Clayton entered the room he removed his hat and shook the man's hand.

"Nice to meet you Mister Mayor." He said, offering a smile.

"You can call me Drake, Mayor Drake if you're feeling formal." He said. "It's nice to see people taking up arms to stop the legion. Many people here still remember the last time those savages were in these parts. It wasn't pretty but we prevailed. It's no secret that we're not fond of the legion here, and the people want to do more than offer water and food to your militia, or so I'm told. If there's anything you need for the cause, just say the word." Mayor Drake said.

"Well, Mister Drake, our doctor has been cleaning up my guys after a couple days of nonstop travel and encounters with wildlife and legion. He'd be happy to get some extra medical supplies so he can stop using tribal remedies on the minor injuries and not worry about conserving supplies." Clayton said.

"I'll see what I can arrange with the town doctor." Drake said before the two bid their fair wells. "You'll always have a place to stay in Sedalia, safe travels."

"Thank you for the help, and have a great day" Clayton said. And after that the militia gathered together before departing the town. If they hurried they could make it to the Grand Bazar before nightfall. If word had already reached Sedalia then the Salvager Lords may already know of the militia leader who's coming to meet them. And the militia marched as fast as they could, being careful to not head too deep into the city in fear of the packs of dogs that roamed, and instead they took the more traveled and safer routes. The sun was still hanging over the mountains as the group of thirty armed men and a handful of brahmin entered the fortress market known as the Grand Bazare.

Clayton gave his men their leave and trusted them to go and try to recruit and procure cheap supplies while he went to meet with the Salvager Lords. He found the terminal where the council would convene, and was stopped by the guards. "Only important people can speak with the Salvager Lords." One said.

"I'm Clayton Reynolds, I've raised a militia to fight the legion and I've come to ask the Lords for aid in my cause, as I know we share a common enemy." He said.

"And who might that be?" The other guard at the door asked.

"The legion." Clayton responded. It wasn't long before he was ushered into the council chambers. His identity was announced before the Salvager Lords and he was asked to speak. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to insult the influential leaders. "I respect you all enough to be straightforward. The enemy, the legion, lies in the south ready to return to claim Denver for their own. We all remember the battles of long ago, I was only a child but I still was affected by the war. I ask for your help, for the hatred for the legion is shared between us, and we both have the means of combating our enemy.

"I've raised 29 men in a few days to fight the Legion, and we've marched here to raise support for our cause. You have what I need to fight the legion, men, weapons, munitions, caps. I'm not asking for much, just enough to better fight the enemy. I've been fighting the legion since I was a child, I've been branded an enemy by them, and they've tried to find and kill me. I ask that you support me while I finally take the fight to them. I ask that you stand with me." He said, trying to convince the Salvager Lords of the importance of his mission. He was dismissed, and told to wait for a response after the council deliberated. That's all he could do, is wait as others discussed the fate of his cause.

I hope I was convincing enough. He thought as he waited for what seemed like eternity.

[Beutarch]

West of Monument, former Legion encampment - V. Decanus Quintus

---

Disgusting. Legionaries lay sprawled out all over the small camp, hole in their bodies in one place or another. Scavengers had already ransacked the camp, stealing weapons and even the poor men's uniforms. Quintus was a careful man and had assembled a formidable group of explorers from the Collegium. They operated in pairs, with two groups overlooking the camp from a hill a few hundred feet out and four groups pacing around the outside of the camp, especially the southern side. The guards had fallen with a bullet to the back of their head, a sneak attack. Only something a professional hunter or a determined soldier would do. He motioned to his second, "Assemble the men, we're moving on to the next camp!" The men on the hill revealed their position, moving towards the bulk of the group. They held bona fide sniper-rifles in their grips, little presents from the Collegium. Not exactly standard equipment, but no one will deny that they would be useful in killing the degenerates who have been shooting up the camps.

Road outside of Monument - V. Decanus Quintus

---

Quintus had his men watching the road, several looking out at the desert. Just in case. These new enemies of the Legion had executed types of guerrilla warfare and brutality utilized by very few, one exception being the Legion itself. A caravan moseyed out of the town, its guards were clearly drunk, a degenerate doctor trying to keep them in line. "Four shots, one in each of their head's." he whispered to his nearby marksmen. The explorers took aim, using an array of scavenged NCR service rifles and Varmint pea-shooters to conserve higher-caliber rounds. The legionaries fired. Two rounds embedded themselves in two guard's skulls, sending them sideways onto the cracking pavement. The two survivors fled off the road, into the waiting machetes of several troops. "You four, you are coming into the town with me." Quintus walked towards the carnage, approaching the brahmin. He unsheathed his blade, shaving off one of the bovine's heads. "Shoot the other one. We do not wish to cause excess pain." A legionary on the Decanus' left fire a round into the beast's remaining head. The party strolled into the town, flaunting their uniforms and weapons to the forewarned settlement. "Do not attempt to attack us. We have dozens more waiting in the surrounding hills." In truth, there were just under a dozen scattered around, but the scared settlers took his words at face value. He dropped the brahmin's bloodied head into the town square. "We have no current intention to annex this settlement. However, we have heard that a certain profligate came through this way recently. He leads a militia bent on killing every legionary in the Springs. If he comes back here, I want you to kill him. Or, you if don't have the stomach, simply don't serve him or his men. Should we hear of him receiving shelter here again, I will personally affix everyone in this town to a cross or on top of a spike. Vale." The men walked out of the camp, noting the helpful glint of a scope in the foothills.

[Pacific Brotherhood of Steel]

The Lord's Council Assembly

"I've raised 29 men in a few days to fight the Legion, and we've marched here to raise support for our cause. You have what I need to fight the legion, men, weapons, munitions, caps. I'm not asking for much, just enough to better fight the enemy. I've been fighting the legion since I was a child, I've been branded an enemy by them, and they've tried to find and kill me. I ask that you support me while I finally take the fight to them. I ask that you stand with me."

The assembled council of lords look to one another in astonishment. Most outsiders who came to Denver only sought to exploit it and yet the one before him had come to protect it. They had heard this before though. The Legion came on these very same words that they would protect the Salvagers from the destruction that the Brotherhood threatened them with and many of them were rightfully skeptical. Hushed whispers were had between all in attendance at this brazen little man who stood before them. The first to stand was a wizened old man, covered in wrinkles. Rare for such a place as Denver. The harshness of their environment usually claimed life before one became so old. This Salvager Lord was a rare man indeed.

"You bring such honeyed words of how you have fought the Legion all your life and how you wish to stop them. Men like you came before many years ago. They came in their strange clothes the color of a mans blood. They spoke of Caesar and how he too hated the Brotherhood. They spoke of how Caesar would come and save us from the Brotherhood. You must know what that brought to us. Hundreds dead because of Caesar's Legion and many more enslaved. I trust you no more than I trust any outsider. You only bring grief and pain to our world."

Many of the Salvagers cheered at the words of their elder. Many were very suspicious of outsiders such as the man before them and rightfully so. Though many others did not cheer and, in fact, many had looks of contempt upon their faces. The lessons of what had come before were burned into their brains. It was because of their rejection of the outside world that they were nearly destroyed and more xenophobia would only make their situation worse. Especially considering reports that Brotherhood had been spotted in the outskirts of Denver. Now stood a rather unimpressive man. He was relatively short and wore only simple clothing compared the the extravagance of most Salvager Lords.

"My friend, do not listen to him. His old age has corrupted him. He is not trusting of outsiders although he has every reason to be so. I on the other do believe you. I am willing to help you and I am sure many others will be willing to help you as well. Of course we are united in our purpose to preserve Denver as our own but that does not mean we all see eye-to-eye on everything. And this is where I diverge with my fellow Lords. If you are willing to fight and die for our cause then I am willing to give you the tools to fight for us. We need all the help we can get to defeat our enemies and we can hardly pass on someone who wants to take the initiative such as yourself. I am very happy and willing to give you what you require. If you would come with me after we finish our meeting here then I would be happy to speak with you one on one."

The old man who once stood and spoke sneered at his other Lord. The thought of looking to outsiders for help was a very controversial subject within the realm but nothing too bad yet. If it was pushed it certainly would be ugly but small things here and their would only be annoyances for the Lords. It would take something big for the xenophobic members of the council to put their foot down in the issue. None of the other Lords were vocal in their disapproval, most of them keeping it to themselves. It seems the Lords would have their first outside help in a long while. But in the meantime Clayton was escorted out of the main assembly room and out back into the Bazaar.

In was a few hours later when the Lord who had taken up for Clayton emerged from the council room. With him he had several guards all carrying various types of high caliber rifle wearing advanced combat armor from before the war. It seems that the man who took up for Clayton was at least very rich, something that would be of great assistance to Clayton and his burgeoning militia. The Lord approached Clayton with a wide smile on his face.

"Come outsider we have much to discuss. We shall go to my home and from their we shall conduct our business. Much too crowded here in this Bazaar. Too many prying eyes and open ears. By the way, what is your name?"

[Tayner]

Clayton Reynolds
Grand Bazaar, Colorado

"You bring such honeyed words of how you have fought the Legion all your life and how you wish to stop them. Men like you came before many years ago. They came in their strange clothes the color of a mans blood. They spoke of Caesar and how he too hated the Brotherhood. They spoke of how Caesar would come and save us from the Brotherhood. You must know what that brought to us. Hundreds dead because of Caesar's Legion and many more enslaved. I trust you no more than I trust any outsider. You only bring grief and pain to our world." An older lord retorted.

"I do not come to you as a emperor from far away with a vast army at my back, I come to you as a neighbor from southern Colorado, with a band of residents who want to protect their homes as much as you do." Clayton said, trying to prove his point. It wasn't long until another spoke up, however their words were different.

"If you would come with me after we finish our meeting here then I would be happy to speak with you one on one." He said after making a brief statement.

"Thank you, sir." And he was dismissed. While he waited, a familiar face meet him. The Caravan Guard named Werner who he rescued early on. Werner had become a defacto leader within the militia, with so many men the more experienced volunteers had to step up to help Clayton lead the entire group. "What brings you here?"

"Well, how'd it go, for starters?" He asked.

"I don't think we have the popular opinion, but I think we'll still get the support we need."

"If that doesn't work out, I have a plan." Werner said, handing over a piece of paper that read 'Mercenaries Wanted' in big letters. "180 caps, we can ask for five volunteers to go, and let them keep the payment up front." He said.

"And what would we do to keep any other of our men from going?" Clayton asked.

"We'll be here for a few days, could send others out to recruit or scavenge." Werner replied.

"I don't like the idea of scavenging so close to the city. We can send some men to recruit from the towns to the east while the others stay here and recruit." Clayton said.

"I'll ask Doc to take five men out to Watkins and see if they can get some more volunteers. Then again the next day to Hudson in the north. Meanwhile we'll try to raise volunteers here." Werner said. "Have the men do good deeds, help out, shit like that."

"Good idea. Go ahead and spread the word." Clayton said.

"Yes sir." Werner said, almost sarcastically.

"Heh, 'sir', I like that."

---

Werner Owens
Terminal One

"You the guy who left this?" Werner said as he handed over the scribbled note he found on the bounty board to the man. "I'm Werner, I've bought some men for the job. Pay them up front but I'll be collecting the final payment of 100 caps for everyone, we've all agreed upon it. We're all ready to go." He said to the man who posted the bounty.

---

Clayton Reynolds
Grand Bazaar

"Come outsider we have much to discuss. We shall go to my home and from their we shall conduct our business. Much too crowded here in this Bazaar. Too many prying eyes and open ears. By the way, what is your name?" The man spoke. He wasn't dressed like the others, the money he saved by buying simple clothes he obviously spent on weapons and armor, as his guards were more intimidating than any legion assassin would ever be.

"Clayton, Clayton Reynolds." He said as he put out his hand. "I'm much appreciative of your hospitality, mister...." Clayton said, trailing off as he spoke for the man to say his name.

[Vacif]

The Grand Bazaar - Daniel Jakobson
His pneumatic gauntlet on his right hand he arrived at the bounty board. Looking over the jobs with scrutiny, he finally managed to choose one which seemed to pay pretty lucratively. Someone offering 80 caps up front and an additional 100 upon completion. He turned from the bulletin board and headed off to the interior of Terminal One looking for his prospective employer. He patted down his unruly receding red hair and shifted his rapier's position on his belt as to place it snuggly between his Royal Military satchel and the reinforced exterior of his leather armor. To anyone watching him from the crowds it would be obvious he was a merc.

Werner Owens
Terminal One

"You the guy who left this?" Werner said as he handed over the scribbled note he found on the bounty board to the man. "I'm Werner, I've bought some men for the job. Pay them up front but I'll be collecting the final payment of 100 caps for everyone, we've all agreed upon it. We're all ready to go." He said to the man who posted the bounty.

Woodrow Belrose
Grand Bazaar, Terminal One

Leaning casually as he sat upon a metal bench, Woodrow watched over those that came through the terminal's doors, easily identifying who was who. First merc to come through for the job was a tough looking guy who'd been around the ringer before with some rather interesting pieces. Making eye contact with the fellow he gave a high pitched whistle, waving his hand in the air to grab his attention. With his attention drawn he strode forth at a powerfully fast pace.

As he approached, a group of six marched out towards him as well. These lot were mercenaries as well. After their apparent leader introduced himself Woodrow pocketed the wanted note into one of his pouches.

"Right, I'm Belrose. Now before you agree to this mission I'll actually tell you what you're signing up to do." Woodrow paused and turned to his left. There was a tarp covering a thin object, a cork board, like the one outside where they'd gotten their mission, except this one had pictures and a map stabbed into it instead random slips of paper. Less than gently pulling off the tarp, Woodrow revealed the briefing to the seven men. "Our primary targets are the Aerospace Data Facility near Buckley Air Force Base, and air traffic control tower. Secondary objectives include the Air Reserve Personnel Center building, and the Army Aviation Support Facility building."

For the Data Facility, reconnaissance shows that a large portion of the third floor ceiling has collapsed. That's our way in and out. Our target here is the databanks in the basement's data vault. There is a tear in the north perimeter fence that we can get through so we can avoid the gate. Mind you that if you do get separated avoid the entrances and gates, we don't know if those turrets still have juice or not. Though knowing fate they probably do, so avoid them. Once inside the building we will take a service elevator to the data vault. We stop by the generator room, kill any possible power to the defense systems but keep the data banks online. Alternatively we risk snaking through the building which may or may not contain active security systems to get to the main security station. This will contain the security override that should clear the way to the objective. This path while more dangerous also yields a higher potential to snag some pre-war military gear. Don't get greedy though, we have a job to do."

"Regarding the ATC tower it's a simple shot. Door should be easy enough to open, get to the basement, grab the data back ups. If the door needs a key or pass code it should be in the Air Reserve Personnel Center. I don't think there will be anything worth while in there outside of potential radio scrap you could get."

"On that note, secondary objectives. The reserve center should have the keys to the entire base as that's where the garrison commander's office is. It's got a decent chance at having some loot in it but I wouldn't count on it seeing as the GI's probably got their gear and high tailed it. With the keys from the general we can access the support facility which should have a higher likelihood of lootable material. Scrap, munitions, food, I don't reckon the soldiers could of taken everything and the base is pretty dead. Watch for any potential live defense mechanisms as usual and for any critters that have made the base home. You don't have to go to these facilities, they probably increase your chance of death but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Now seeing as none of you have left, I am assuming that you are still in. Turning his back on the group, he knelt down and reached under the metal bench he was sitting on earlier. There he procured a metal suitcase protected by a six digit lock. Sitting back down on the bench he fiddled with the lock to get it open. It didn't take long, he'd punched in the code dozens of times. Inside were bags of caps, 80 in each. Looking up at the sailor, he tossed him the bag without a word. The man having caught the memo also caught the bag. Woodrow did this with the other five men who would be paid up front for this mission. Each man deftly caught their pay which was a good sign. It showed they at least had some hand eye coordination.

"You can count them if you don't trust me but personally I find that a bit of a waste of time. Now while I clean up, why don't you all introduce yourselves?" He said, shutting the metal briefcase gently. Once it was locked, he scrambled the code again, placing it below the metal bench in its well hidden spot. Rising he picked up the tarp he'd thrown down earlier and put it back up on the board. Looking at each man he shook their hands firmly as they introduced themselves.

"Are there any questions before we leave?"

[Beutarch]

Deckers - V. Decanus Quintus

Assassins and frumentarii had failed in killing the militiaman. Empty threats and scare-tactics proved ineffectual. The only way he would listen would be with blood. Deckers was the perfect place to make a statement. The Collegium's centurion overlooked the engagement with the snipers in the hills, hopeful that this would make himself seen to Lupercal as a brutal beacon of Legion values. My Explorers reinforced with a gaggle of recruits and I waltzed into town. "All at once. Now!" I yelled, the men threw sticks of dynamite at the decrepit buildings. They would not be enough to topple them, but would render them uninhabitable. The Legionaries streamed out from behind me, a flurry of machetes and crimson clothing. "Leave the doctor to me!" I said as I motioned to the town infirmary. I lifted my rifle from my back, taking shots at those that tried to defend the doomed town. Rounds flew out the blown-out windows of the sheriff's office. A deputy crashed through the back door, an empty magnum in hand. An explorer threw the dead body of the sheriff behind him and kicked the gun out of his fingers. Another deputy tried to flee out the front and I promptly fired a round in his torso. He fell down, only to be dragged away by a Legionary. The entire force converged on the infirmary, waiting for my command. "You and everyone else in there will be on a cross today one way or another! Lay down your arms and we will consider otherwise!" The men around me cheered and beat their weapons in agreement. "Your soldiers-boys are breathing Jet in Canem! They will not protect you now!" I turned to face the gaggle of soldiers, "If they do not surrender within the hour, we break down the door!"

---

The hour came and went. The degenerates inside were silent, awaiting death.

"Break down the house."

A half dozen fire axes shattered windows and splintered the rotting pre-war construction. Legionaries pounced on the doctor and the few survivors from multiple angles, dragging them into the street with the rest of the captures. We had already let the children and elders loose, too old to be integrated into the Legion or too weak. The doctor, several nurses, a deputy and a few farmers were all that remained. "We mount the deputy, the doctor and the farmers. Execute the others." men scrambled around to complete the orders, procuring several rickety crosses and placing the assigned people on them. "Burn the rest of the town." Torches fell on the shattered remains of the town, expediting the embers created by the dynamite. Animals were slaughtered, basements looted and collapsed, bodies collected and thrown into a pyre. The Legionaries counted their dead and attended to the wounded. They marched back to the Collegium within the night, victorious.

[Tayner]

Werner Owens
Terminal One

"Now while I clean up, why don't you all introduce yourselves?" The employer said.

"I'm Werner, that's Robinson, Chauncey, Hendricks, and Walker." Werner said motioning to each man respectively. Each gave a nod to the others as their names were called. "We're with an organization from the south, trying to raise funds." He said, not bothering giving out a recruitment pitch, as that wasn't what they were here for. "You might have to excuse is if we go after some loot, we've got a lot of need for heavy weapons." He added.

"Are there any questions before we leave?"

"Would there be a way to bypass the security systems so we don't have to risk getting shredded by turrets or protectatrons?" Werner asked, not wanting to waste ammo or get him or his men shot up. He did promise Clayton to bring them back alive.