❅Fallout Detroit | A Heart of Rust | IC ❅

[Alouite]

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A Heart of Rust

OPs: Alouite, Commonwealth of Hank the Cat & Pacific Brotherhood of Steel
Co-OP: Cainesland

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Links

OOC
The Map

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After the Fall
In 2077, Motor City had reached a new height. Automakers with military contracts had been mass producing tanks, trucks and Power Armor. Downtown Detroit had been overhauled and the city was home to over five million Americans. Second only to New York City in its population and economic importance, when the bombs fell many were Detroit bound. In an instant, centuries of growth and progress- a generation of prosperity- was evaporated. The downtown area was riddled with craters. Those who had the means to take cover in vaults hastily retreated to them, but for most there was no option other than total annihilation. Those who did survive faced intense radiation storms, resource scarcity and the breakdown of social order. Many thousands were permanently transformed by the radiation, rendered infertile and scarred. Among those afflicted by the radiation, some maintained their consciousness, while thousands more became feral, driven only by their base urges to eat and sleep. Hordes of such feral individuals grew in size and soon began overwhelming the few communities that survived the initial catastrophe. Due to their garish appearance a term imported from an outside community quickly caught on when referring to the irradiated and they were deemed ‘ghouls’. Some of the conscious ‘ghouls’ formed a cult known as the ‘Undying’. The Undying claim to be invincible and immortal with a mysterious, unknown motive. Those who managed to survive the onslaught at the hands of the feral ghouls faced the 'Undying’ who would wipe out entire settlements in their frequent ambushes. However, soon local opposition to the ghoul threat emerged in an entity known as the Kingdom of Cain. The Kingdom of Cain was not a benevolent alternative however, and soon came to dominate the greater Detroit Area implementing a system of slavery and submission upon any settlements they discovered.

For years this hostile environment dwindled the population of survivors in the greater Detroit area. In 2085, this would begin to change. Until then a small presence in Detroit, the United States Fast Response Operations and Support Taskforce, abbreviated US-F.R.O.S.T., at the request of the United States remnant government, began sending patrols into Detroit clearing out thousands of ghouls and bombing densely ghoul-populated areas. With further orders from the United States command, this mission expanded to the complete eradication of the heavily irradiated population. Initially these order's were carried out sparingly, however after the Undying began raiding and brutally murdering members of US-FROST's high command, FROST began taking the command seriously and the population of ghouls rapidly dropped. As a response to the growing presence of FROST in the region, remnants of far left militant labor groups, led by Jack Russel began to re-organize into the People’s Liberation Front of America (PLFA). The PLFA initially was simply viewed as an alternative to FROST and the Kingdom of Cain and those affiliated with the organization tended to maintain a stance of armed neutrality in the region. However, seeing FROST’s gradual control over the region materializing, in 2090 members of the Red Vanguard of the PFLA initiated an ambush on a large convoy of weapons and vehicles entering the downtown area of Detroit and completely obliterated the force. The supplies had been intended as a last step in finally securing the city, and the setback for FROST cannot be understated. Several high ranking officials and experienced soldiers died in the raid. Now those crucial resources fell into the hands of the PFLA who seized the armaments and supplies and established a permanent presence in downtown Detroit. Since the mid 2090s this state of warfare slowed to a lull as both sides ran low on resources. As an effective stalemate came into effect, the Undying and Kingdom of Cain have began to make substantial moves to re-position themselves in the city. In 2098, fighting became so harmful to both FROST and the PFLA that talks of a ceasefire began and on New Years' Eve, that ceasefire began stating that neither side was to trespass upon settlements aligned with one another. While the ceasefire is set to expire in six months, there is no sure way of knowing that it will last nearly that long. The Great War may be over, but the facade that it would be the final war has long faded. With shifting conflicts between slavers, communists, warlords and US remnants, little in Detroit remains constant. Except War… War never changes.

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A New Year Begins

Today is January 1st, 2099. The last year of the twenty first century has begun. While the century has been marked by great tragedy which took shape in the form of the Resource Wars and the Great War, the people of Detroit now fight to determine the future of Detroit in the coming century. With a ceasefire keeping US-F.R.O.S.T. and PLFA forces from each others throats, the city is marking a break in what has been a decade long brutal conflict which has only further deteriorated the conditions of the city. A sense of relief has swept over the many settlements of Detroit and new caravans anticipating the ceasefire have already begun to chart new trade routes in the wake of a moment of peace amidst a long era of adversity. For others however, this ceasefire represents a very different kind of opportunity. For in the Kingdom of Cain, vengeance is almost tangible. In 2085 F.R.O.S.T. struck with an intensity which his men had never before seen, overrunning the entire North of Detroit and allowing other militias to band together and forge the People's Liberation Front of America. Now battered from warring with one another, Cain meets with his generals.

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Cain
Early Morning, New Years Day
The Temple of Cain, Dearborn

Cain stood in the candle lit room that had been constructed upon the three story temple and felt the sides of the frame of an old picture of his youth before flipping it so that he could view it. The photo was one of him and his twin brother playing backyard baseball, both smiling as they looked to the camera their father had held. In the bottom right corner written in cursive by his mother was a simple title, "Summer Bliss, Collin and Phillip, 2056." He stared at the photograph silently and returned to a meeting room where a conference was to reconvene.

As he entered the room the men stood immediately and made a fist over their hearts, saluting Cain, their leader. He had seen them through times of great tragedy in the face of the undead and irradiated, and now he would see them overcome the resurgent forces of the Old World.

One of his commanders and member of the Sons of Cain, known as Deliverance, handed him his ledger which contained new information regarding the progress made in planning the reconquest. "My Lord, our western forces are nearly ready. The men have set up camp near the Old Theater. We will have over two hundred before the day is through."

"Good, we will bring the Warrens to heel. We march at midnight and will hit them using the underground. They will will be dead before they know we have arrived." He turned to another commander, one of his most devoted Blood Knights, known as the Red Knight "What of the eastern force?"

The Red Knight replied, "I have gone to each of the settlements pledged to us and raised an army of three hundred slaves and seventy men. They are ready to march on Westwood as we speak."

Cain shook his head, "No, not yet. garrison them in Cleveland. They will have their day soon. It is best to not provoke both the Americanists and Revolutionaries at the same time. Not if we seek to undo the forces of reaction." He then turned to the Rust Priest Jarvis Ost. "Is the sacrifice ready, Jarvis?"

Jarvis smiled coldly, "They are in the courtyard now."

Cain nodded calmly "Good, I will see to it myself." Cain exits the Temple and enters the Field of War, a depression in the ground which led to a single ceremonial pyre.

There his men had gathered forty slaves whom were bound together in a chain gang. Cain stood before the line of slaves and said in a monotone voice "Kneel." Faces of fear quickly spread along the line, the slaves now knew why they had been brought before the Temple, a war was to begin. The pyre was lit and the chain gang was made to surround it in what became a semi-circle. Cain gripped the knife on his right hip and drew it. He lightly sliced his right hand and allowed droplets of blood to flow into the flames. He looked to his men and lifted his hand making a fist which continued to drip blood over the fire and shouted so all those in the field could hear. "Today is the beginning of a new dawn, the forces of the Old World have exhausted themselves, they have killed hundreds of one another and delayed us from our destiny. But today, that all changes. Today the New World will be finally ushered in. Let the New World feel our might and know that we honor its brutality." The men drew their blades a mixture of knives and machetes. Cain shouted, "In the name of the New World, we sacrifice this blood that you may see that we respect the clarity that the Great Dying has allowed to be placed unto us!" The men chanted "To the New World! To the New World! To the New World!"

Cain then stepped forward toward the first slave, a young man and said to him as he shuddered in fear "You know not how your death brings joy to our future, but I swear to you, it is for a just cause." The man looked up at Cain in terror and opened his mouth to reply, before a word could escape, Cain drove his blade into the man's heart. "Let this blood be shed that others might live!" Cain yelled, quickly his devotees and raiders followed his example executing the forty slaves. During the execution there was a panic as some tried to plead for their lives, but it was to no avail, a stream of blood soon began to flow towards the ceremonial fire an their bodies were draped over it so that they could burn.

Cain looked to the Red Knight who stood beside him and said "Now, our work begins."

[Alouite]

Commander Brandon Ross
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase

Brandon awoke relaxed for the first time in months, the war had raged on for months, and he had lost friends and witnessed countless battles and skirmishes alone. Now he was in command of F.R.O.S.T. in Southern Detroit. He walked into his restroom and brushed his teeth, took a shower and got dressed in his uniform, squaring it away so that he could be presentable. Today was a new year and a new world as far as he was concerned. For the first time since the great war F.R.O.S.T. might operate in a moment of peace. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. Then he left his room and walked down the hall to an elevator, a guard followed him as he entered it. He pressed 'G' and felt as it ascended towards the Ground level of the Airbase, in the background he heard the buzzing sound of a landing vertibird. Today many of the important F.R.O.S.T. officials would meet in the main hangar to discuss their new mission, consolidating their current holdings and preparing for the final phase of the war.

As Brandon walks through the halls of the airbase towards the hangar, one of his confidants, Command Sergeant Major Richard Steele hands him his dossier and says "Sir, the men have gathered for the briefing, Commander Quinton is on the Comm line too, so Northern Command will be able to hear us though they will not be present in person. High command did not want to risk putting too many of us in one place."

Brandon replied "Makes sense Rich. Do you have the itinerary by the way?

CSM Steele replied "Yes sir, here it is"

Brandon smiled, "Good, all of the men were able to make it for the meeting. Captain Royce, Captain Dean, Lieutenant Daniels, Lieutenant Caro, Command Sergeant Major Price, First Sergeant Andrew Scott, and Staff Sergeant Mitchell Graham, we will be in good company this morning."

He entered the hangar which featured a long table centered toward the middle of the room and a large television screen which beamed in the visage of Commander Quinton. He stood at the end of the table, opened his dossier and handed out the documents to the men before him.

He then cleared his throat and said in a calm but authoritative voice, "Good morning men. The war may have paused for now, but we can make no mistake, it is far from over. General Clark sent me a communique after the ceasefire was secured directing us to begin making decisive moves so that when the ceasefire expires we will have the strongest negotiating position, or, if worst comes to worst, the best position to deliver the necessary force to put down the Liberation Front. These revolutionaries may think that this ceasefire means they are a legitimate force in Detroit, but as we all know, only the United States of America has the right to govern over its many cities and we will restore law and order to this god forsaken city."

Brandon then turned to Commander Quinton. "Commander Quinton, I understand that you have additional news."

Commander Quinton replied through the speakers adjoining the television on either side, "Indeed I do Commander Ross. The Corvega Manufacturing Plant that we secured back in October is now fully functional, once we can cement our hold on the downtown area, talks about restoring a power armor assembly plant in the area could materialize. Furthermore, we have resumed talks with Mayor Joshua Morrow of The Assembly who is considering allowing us to set up a permanent presence in the area."

Brandon responded "We commend you for your work in the North. Your good news will motivate us through the coming weeks of hard work. Thank you, you are welcome to listen and comment through the brief." Brandon then turned to his men, "After much planning and contact with High Command, we are now authorized to begin Operation Horseshoe. The plan is to create a system of outposts and radio relay stations along the coast of the St. Clair River in an effort to create a single line of radio communication between Northern and Southern command. Northern Command is already setting the first stages of this in motion and working to crack down on remaining issues in Downtown Detroit, however with a high Liberation Front presence in parts of the City, we will need to be careful about doing this. To achieve this I am assigning missions to you men." Brandon paused, "Open your dossiers and you will see further details enclosed. However, these are your orders, "Lieutenant Daniels, you will be assigned an entourage of men to take with you to Southgate and make contact with their leadership. As you know, they are tributaries of the Kingdom of Cain, however, I believe if we can convince them that Cain does not share their interests, we can begin to choke off his slave trade and thus dry out his supply chain. Understood?"

Lieutenant Daniels replied "Yes Sir."

He then looked to Captain Dean, "Captain, you are to, along with Command Sergeant Major Price, lead Alpha Company to bolster our forces at Westwood so we can begin scouting the areas under control of Cain's thugs. We will need to start thinking about them too if we wish to secure the city, particularly the South and Dearborn. Is that understood"

Captain Dean replied "Yes Sir."

"Finally, Captain Royce you along with First Sergeant Scott and Staff Sergeant Graham are to take charge of Bravo Company, you will begin constructions on fortifications of a fallback line in Taylor. If the Liberation Front somehow makes it past Cain's forces, we will need a defensive line to hold them back. Is that understood Captain?"

Captain Royce said "Yes Sir."

Commander Ross then said "I will need a moment to speak one on on with Lieutenant Caro regarding his own assignment, in the meantime those collaborating on assignments should take this time to speak to one another." Ross looked to Lieutenant Caro, "Lieutenant, lets talk for a minute" He gestured towards an open area in the hangar.

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Captain Royce
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase

Captain Royce looked over his dossier reading a few of the logistical details but then put the document down and looked to the two men assigned to him. He had seen them before and knew both were committed to the cause, while in Taylor he aimed to exceed expectations of command. "First Sergeant, Staff Sergeant, it is good to formally make your acquaintance." He extended his hand to both for a hand shake before continuing, "As you have heard, we are being shipped out to Taylor to create a defensive barrier to which we could rely on in a worst case scenario. However, what that means goes beyond setting landmines and laying sandbags. The town is infested with the irradiated and likely to be a home to degenerate criminal gangs. Therefore, in expectation that that will emerge as a problem, I am going to be preparing the following assignments for you. First Sergeant Scott, I will be affording you command over a platoon which you will use to systematically clear out the city of the irradiated. We cannot allow any to act as an obstruction to a tactical defense of Taylor. Staff Sergeant, I am assigning you a smaller force of men who will be armed with energy weapons. You will be tasked with hunting down any gangs in the area, marking the location of their hideouts and neutralizing any stragglers. Just like the ghouls the presence of additional hostile forces in Taylor would obstruct any proper defense of the city. Is that understood?"

[Imperii Ecclesia]

Paul Cardinal Jaspen
Feast of the Circumcision of Christ (New Year's Day)
Cathedral of the Assumption, Assumption Grotto

"In Pricipio Erat Verbum, et Verbum Erat apud Deum, et Deus Erat Verbum..." Cardinal Jaspen said as he began the "Last Gospel", or the the first fourteen verses of the Gospel of St. John, which is said at the conclusion of (almost) every Mass. What a fitting way to end it- the last act of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass focusing on the Evangelist's beautiful and utterly profound exposition on the mystery of the Incarnation. Simple at face value, under the surface St. John's Christological and mystical theology soared- no wonder he had the Eagle as his mark. And it happened to be a very fitting time indeed- the end of the Octave of Christmas, the Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord and the Purification of Our Lady. The feast of Christmas is all about the Incarnation of Christ. A beautiful mystery, the Incarnation- to redeem a fallen race because he loved them so much as to die the most torturous and agonizing death of all time. Christ suffered and died for the sake man, so that man might become united to Him for ever. It really put things into perspective.

But although this beautiful feast day was in the Christmas season, it had its own mysteries to contemplate as well. His mind turned to the Gospel of the day, from Luke- Et postquam consummati sunt dies octo, ut circumcideretur puer, vocatum est nomen ejus Jesus, quod vocatum est ab angelo priusquam in utero conciperetur. One of the shortest Gospels of the year, but even this verse contained richness. For the Holy Name of Jesus (the feast that would take place tomorrow) was bestowed on the Christ-child today- the glorious name, the name quod est super omne nomen, as St. Paul's writes to the Philippians- ut in nomine Jesu omne genu flectatur caelestium, terrestrium et infernorum, et omnis lingua confiteatur, quia Dominus Jesus Christus in gloria est Dei Patris. And more than that, he thought of the Alleluia verse for the day- taken from St. Paul's letter to the Hebrews- "Multifariam, multisque modis olim Deus loquens patribus in prophetis : novissime, diebus istis locutus est nobis in Filio" - which ties together all of Salvation history. God spoke to the prophets so that the way may be prepared for the coming of God into the world- Christ, in the Incarnation, is the entire point of Salvation History. The world, designed by God, is ordered toward Him. The fall of man, that O felix culpa, seperated us from God, but God loved us with such a great love that he sent His Son to come into the world. It is truly the felix culpa quæ talem ac tantum méruit habére Redemptórem!

And his mind again went to the Introit, taking the famous words of the Prophet Isaias- Puer natus est nobis, et filius datus est nobis, inpenum super humerum ejus : et vocabitur nomen ejus mangi consilii Angelus. A Son is given to us by God, so that there pacis non erit finis. A peace which will have no end. Many people, who live in the doubt and violence of this post-nuclear world, would look at this and shake their heads. It's too unbelievable- how could a God who wants peace destroy the world and cause so much death and destruction. Unfortunately, they did not understand. They could not. Christ did not come to take away temporal suffering and death. Rather, He suffered and died so that man might never suffer eternal death. Those who could not look beyond the physical death and see that eternity- Heaven and Hell- waits man in the afterlife. Again, the Incarnation is such a beautiful mystery, he thought to himself. Although we are fallen, although we deserve to die for our sins, Christ came into the world to die for us so that we may not die. The innocent lamb offered for the sake of the guilty. Such a deep and profound mystery.

At last he came to the climax of the Last Gospel. When he said these words, he, although with difficulty and only with the assistance of the Master of Ceremonies, and the rest of the ministers, servers and congregation, genuflected. "ET VERBUM CARO FACTUM EST." And the Word was made Flesh. This was the climax of St. John's sublime prologue- the Word of God, who is both with God, who is God, by whom all things were made, who is the light of man, the light that shines through the darkness, which the darkness cannot comprehend- became Incarnate, took on the flesh of man, and dwelt among. Tears welled in the old man's eyes- they always did at this moment. His glory is quasi unigeniti a Patre - the glory as the Father's only begotten- which Saint Paul further expounds in Hebrews as sit splendor gloriae, et figura substantiae ejus- the splendor of God's glory and the figure of his very substance. God became fully man, but remained fully God. And more than that, the Word which was made Flesh habitavit in nobis. He dwelt among us to redeem us, though we were sinners undeserving of His freely given grace and mercy.

At last, the Mass was over. They began to process out, and Cardinal Jaspen took a look at his flock. There were roughly 200 of them in the Church- the guards, the severely sick, and those who were not Catholic did not come. He saw their faces. Many were devoutly praying. Others were distracted, looking off into the distance. Others look scared. No matter the seeming stability in a settlement, that could change overnight by a sudden event. Some, like he, were ready to die should the time. Most were not. But he loved each and every one of them. He made sure to do what he could to serve them. Most of them in turn loved him, but others did not. Most were scarred- mentally or physically. He understood their pain. Although he did not suffer physical injury from the blast, he had been racked by guilt and self doubt. He still suffered from this. He knew their pain- their loss- he had lost most of his flock in a few seconds. They had died. Somehow those here had survived. Of course, not everyone remembered the bombs. There were many thriving families in the settlement, and some had even grown up completely in Assumption Grotto and did not remember life before the war.

Once he was back in the sacristy, one of the priests, Father Barrett, said to him, "Excellent homily today, your eminence." Cardinal Jaspen said, "I really don't deserve so much credit. If I do any good- it's not of my own, it's the Holy Spirit. If not for God I would have nothing." Father Barrett replied, "All the same, your eminence, I think it meant a lot to the congregation. They really needed it." He had given a homily about the virtue of Circumcision of Christ, the fulfillment of the Old Law by Christ, and the promises of hope that come through Christ. "Well, hopefully the Holy Spirit is working in their hearts. It's a hard world, I'm afraid- but God has placed us here for a reason, and I know that He gives us the graces we need to do His will even in these most trying of times." He finished unvesting and went back to the Church, to spend his daily Hour in front of the Blessed Sacrament. It was where he drew his strength from. Long ago he would have given up, had it not been for the grace of God. God had a plan indeed- and he would follow it, and try his best to do what he could in this life so that he could be with God face to face for all eternity.

[Endem]

First Sergeant Scott
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase

He looked at Captain when he ( the Captain ) spoke to them and extended his ( still Captain ) arms for him ( Scott ) and his colleague beside him. After shaking, hands Captain described the situation in Taylor and said what were their assignments, Scott was supposed to take control of a platoon and clear the city. After everything was done, Scott said "understood" and then, after giving a salute to his Captain, went to the barracks to see what soldiers were in it...

First Sergeant Scott
Afternoon, New Years Day
Taylor, Wick Rd.

They were marching for a few hours, but they were here now just outside of Taylor. Scott stopped the platoon and walked to the front of it to face soldiers, he then started his speech

"We are here, just outside of Taylor, we are here to do one thing and one thing only, kill every irradiated insight, you are going to be split into two smaller sections each clearing another building, I want you to exceed Captain's Royce expectations, now" he looked to a soldier one rank below his "I want you to take control of half of the soldiers you see here,
report to me every day, is that understood?" After he said understood Scott continued speaking to his soldiers "I will be taking the command over the second half of you during this operation, now, I have prepared a list of which ones are coming with me" he then read the list, "My half of the platoon we are going there" he gestured at a couple of buildings and then once turned to the soldier he designated as commander of the second half "You are now free to take your soldiers wherever you want to start"

He then started to walk towards the building he pointed out before with his half of the platoon walking with him, he now reduced the soldiers he would need to lead to 25 and possibly sped up the process of clearing the irradiated.

A bit later
Baske Street

They started to clear the buildings, irradiated corpses were already lying around, he had 5 soldiers storm into a room where about 3 irradiated were present, surprisingly, none of which feral, an irradiated woman fallen to her knee's and started to beg only to be shot. After that, the two others started to try and make their escape through a window, Scott acting fast quickly fired his rifle striking one of the irradiated near the left lung, the irradiated lost his balance and fallen from the window and broke its neck on the pavement. The last irradiated managed to get safely onto the pavement and tried to run, this is when Scott said to the 5 men with him he'll give a bigger ration to the one that would manage to hit the last irradiated in the head with only one shot, none of the five soldiers managed to do this task.

"You five need to train more"

He said after giving out a shot after which the irradiated fell down.

"Let's go, boys, other houses need cleaning from these mutant abominations.

A few hours later
Crossroads of Baske Street and Glenis Street

His 25 men gathered at the middle of the street in between the 9 houses they managed to clear from irradiated. It was already getting dark

"Any loses?"

Scott asked his soldiers

"A few scratches, one minor wound already patched up, nothing serious"

"Great, we will make a base here from which we will systematically clean the city... Scavenger whatever you can from the houses we have managed to clear today, deploy sandbags and tents, burn the irradiated corpses!"

Scott ordered as his soldiers started to do the things he ordered, as a messenger from the second half of the platoon arrived.

"Sir, we managed to clear Taylor Recycling INC. Building while suffering minimal loses"

"Minimal losses?"

"Minor wounds and cuts, nothing serious"

"Great! Keep that up, you can spend the night here or go to your squad at your own accord soldier"

Scott then proceeded to oversee his soldiers.

[Deutschess Kaiserreich]

Mitchell Graham
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase

What's it like to have a hangover? Mitchell never knew the answer until last night. They told him, "One more drink", "Come on ya lightweight", "This only happens once a year and I reckon I got two left" and "This one's for the flag!". He wasn't gonna listen to them anymore, at least when it came to the use of his off time. He was a soldier of the union and a soldier of the union is to give everything they had for the states!

At least what was left off it. From his room's southeast window, he could see the grey rotting corpse of a city that was once Detriot. It was once America's center of industry. They called it nicknamed Motor City. Only 22 years ago, automakers with military contracts had been mass producing tanks, trucks, and Power Armor, a staple of America's army and pre-war culture that Mitchell never saw but could still feel. One day, Downtown Detroit was home to over five million Americans and the next only a half a million shell shocked people that were once Americans emerged from the rubble. But despite all this, in the distance, the Stars and Stripes floated about the morning breeze in defiance to those that thought American was gone. Perhaps it was for a moment. Perhaps for a single moment, the spark of freedom was extinguished. Perhaps for a moment, the eagle fell. But now the spark was turning into a burning torch and the eagle had stood up again and spread its wings to once more fly.

These thoughts pounded away, or maybe it was the hangover, in Mitchell's head as he readied himself for a long and grueling day. He did a few jumping jacks to make sure he had circulation. He opened his door into a long hallway lit by a cold searing white light. Micthell groaned, he made a vow never to drink so much again if this was what he got. At the end of the hallway was a green door that opened to a stairwell and a few moments later Mitchell emerged into the cold Thursday morning. He was in an open concrete square and in the center of that square was a long pole in which the old Red, White, and Blue proudly flew in all its old glory. Mitchell couldn't help but salute the flag as he laid eyes on it. It had been a habit for him to salute that every morning as he left the living quarters. Sometimes the younger cadets laughed and sometimes others joined in. But there was no one in the square this cold morning. Command had probably let everyone sleep in but he would not shun his duty.

Mitchell knew where he had to go today. The morning briefings would be held in the hangers like they always had been but there was something about this meeting. Something that set it out from the dozens that Mitchell had sat through and he didn't know if it was hope. or dread. Mitchell didn't like the ceasefire but... but... they would find a way. A way to win.

At last, Mitchell reached the hangar. He entered through a side door and sat in one the many folded out metal chairs. In front of the group of men seated was one long table centered toward the middle of the room and a large television screen that was now black. The sound of steps echoing through the hanger turned Mitchell's attention to Commander Ross and as if on que the screen that was once dark flickered to life to reveal the face to commander Quinton. Commander Ross handed every seated man a file with a plethora of information about their up and coming missions.

Commander Ross walked back to the long table. He then cleared his throat that echoed through the empty hangar bay and said in a calm but authoritative voice, "Good morning men. The war may have paused for now, but we can make no mistake, it is far from over. General Clark sent me a communique after the ceasefire was secured directing us to begin making decisive moves so that when the ceasefire expires we will have the strongest negotiating position, or, if worst comes to worst, the best position to deliver the necessary force to put down the Liberation Front. These revolutionaries may think that this ceasefire means they are a legitimate force in Detroit, but as we all know, only the United States of America has the right to govern over its many cities and we will restore law and order to this godforsaken city."

Mitchell found himself nodding in approval. Brandon then turned to Commander Quinton. "Commander Quinton, I understand that you have additional news."

Commander Quinton replied through the speakers adjoining the television on either side, "Indeed I do Commander Ross. The Corvega Manufacturing Plant that we secured back in October is now fully functional, once we can cement our hold on the downtown area, talks about restoring a power armor assembly plant in the area could materialize. Furthermore, we have resumed talks with Mayor Joshua Morrow of The Assembly who is considering allowing us to set up a permanent presence in the area."

At last, something was being done. Mitchell was done and tired with all the waiting. At last, they could make major moves to bring America back now that their forces had been freed up. Brandon responded "We commend you for your work in the North. Your good news will motivate us through the coming weeks of hard work. Thank you, you are welcome to listen and comment through the brief." Brandon then turned to his men, "After much planning and contact with High Command, we are now authorized to begin Operation Horseshoe. The plan is to create a system of outposts and radio relay stations along the coast of the St. Clair River in an effort to create a single line of radio communication between Northern and Southern command. Northern Command is already setting the first stages of this in motion and working to crack down on remaining issues in Downtown Detroit, however with a high Liberation Front presence in parts of the City, we will need to be careful about doing this. To achieve this I am assigning missions to you men." Brandon paused, "Open your dossiers and you will see further details enclosed. However, these are your orders, "Lieutenant Daniels, you will be assigned an entourage of men to take with you to Southgate and make contact with their leadership. As you know, they are tributaries of the Kingdom of Cain, however, I believe if we can convince them that Cain does not share their interests, we can begin to choke off his slave trade and thus dry out his supply chain. Understood?"

Cain. Such a disgusting biblical word and yet so fitting. Mitchell felt like he should spit every time he heard the word slavers. Slavers? This age? Is this not what Lincoln fought so hard for! Is this not what the second revolution ended? Is this not what our nation was founded on? The simple want of freedom? God! Mitchell hoped he would one day be able to lead the killing blow. Lieutenant Daniels replied to the commanders question, "Yes Sir."

He then looked to Captain Dean, "Captain, you are to, along with Command Sergeant Major Price, lead Alpha Company to bolster our forces at Westwood so we can begin scouting the areas under control of Cain's thugs. We will need to start thinking about them too if we wish to secure the city, particularly the South and Dearborn. Is that understood"

Captain Dean replied, "Yes Sir."

"Finally, Captain Royce you along with First Sergeant Scott and Staff Sergeant Graham are to take charge of Bravo Company, you will begin constructions on fortifications of a fallback line in Taylor. If the Liberation Front somehow makes it past Cain's forces, we will need a defensive line to hold them back. Is that understood Captain?"

Captain Royce said, "Yes Sir."


Mitchell Graham
High noon, New Years Day
Beaumont Hospital, Taylor street.

The area looked like a good place to set up headquarters. It was right next to a major street that they could easily take control if they had more men. The trees provided cover that they could retreat through if the line ever collapsed and if the maps were correct the hospital had a subway tunnel that they could use to either reinforce or evacuate the hospital. In all, it was a perfect spot. All they now needed to do was clear the building.

Mitchell's flashlight is cleaved through the darkness like a steak knife to flesh. The hallway was extremely dank as puddles of water littered the floor and even at times rose above Mitchell's toes. Strange grey mold grey on the walls, covering the graffiti that many had left. At the end of the long hallway was an escalator that descended into the bowels of the earth. Mitchell was about to shine light into that deep well of darkness when a humanoid shape rushed towards him. In shock, his own fault, he was getting sloppy, no more, he only managed to get off two shots from his rifle that lit up the escalator in two flashes. One shot smashed into the tiled walls bouncing off into the darkness but the other hit its mark throwing up a splash of red gore and blood. The shape smashed into Mitchell like a truck sweeping him off his feet. Mitchell's flashlight was still in his hand and he pointed it up to reveal a rotting face. Its jaw was unhinged and swung about while its tongue, covered in sores failed about, tasting the air like a snake. Its nose had rotted off long time again revealing the skull beneath while its eyes were no more than empty sockets that looked as if it had been ripped out by the ghoul in pain.

It would no doubt have killed Mitchell or at the very least maul him severely but four cracks ripped through the air behind Mitchell and four shots smashed into the ghoul. Two hit right in the chest driving it back. One ripped the ghoul's arm off sending it down the escalator and into the darkness and the next smashed through what was left of its rotting brain. The ghouls remaining arm was outstretched as it fell backward, making plenty of noise as it's corpse rolled down the escalator.

Mitchell felt a strong arm seize his right and pull him back to his feet. He came face to face with one of his men... or gal to be more correct in this case. Her assault rifle was still smoking and her grin was wide with joy. It was probably her first kill. Mitchell shone his flashlight down the elevator to reveal to floor entirely covered in some green sludge and the ghoul floating face down in it. Well, there went the idea of using this tunnel as a communication line with the other bases. At least until they could drain it. Mitchell stared for a moment at the floating ghoul corpse. Such a shame. Unlike the others, Mitchell disagreed on ghouls, at least the sane ones. They were still Americans and probably some of those were loyal. Mitchell would welcome those with loyalty to the states but would welcome those that had not with hellfire. The soldier right next to him spoke in an excited tone, almost squealing in joy, "Got that one good didn't I."

"Yes, you did well private. I will put in a word for you. At least that seems like that was the only one. Figer crossed." As if to mock Mitchell a loud roar filled the dark bowels that was the subway. There was sounds of water splashing rapidly. It sounded like there were dozens. "Why... why... why... why... must I always say these things."

Mitchell ripped a grenade from his vest and chucked it down the escalator hearing it bing and bang on the way down. He turned to the private right next to him, "If you want to leave I suggest you do it now."

"No sir, I won't leave you." There was a loud bang below and a great roar came. Not of anger or some feral instinct but fear and pain. Perhaps this was all the humanity left in these creatures.

"You're that type of person. Good. I need men. Sorry. Gals like you but I need you to go up and get a signal to First Sergeant Scott and tell him to spare some troops because I think this is a full on horde. Also, bring the others down here. I'll try to slow them down and join you." The girl's eyes were now wide and her hands shook with fear but it was clear she trying to fight it and muster some courage. She nodded and began to run down the dark hall, her feet throwing up columns of water as she ran. Mitchell watched and turned to face the corridor. He ripped two more nades from his chest satchel and rolled them down the escalator. More screams. A figure entered the beam of Mitchell's flashlight and he put two rounds in it and it collapsed, sinking into the slush. Another one entered his sight and another one fell.

Mitchell didn't know how much longer he could hold.

[Commonwealth of Hank the Cat]

Ellen Contreras
Mid-day, New Years Day
Posadasville

"Worker's of the World, Unite!"

The assembled Posadists held up their fists and cheered.

"Break the Chains!"

Ellen Contreras looked out from her podium as the Posadists cheered and began repeating the phrase over and over. She spoke again. "Viva Posadas!"

She was met with a resounding "Viva Posadas!"

Ellen Contreras took her microphone and spoke. "The beacon has been lit, comrades! Now is time for revolution! What the Founder decreed has happened, and now the burden is on us to continue his vision! The faraway comrades will arrive soon, but we must establish a beachhead for our comrades against the storm of capitalism and revisionism. Though the war brought the nuclear reset, the capitalists survive in their bunkers. Perhaps more of the fire is needed to finally snuff out the tinder of the old world - but we must rally against the coming storm. We must unite with our revolutionary brothers and sisters, uninformed as they might be and destroy the remnant forces of capitalism and after that, revisionism!

The assembled Posadists cheered and screamed.

"Break the Chains! Break the Chains! Break the Chains!"

Ellen yelled as well. "Break the Chains! Break the Chains!"

Ellen soon left the podium, and entered into the Posadasville commune's offices. She looked over at a large portrait of J. Posadas and saluted it. She then took her seat at her desk and took out her typewriter. A ghoul wearing a old jumpsuit promptly walked into the offices and walked over to her. He made a closed fist and said "Viva Posadas" to which she responded "Viva Posadas". The ghoul spoke to her. "Comrade Contreras, I am Comrade Fields. I am here to ask for your permission to redistribute a missile launcher to Outpost Brushpark for usage by the garrison there."

Ellen nodded. "Agreed, Comrade Fields. I do not fully trust F.R.O.S.T. to hold up to their end to the agreement of this absurd ceasefire. We have enough war material here to defend our humble little village. You may redistribute a missile launcher to Brushpark."

Fields bowed. "Thank you, Comrade Contreras."

Ellen spoke to him. "Before you leave Posadasville, could you please give this letter to Comrade Wong and ask her to initiate repairs on Posadasville's western wall? I received a letter from Comrade Baker indicating that a horde of ferals attempted to breach the wall."

Fields gave a nod. "It will be done, Comrade Contreras." He then closed his hand into a fist and put it on his chest and looked at the portrait of J. Posadas behind Ellen. "Viva Posadas" he said. "Viva Posadas" she said as well. Fields promptly left and Ellen went to work on her typewriter, typing out a transcript of her speech.

[The Twelve Isles]

James Henry Barrow
Red, The Pale Rider
Detroit Union Airbase

Jimmy looked up at the at the flag that flew over the old airport, defiantly like a crest of honor. It would have been beautiful, if not for the gray sky and evening like dusk even though it was midday. He grinned and laughed under his scarves and jackets, before pulling his hat low and spurring his horse on. Those people were ridiculous. The USA was dead, as were most pre war nations. It was nations like the Order Of Saint Claire, or the BOS who would sooner or later rule the former United States, though he had seen little of either faction personally. Still, he had heard enough stories about both to know that they were powerful and unified enough to be able to make a real difference in society and culture in the future, while people like FROST or the PLFA were to fractured and small to really matter anymore. But, politics mattered little to him. What mattered to him was money, and from what he understood, FROST had the money, even if they weren't going to be around for long. That's why he had come to Detroit in the first place, after hearing stories in Iowa from traders who had come from the north. They said the gangs and factions in Detroit were gearing up to start slugging each other again, and that they reckoned a good amount of money could be made up in Michigan for any mercenaries who wanted to make to trip. And so here he was, James Henry Barrow, Jimmy to most and James to his father, had ridden a tattered looking rad horse all the way up to make his fortune in war.

It wouldnt be the first time he had made his fortune in war he thought. He had fought wars in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada, and every time he had made some sort of fortune before losing it in some way or another. Such was life, he figured. At least he had stories to tell, more than most ever did, and it made him quite popular in bars and watering holes because of it. And this place would be no different. He could see it now, he would ride into the Union Airbase, get a job, make a name for himself and astound the locals, making a fortune in the process. He figured he would probably try and make his way back to New Vegas after that, where the tribes all fought over those casino's. He figured he could have a grand old time gambling his fortune away, before hunting down Pablo and Lisa again, and possibly getting a job on their ranch to live out his golden years. This place would be his last job, he felt it in his bones. Either he would die here in Detroit, or he would make a final fortune and a few extra stories to tell to local kids as he got older.

Coming up the the gate to the airbase, he swung his legs over his horse and clambered down, his boots landing softly in the snow. He trudged heavily through it, missing the deserts of the southwest where it was only more like 40 to 50 degree's, rather than this unending winter they experienced here in the north. He pulled his scarf tighter around his face and popped the collar of his jacket, before huddling further under his bearskin coat he wore. Walking up to the gate, he reached over to the saddle and pulled out a double barrel shotgun, resting it in the crook of his arm, just in case, before knocking. He could hear people moving on the other side, but nothing to substantial about who they were. He knocked again, louder and longer, and a man in combat dress opened a door to the other side and stepped out, rifle held in his hands ready to shoot if he needed.

"Who are you?" he said to Jimmy.

"Im a mercenary," said Jimmy with a grin. "Ive come looking for work. Though I suppose Im probably meant to talk to your commander about that."

[Alouite]

Commissar Jack Russel
Mid-day, New Years' Day
Michigan Central Train Depot, West Side Industrial

Jack Russel put out his cigarette and put on his flat cap before he walked onto the stage that had been constructed in the middle of the great hallway. As he walked onto the stage he could see his audience, a mass of people who chanted "Russel! Russel! Russel!" as he waved and approached a central podium. The revolutionaries had made considerable gains in their downtown holdings, and this very public rally being possible is only due to their front line with F.R.O.S.T. having been pushed further north and east. The audience was a mixture of veterans, militiamen and civilians. He adjusted his microphone which was hooked up to speakers so his voice would carry throughout the large central area of the astoundingly intact pre-war building.

He began, "Comrades, today we are gathered to remember the fallen. We remember the voices of the dead battalions, who died that our future might be great. These comrades, like many here, put their lives on the line to push back the fascists, however they ultimately paid the ultimate price. But while we mourn we must not let ourselves think that their losses were in vain. For they still march in spirit with us, and urge us on, to break the fascist state!"

The crowd erupted into applause as Russel paused. "Comrades, while the fascists say that they are restoring the old state that brought us to ruin, we stand stronger than ever and carry on the legacy of all that was good in the old world, and fight for all that could be good in this new one."

The audience applauds again. "These men say that they stand for the same nation that had the likes of Washington, Lincoln and FDR, but let me ask you, who is giving the power back to the people as Washington did those years ago? The Liberation Front! Who, in the memory of Lincoln, is fighting to break the chains that the slavers and murderous fascists have shackled the people of Detroit with? The Liberation Front! Who, like Roosevelt, is working to bring the people of Detroit together out of this greatest of depressions where workers are facing exploitation so archaic they belong in the dark ages? It is you"

Russel points into the audience at an old man who is clearly a veteran with a maimed leg, "And you" Russel points at a mother with her children, "And you" Russel points to a young woman in her militant garb. "It is all of us comrades! For alone we are weak, but the Union makes us Strong!"

The crowd again erupts into applause with hoots a woman can be heard saying "And you Russel!"

Russel said "While we will finally have our moment of rest after the great trials we have overcome in the past years, our job will never be done until we break the chains. Yes we will destroy the crooked followers of Cain and the slavers who do his bidding! We will break the fascist hold in downtown Detroit! We will liberate Detroit, and we will do so before the century is done. Freedom will reign from That is my pledge to you!" The crowd cheers and Russel says "With all of that said, we will now begin our commemorative ceremony for those we have lost. I will be here later for the festivities, but for now I yield to our esteemed comrade, Brian Klein." The crowd cheers for the man who had led a successful incursion into downtown Detroit and sabotaged a supply train. The attrition caused by his successful mission had contributed to the ceasefire by reducing the morale of FROST forces in the area.

Russel stepped off the stage and looked to his comrade Floyd Brown and said "Comrade Brown, I would like to meet with a few particular individuals of note. Would you collect them for me?"

Floyd replied, "Certainly, who do you need me to bring over?"

Russel handed him a piece of paper with a list of names: Leon James - Recruiter, Mary Yonella - Partisan Comrade, John S. Browning - Co-Chair of the Socialist Caucus, Michael Dupont - Medical Supplier. "These comrades. Have them meet me on the roof here. I have some business to discuss with them."

Floyd replied, "Yes Commissar" and saluted Russel. "I will take them to you at once."

Russel then headed to the roof where a few other Liberation Front officials awaited him.

[Endem]

First Sergeant Scott
Afternoon, about 7 p.m. New Years Day
Taylor, Crossroads of Baske and Glenis Street

All was going pretty well, they managed to clear some more houses along Baske Street. The camp was already set up and a few fires were burning, his RO ( Radio Operator ) managed to establish contact with the second half of the platoon. Scott was overseeing the clearing of another house. Two men stormed the building, in the kitchen they found a skeleton, probably someone that died when the bomb fell, nothing was found in the rest of the rooms on the first floor. Both men and Scott went to the second floor to search it through, scavenge whatever they could, and expand the camp, they needed to expand the camp pretty badly as it happened the field kitchen could not fit in the current layout. Scott and one of the two men found an irradiated which was quickly dealt with.


Then they heard the sounds of someone struggling from another room. They found the second one of the two men locked in combat with an irradiated, what is strange the irradiated actually tried punching not just mindlessly tearing the Private into shreds. Scott gave the ghoul a solid punch, the ghoul fell on the floor and then yelled

"Please, no, don't kill me, I'm innocent, I'm not feral, please, no, please"

The private that was just fighting this ghoul has pointed his rifle towards it. The ghoul desperately yelled to not kill him. Scott seeing the ghoul just made a quick comment

"You're an abomination, and we kill abominations, now prepare to di-"

The Ghoul interrupted Scott

"No, I can help, I can be useful, don't kill me, I know how to shoot, I know how to fight, I can be useful"

"We don't want soldiers that are freaks!"

"I'm not an abomination, you got to believe me, I'm sane, n-not feral, you don't need to kill me"

"Feral or not you are a freak! Freaks are supposed to be killed"

"I'm not freak, I can help, if I was a freak, I w-wouldn't have n-name, I have a name, S-Spencer, my name is Spencer, a name is a sign of not being a freak"

"You're wrong, freak, now, stop yelling and die with some honor"

As the Ghoul reformed his position to kneel on both knees, don't stop to beg for mercy more and more desperate, Scott turned to the private that the ghoul fought with

"You found him first, you can shoot"

A gunshot ended the ghoul's life, nearly ended his life, the ghoul jumped as a major wound from the left lung was seen, the ghoul was bleeding out, but how long will that take, nobody could tell, but the ghoul, probably in it's last few words that he had left didn't stop begging, but now, for a quick death

"Private, get this abomination corpse burned"

"Understood sir"

Both of them said and lit a fire on the ghoul's body after getting some planks underneath it, now that the two ghouls occupying the house were dead and burned, the soldiers expanded the camp and finally managed to set up a field kitchen.

Scott has walked through this newly established camp. When the time was right, this will turn into a whole outpost covering the area in between four streets, then, they will expand until everything in between Wick Road and Goddard Road up to Telegraph Road was reclaimed for the US. Scott wanted to suggest making Telegraph Road the main artery for the defense line they were supposed to clear place for. Scott was interrupted by his RO with a message for his ears only...

"So Mitchell needs some rescuing if you manage to get back to him, tell him I'm coming with 10 men, I'll be there in 50 minutes"

Scott said to the girl that was operating the radio near Mitchell position. Scott then disconnected with them and handed the speaker to his RO, he then got then men, best equipped and trained he could find. They traveled down Wick Road to the Beaumont Hospital on Taylor Street.

First Sergeant Scott
Afternoon, 10 minutes to 8 p.m. New Years Day
Taylor, Beaumont Hospital, Taylor Street

They found a private outside the hospital near a radio set.

"So, you're this girl that called me, lead us to Staff Seargent Mitchell's last position"

He ordered the private, she lead them to what looked like an entrance to what looked like an old subway station metro, near the escalator they found Mitchell and some of his men holding off a horde of enemies. Scott's soldiers instinctively took a position to shoot and Scott loudly said a single word

"Fire"

10 gunshots rung out and some of the creatures attacking Mitchell fell, Scott simply said

"Fire at will"

He then directed his own rifle towards the enemy and opened fire.

[Labstoska]

Charlie Caro
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase
Between crashing in the middle of PLFA controlled Detroit and getting sick on the way to the air base Charlie was starting to realize that he quite dislike vertibirds, it was rather unfortunate really as the Enclave used the glorified helicopters as one of their only means of travel yet Charlie would ride one half way across the world if it was necessary to get here. The airbase relieved a certain feeling of homesickness that came from being out in the wastes far from the pristine corridors of the rig, of course the airbase was in no way as clean as the rig the runways were still littered with ruined aircraft but the pure military discipline that exuded from the place would make and Enclave personel feel more at home.

The airbase inside put up a far better show at being a proper military installation then the airfields did, it had been almost entirely cleaned out and the decorators had started to a bit on Enclave flair into it with blue lights and a metallic theme being added to the corridors, it was a bit like a home away from home. Of course he wouldn't be seeing any of that instead Ross wanted the military brass to gather in one of the main hanger, at least they had put a table there. Upon sitting down Charlie couldn't help but feel out of place men who specialised in espionage were rarely ever seen beside military men, it tended to offend their honour and Charlie could guarantee that the only reason that he'd ever been permitted to attend here was because the Enclave ,whom all these F.R.O.S.T folk were beholden too, had ever so generously assigned him the damnable title of 'Director of intelligence in F.R.O.S.T territories'.

The top brass of the F.R.O.S.T Brandon Ross began his debriefing, at first Ross began talking about the ceasefire and a possible negotiation with the PLFA which certainly rubbed him the wrong way, the only way to deal with the communist scum was to bomb them back into the stone age (again). Fortunately Ross quickly moved on from that subject and onto news of the military front. Talk of power armour production certainly perked his ears up, if he could get into contact with the rig again he should be able to convince the boys at engineering to send some of their prototype designs out here after all a good few of the people on the rig saw Detroit as nothing more than one large test site so he might as well indulge them.

Then came operation Horseshoe, all in all it was a good idea to unite the two commands via a number of radio relay stations along the St Clair river, it would expand The Enclave's F.R.O.S.T's territory greatly and allow them to create a far more cohesive fighting force however in order to so they would have to slash their way straight through PLFA territory and Charlie knew from experience that that certainly wouldn't be easy to do. He still didn't understand why we didn't just send a vertibird out to Riverfront and obliterate the PLFA's food supply yet they wouldn't be in charge if they weren't idiots.

Eventually after all assignments were handed out Ross got around to Charlie himself however it seemed that he wished to discuss it privately with him. He gave the room a charming smile and a quick wave before following Ross out in the open space of the hanger.

[Mushroomio]

Thomas Polani
Morning, New Years Day
His Bunker

Another day, another outing. Thomas slowly rose from his seat in his lounge, and hobbled over to his control room. His two Securitrons, Grant and Harding, were charging in the room. The hum of the lights was the only thing he heard. Polani sat down in his control chair, and put on his cerebral interface. He was running a bit low on water, and Harding was rusting. The Securitrons buzzed to life, and went through the airlock to the outside wasteland. It had only been 21 years since the bombs dropped, but they might as well have dropped yesterday. The buildings were ruined, and his favorite auto shop was still in tatters. He had not yet picked it clean, out of respect for the previous occupants, but times were getting desperate. He had Grant take some WD-40 from a shelf, and Harding rolled along with him, his wheel slightly creaking as he went.

The Securitrons rolled south, as they have done countless times over the past 21 years. Taking care not to cross Michigan Avenue, to the hellhole that almost destroyed Grant a few years back, they wandered too close to Churchill.

"Great." Thomas thought to himself. "These weirdos are still here."

Thomas was mainly indifferent to the numerous factions he had encountered in the wastes, but the Red Vanguard wing of the PLFA rubbed with him the wrong way. He didn't trust them around his boys, as he had seen what they did to random Protectrons taken from various stores. Target practice, mostly. A different man wouldn't give it a second thought, but Thomas was very attached to robots, seeing as they were his only companions for a long time. The Securitrons tried to sneak past, but 7 foot tall death robots on a wheel aren't very sneaky. The Vanguard outpost men noticed the Securitrons, and notified their CO for the umpteenth time. They took a few potshots at Grant and Harding, but no one really dared to poke their head out after seeing the robots blow ghouls' heads off without a second thought.

When Grant and Harding passed through the second barrier to the river, the Covenant, Thomas felt much more relaxed. They usually never bother the robots, having problems of their own. That was true for this time, mostly. A few children looked at the robots and gawked, making Thomas smile a little, proud that his handiwork could impress even the savages outside the bunker. All in all, it took 3 hours for that 3 mile journey. Not the most efficient, Thomas thought, but routine for him. Harding used one of his modifications Thomas made on him to collect the water. It was created from an old vacuum cleaner, and basically did the same job. After collecting 10 gallons of irradiated water, the robots made their way back home, passing through Covenant, rolling by Churchill (this time no gunshots), and finally getting home. When they got back, the robots were scrubbed clean of rads by the airlock's rad scrubbers, and went back to their charging stations. Thomas took the interface off, slowly got up, and made his way to the robots.

The WD-40 was certainly useful in scrubbing Harding clean of rust, and the water was sure to last Polani a week, at least. He didn't drink or eat much anymore, he spent all his time on his boys now. No time for food. Some rust still remained on Harding, but that was OK. He was fine now. Thomas conducted a thorough inspection of the robots, and found nothing out of the ordinary.

[Free States of Agnosicstan]

Comrade Mary Yonella
Mid-Day, New Years' Day
Michigan Central Train Depot, West Side Industrial

Mary had, of course, been attending the meeting. She'd wanted to see Comrade Russel speak, see the effect his voice had on crowds. It was breath-taking at times, seeing so many of her brothers and sisters of the revolution brought up into a fervour by his words. She couldn't help but join them. She'd stood among the crowd, of course she had, her rifle on her back and a hat on her head. She'd cheered and chanted with the crowd, an ecstatic feeling. She'd listened to his words, honouring those comrades who had fallen against the fascist menace. Her thoughts drifted to her father, and she clenched a fist. They'd killed him, just like every one of her comrades they'd butchered. She'd been making them pay for it with every bullet she fired, every gun she fixed...Every fascist scum she watched drop with a crack of her rifle.

By the time Russel had stepped off the stage, she had teared up a little. Even as she had avenged him, it still hurt. Of course it did. She was only human. She'd departed from the crowd not long after, left the building to feel the wind on her face a little and calm down. She was sat on the cracked, stone-like ground that littered the industrial area, cleaning and maintaining her rifle. She treated it with a weird sort of affection, like how one would treat a pet, or perhaps a child. In many ways, it was her child. The weapon had been with her for years, served her well. She had ensured it didn't malfunction once, a rare treat for soldiers like her.

She was not even half-finished in her maintenance when Comrade Brown had approached her. She stood up with a small, friendly smile and gave him a little nod. "Can I help you, Comrade?" She was polite, mostly because people like it when you're polite to them, and she wanted to be liked by her Comrades.

"You can indeed, Comrade Yonella. You're needed on the roof." Curt and to the point. How she preferred conversation to be. It told her she could run verbal circles around someone.

Keeping her smile, she nodded, slung her rifle onto her shoulder and stood. She walked at a casual pace. It probably wasn't that important, after all. She was just a soldier of the revolution, she wasn't one of the big-talkers like Russel. She didn't need to be. Some of them had the wrong idea about the revolution, but there was nothing she could do to alter the course of some of her Comrades, and they needed everyone they could get to destroy the fascists. Once the fighting was over...Well, that was a different story.

She let her thoughts occupy her as she made her way up the stairs to the roof. For the West Side area, this building was fairly intact, and the roof was actually accessible. Probably the reason that Commissar Russel chose it for this meeting. She stepped up onto the roof, and froze where she stood, her eyes going wide in surprise. She looked around for a moment, thinking that there had to have been some kind of mistake, because not only did Comrade Russel stand on the roof, but several other key members of the Revolution did. She was staring, quite openly. Any thoughts she had previously had were ground to a halt. A few, awkward seconds pass before she regains her composure, and her voice.

"I-I'm sorry, I think I was misinformed..." She trailed off, looking about ready to bolt down the stairs.

[Alouite]

Commander Brandon Ross
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase Hangar

The men meet in a corner of the hangar where a small mobile operations center has been deployed and staff officers are at work preparing documents. Commander Ross looked to the Enclave intelligence official and offered him a cigarette before he lit his own and took a puff. "As you may have already been informed, High Command designated you as a Lieutenant here. I understand your talents are more of a covert persuasion."

He paused to take another puff. "With that in mind, the reason I wanted you here today was to understand the importance of Operation Horseshoe and to inform you about your place in all of it. You are being inserted behind enemy lines to make contact with the various political officials within the Liberation front and to begin to work your way into the civilian structures of the Liberation Front's political caucuses."

He then gestured for one of his staff officers to bring him a briefcase. "Inside of this briefcase is contained some simple garments common in the Liberation front, jeans, a shirt, an armband, so on." The staff officer handed to suitcase to Caro before Ross continued. "Inside is also an affidavit and a discrete radio which is built into the briefcase itself with all of the circuitry hidden behind an insular layer. Directions to operate it will be in the affidavit along with the locations of dead drops where we will ferry you equipment and update you on operations. I cannot tell you about your first task until you set up a covert base of operations on the outside of the Riverfront commune, however, you will be assigned agents who will assist you in your endeavors." Ross draws a final puff from the cigarette and then puts it out in an ashtray within arm's reach.

"Now, you have been afforded some liberty in this operation, including the disregard of all normal rules of engagement and the ability to independently recruit agents, though you must report any such recruits to myself. Furthermore, you are not compelled to directly head to the Riverfront, instead you are given the liberty of making any necessary moves before setting up said covert base. You are however working on a time scale and need to be on site by the tenth of this month."

Ross handed him a plasma pistol and a small container with forty plasma cells. "If anything happens along the way, this will do more than enough damage to get you there. Do you have any questions?"

---

Commissar Jack Russel
Mid-day, New Years' Day
Michigan Central Train Depot Rooftop, West Side Industrial

The rooftop meeting was running to schedule, several key points had been agreed upon and the Anarchists, Red Vanguard and Socialists were in agreement that unity was the way forward. For a moment they enjoyed a pause from their discussions many looking over the side of the rooftop to see the city ruins. Throughout West Side Industrial red banners and flags could be seen decorating the streets and further still in Covenant one could just make out the local militias parading through the streets. A feeling of good spirits spilled over the Red territories of Detroit and music was audible with both communist songs being sung and the echoes of radios playing old world dance music present.

Jack looked to one of the more influential anarchists still sitting at the wooden table along with some of his comrades. The table had been moved to the rooftop for the purposes of the meeting. The rooftop itself had been somewhat refurbished and there were a few chairs and benches installed along the edges so one could view the city while having a moment of leisure.

Jack smiled and said "Well Comrade Fowler, we do not always agree, in fact we do not often agree. But I think today we have bridged a gap." Smith Fowler turned to his comrade Anna Carlisle and said "I think we have." Anna added "We do not always see the Revolution from the same angle, but we know that what it has done to save this city. That is what matters." A delegate from the Red Vanguard standing nearby nodded and smiled in passive agreement. While tensions within the Liberation Front still were present, it seemed for now the news of victory had helped to seal some of the cracks that had been emerging in recent months. Jack walked over to a bench where he saw one of his old comrades Alexis Barr. He said to her "And even the weather is cooperating today, I don't think we have had a day in the high forties in January since the war." She said "I know, fantastic isn't it? Almost as if a sign." Jack said "Yes, well-"

Then, the door to the main entrance opened and the several people on the rooftop turned their attention to her (though most carried on with their conversations). However, her nervous reaction to seeing the officials was hardly embarrassing in Jack's eyes, it was understandable. He turned to her and said "Comrade Yonella, I am pleased to meet you. I heard good things about you from Officer Bell and other fellow comrades in your militia, your work holding back the fascists' march into West Side Industrial was commendable." He paused for a moment and said "Please, come over, we have much to discuss. I will explain why I invited you here today."

[Labstoska]

Charlie Caro
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase
When the cigarette was offered it was most certainly taken, ever since he had left the Spartan lifestyle of the rig he had grown quite fond of the things and despite concerned words from his doctor he couldn't seem to get off them. As Ross debriefed him on his assigned mission a smile began to dawn over his face, he had thought for quite a while that the various factions of the PLFA would eventually lead to it's downfall and he got the opportunity to instigate the flame that would burn through the PLFA and tear a new heart for F.R.O.S.T in the heart of Detroit, he also didn't mind all the new gear he was getting either, he knew from now forth the plasma pistol was going to hold a special place in his heart.

He was particularly pleased at the information that he would be getting some fellow agents to help him out in dismantling the PLFA, more often than not on the west coast he had been expected to perform his missions solo yet then again none of his previous missions had never held the same priority as this one.

The contents of the briefcase also particularly interested Charlie, F.R.O.S.T seemed to be making some progress in the communications field right under Charlie's nose, the shiny new portable radio ought to help him in the short term getting through both the kingdom of Cain and the wastelands it never hurt to appropriate the aid of some of the new platoons sent out to help with operation horseshoe in order to get him through Taylor at the very least.

Charlie replied in his usual optimistic tone "No questions sir, simply shoot my way through half of Detroit and destroy our greatest enemy from the inside, all in a day's work"

[Alouite]

Commander Brandon Ross
Early Morning, New Years Day
Detroit Union Airbase Hangar

Commander Ross replied, "Very well Lieutenant. I trust that you will give them hell from within. Keep your cover, but when presented the opportunity, show them no mercy. Every bit of damage done to the Liberation Front saves us bullets, but more importantly, saves us lives. I wish I could say more, but in the interests of keeping everything on a need to know basis, for now this is it. Tou could follow Captain Royce who is taking two platoons out to Taylor, from there he will be sending out scouting parties. So I am sure they could get you as far as Outpost Gamma. Otherwise, if you wish you could access the underground metro system to reach Telegraph Road Station. We have cleared it of all ghouls and animals and occasionally run patrols through the area as it is a strategic route between the airbase and Westwood. But after that we cannot guarantee the reliability of the tunnels. We once had it cleared as far as Greenfield Village Station, but as you know that is erring dangerously close to the so-called Kingdom of Cain. I would recommend the first route as it takes you closer to the River itself, though the second could possibly allow you to trace the metro stations under the Fortifications that Cain's men set up blocking riverside access to Liberation Front territory. It is your call. Now, I need to get back to Captain Dean and Lieutenant Daniels. If you have any further questions forward them to my staff officer Lieutenant Abrams, otherwise, you are free to head out. And if you need any fire support or relief along the way, just call. But we do want to keep this low profile."

[Alouite]

Sergeant Zachary Linton
Mid-day New Years' Day
Detroit Union Airbase

Sergeant Zachary Linton sat in a booth by the main entrance gate, a team of guards occasionally walking past him on their patrol. He took a sip from a small vial of gin every once in a while. Everyone seemed happy, the war, for now was over. And while he knew deep down that it wasn't truly done. He hoped it would mean at least some what of a respite before the hellish conditions he had faced just back in December resumed. He turned to his fellow gate operator, Corporal Fournier and said "And it even isn't that cold. It doesn't get much better than this. I wonder what Mickey and Frank are doing up in Huntington Woods. No doubt cracking open a bottle of pop or two."

Fournier nodded, "Damn Sarge, I wish we had some good Nuka Cola down here. I haven't had anything but water and booze in the last few weeks and its driving me crazy. I ran out of my last chocolate ration a few days ago."

Sergeant Linton smiled "Yeah I feel ya" scratching his beard. "Hopefully they will have a few force rotations now that we are in a ceasefire, but somehow I doubt it will happen for a while. Not til' they are sure that it will last. Anyway, I make do with booze, and at least the water isn't making our hair fall out. Thank God for that."

Fournier replied "Yeah, thank God. I've been thinking lately, how am I going to spend all of my time now that we aren't constantly shooting reds?"

Sergeant Linton said "Probably shooting tweakers, gangsters and ferals. But on the bright side, most of them don't know how to shoot back."

Fournier smiled, "Then, hell, I might even survive til' summer."

Sergeant Linton replied "Now wouldn't that be somethin'"

The two paused for a moment, before the conversation resumed the siren in the room suddenly sounded three times and a voice came over the intercom. The voice belonged to their officer in charge "We have an armed individual approaching the gate here. No sign that he is hostile. Why don't one of you two figure out what he's doing here."

Fournier got ready to get up but Sergeant Linton made a hand gesture to stay, "I'll figure out what this is all about." He grabbed his rifle and left the booth, walking toward the gate. He turned his safety off and placed his rifle on a three round burst, just in case. When he arrived at the gate he said "So then... who are you?"

The man replied "I'm a mercenary" grinning, "I've come looking for work. Though I suppose I'm probably meant to talk to your commander about that."

Sergeant Linton gave a perplexed look to the man. "Interesting... well unfortunately for you, the war with the Liberation Front ended recently. Rather we have entered a ceasefire. That said we may have some work for you. Was this already arranged between you and someone in our administration or are you trying to set that up here and now? And, by the way, what is your name?"

[Theyra]

Nathan Vale
Mid-Day New Years Day
The Assembly

"So this is the Assembly," Nathan thought in as he entered the trade settlement. The place was full of activity as people flocked to merchant stalls, and the merchants practiced their trade on the crowds. Nathan had seen big settlements before on his travels throughout the state, but, none had this level of activity. He turned his head to get a look at the guards that were at their positions by the gate. Eyeing their weapons which looked like military grade weapons. This place is more fortified than any trade settlement he has been to. Guess you have to be packing serious heat with knowing who else is in Detroit. Getting here was enough trouble as he had encountered some bandits on the way to this place. Nothing that he could not handle but, one of the bandits managed to graze him on the right arm. On the one spot that he wished that bandit did not hit His scar which was an inch long and Nathan was clutching his arm for a good ten minutes before the pain started to go away. He bandaged his scar with a tore piece of cloth that he cut from his shirt. The bleeding was not bad, and he probably did not need to dress it, but, he felt better for doing so.

Nathan pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. About ten minutes past noon, he had not eaten yet, and this place is bound to have a place to eat. Putting his pocket watch back, Nathan walked further inside pass the merchant stalls and the crowds. "Come on, come one, there has to be a place to eat in this place." He thought as his stomach started to growl, and he increased his efforts. He found some places to eat, but they were crowded. "There you are," Nathan said relief as he spotted a less crowded place to eat. It was a small place that looked like an old-cafe from before the war and had some tables outside. Despite the holes and the fact, it was built inside what used to be a clothing store. With a final growl from his stomach, Nathan went inside and ordered something he had never had, a hamburger. He remembers that his father was fond of them and based on how good he said there were, Nathan, figured he would try one. Though the fact the beef that was in it was from a mutated cow and probably would not taste the same as a pre-war burger. It did not matter to him since it was rare to find something that was mutated and he had gotten used to eating the mutated fish of the Great Lakes. He found a table outside and started to eat.

As he was eating, he started to think about his next moves. He needed to make money and find a place to rest. Preferably someplace that is secure and he would not have to worry about getting captured in the night. Normally sleeping out in the wasteland did not scare him and he was used to it. Now he is in Detroit and he has gotten wind of the groups that live here. He did not feel safe with the slavers from the Kingdom of Cain being around and the Undying. Why did these slavers have to be organized and have a foothold in the city? Things are bad enough as it is after the bombs and what happened to Cheboygan. A sad memory started to play in his head about Cheboygan before he stopped it and it went into the recess of his mind. He needs to stop thinking about that, about that day and move on. Nathan stopped eating a moment and pulled out his pocket watch. This is all that is left of his family, this heirloom from his father. He held it tightly and closed his eyes. "Breath in and breath out", he thought and put the pocket watch away.

Maybe he could see what the PLFA or F.R.O.S.T has for work or at least see what kind of operation there are running. He knows his parents and the old US hated commies and here are some here in Detroit. They and F.R.O.S.T seemed like the ones that could help to keep order in Detroit and crush the Kingdom of Cain. Among other bandit groups and it was too bad that they hated each other. seeing how F.R.O.S.T are remnants of the old US government. He should not be surprised that they would choose to hate the PLFA. Maybe it was best if he stayed out of that business and worked with neutrals like the Assembly. They seemed to have a good thing here and there is bound to be some work for him. He took one last juicy bite of the burger, it was a good burger and he can see why his father loved them. "Well, time to get to work", He said to himself and got up from his seat and started looking around for a job.

[Deutschess Kaiserreich]

Mitchell Graham
High noon, New Years Day
Beaumont Hospital, Taylor street.

They just kept coming. The ghouls flooded the corridor like a tidal wave. The others had arrived but no matter how much lead they forced upon the tide they just kept coming. One of Mitchell's men lit a bottle aflame and threw it towards the oncoming horde, setting the whole crowd aflame. But it didn't stop them. They ignored the fact that they're flesh was melting in front of their very eyes, if they had any, and just kept coming. At last, one reached them. It leaped at one of him men, mouth chomping wildly, and tore a good chunk of flesh from his neck. Mitchell turned around and put two into its skulls while two soldiers dragged the wounded away. There just seemed to be hundreds of them packed in this small corridor.

Soon, their bodies began to pile up, forming a wall that slowed them down. It seemed like the wall of corpses would hold but there was a great roar. A roar so loud that the walls of the tunnel shook and dust fell from the ceiling. The men froze for a second, unsure of what just happened and their eyes wide open in fear. Then the wall of corpses burst forth like a burst dam. Bullet-riddled burned to crisp bodies flew towards the squad, knocking some of them down and throwing up a cloud of dust so thick that Mitchell felt as if his lungs had closed up. It took a few moments for the dust to settle and a truly horrifying sight beheld them. It was gross and distorted, its skin stretched by humps and swellings. Thick arms are swollen with gangrene and fibrous growths. Its taut flesh was pallid and Green. Its face was distorted, puffy and livid, and his tongue flopped out of his rotting mouth, long and serpentine. For a moment the two parties froze then Mitchell yelled at the top of lungs, "FOCUS ALL FIRE ON THAT... THAT... THAT THING!"

The men did as ordered and a hundred bullets filled the thing in less than ten seconds. Shreds of rags, meat, and gobbets of pus sprayed in all directions. It looked at the many bullets that had impacted it for a moment before returning its attention towards the squad. It raised his meaty, distended hands triumphantly, exposing fingernails grown into dark hooks and psoriatic claws. Then it began to dash towards them, tailing what used to be its clothes behind it like some form of chains. One of the men's green fatigue pants grew very dark and damp all of a sudden. Mitchell yelled and emptied his entire mag into the creature, expecting the others to do the same but it never happened. The others were so shocked at this thing in front of them that they only opened fire when it was but five paces away. He snatched up a soldier and dashed her like a toy against the walls of the tunnel, back and forth, with huge, slamming, splattering effect, so that when it let go, little of her still existed above the sternum.

"Oh, Lord!" One of the soldiers, a private by the name of Lydia, screamed at the top of her lungs, retching violently while randomly spraying her gun towards the creature but not a single round landed. Another soldier stepped past her to confront the monster, lifting his heavy revolver towards the chest of the creature.

"Begone!" he cried out while emptying the revolver's entire cylinder into the creature's heart. "Begone! Beast!"

The creature was unaffected, only shaking its head as if it was simply confused as what just happened. It then drove it's extended and overgrown fingernails into the soldier's stomach. The soldier's mouth was wide open in shock as he crumpled to the floor, ejecting blood from his wounds like a pressure hose. Private Lydia sank to her knees. Terror had rendered her powerless to run. She accepted her fate. She closed her eyes. The beast noticed Lydia and began to walk towards her, its jaws wide open, searching for a thing to bite, most likely Lydia's cranium.

"NOOO!" Mitchell screamed and unloaded his entire clip into the creature body. It staggered back a few steps and turned its bloated head at Mitchell, its single eye -poking out of the many Gangrenous lumps on its face- fixated on Mitchell. It then let out a bellowing roar and began to sprint at Mitchell, fingernails outstretched. Mitchell felt his heart quicken and threw his rifle away, drawing out his .45 Pistol and unleashing the whole clip into its head. It's many sores and lumps burst shooting out gross green sludge that dribbled down its face. Its feet collapsed and it slid across the wet floors, smashing face first into the tiled walls. It began to flail about before it found its footing and began dash towards Mitchell, what left of its mind focusing only on Mitchell. Everything seemed to slow down. Mitchell ejected the clip of his pistol and reached for his next one on his belt but it would be too late. But there was a loud cry behind Mitchell and he witnessed Private Lydia charge towards the beast. Wait, was she carrying a Rail spike?

She drove the tip of her blade into that thing's exposed chest. The blade punched clean through, and the tip emerged through it's back. It wavered, it's gaze still focused on Mitchell but not on Lydia. With half-open, shuddering hands, it reached at Lydia's face, not violently, but gently as if imploring some mercy or even aid. Like it had some of humanity left. Green sludge flowed from it's wound. ‘Help me...’ it gasped in a low a gravely voice from somewhere, it's one yellow puss filled eye wide open. Lydia wrenched the spike out and felt her gut wrench in disgust at the words the creature had muttered. She looked away from the creature as tears flowed down her face It staggered and swayed, the blood leaking out of the gash in its chest, covering his belly and thighs with a green stain.

It toppled backward, crashing over and over down the escalator behind it in a windmill of heavy, loose limbs. It landed two meters from the base of the escalator, it's body slid in the green toxic sludge and out of sight. Mitchell just stood there staring down the depths of the escalator, rifle ready if it dared to somehow come back. He didn't hear any sounds coming from here but he had to sure. He walked past Lydia trying to stop the bleeding of the soldier that had saved her. He walked to the remains of the soldier that thing had smashed into the wall. He knelt right next to him and muttered, "Thank you for your service to your country. Your name will be etched on the wall of heroes one day."

He opened his eyes and grabbed a small bottle from the belt, carefully not to get any gore on his fingers. He walked over to the escalator and took his golden lighter from his pocket. He then lit the rag stuffed at the opening of the bottle and threw it into the darkness. There was a great flame that went on for minutes but Mitchell didn't watch, instead, helping Lydia try to save the soldiers life that had saved hers. As they stitching him out, three soldiers emerged from behind a crate. They had been hiding! Mitchell stood up, his face contorted in anger.

"YOU COWARDS!" He yelled with such anger he had never felt. "You left us when we needed you the most! America does not need soldiers like you. I will talk with the commander when we return to base."

The soldier's faces turned red with shame and they couldn't bring themselves to look at Mitchell directly. Mitchell's stone cold face softened as he looked back and felt the fear he had felt when he first saw the creature. He spoke again but his voice was soft and understanding this time, "Sorry, I guess I can understand what you felt. That thing terrified me as well. You're green. You haven't seen what people my rank and experience have seen. I won't blame you but I just ask for some courage from you."

Then the noises came. Like a great number of feet pattering through the water. There was the sound of flesh impacting the floor. Roars of anger yet so human. All these came from the hallway that was littered with half a hundred ghouls that had fallen by at hand of only a dozen people. It sounded like there were fifty more coming. Mitchell looked about. He only had four able body soldiers. One was dead. One incapacitated. One calling for reinforcements. The others somewhere else in the hospital. There was no way he had enough firepower to handle fifty more ghouls. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was how he was to die? Fighting some stupid putrid creatures in some dark underground flooded train station. Not raising the flag over the capitol. But at least he would go out fighting for the states. He looked at the three soldiers. They nodded and left the cover of the crate to join Michell. He looked at Lydia who had finished stitching up the wounded soldier. He said to her in a calm voice yet his face showed that he was so... so... tired, "Get him out of here. We'll try to slow them down."

The four-lined up at the end of the corridor. The stampede of feet and the roar of anger grew ever louder. Sweat flowed down the forehead of the four like a waterfall. Then one of them came into range of their flashlights. The ghoul was ripped to shreds by ten shots from... wait... none of them had fired. Mitchell looked back and found a squad of ten with Sergeant Scott at the head of them. Mitchell was about to say something but another roar shook the corridor and a second wave entered the range of their flashlights. With their combined firepower it was all over in ten minutes. Mitchell stood up, his knees aching, and turned towards Sergeant Scott. He reached to shake Sergeant Scott's hand while saying, "Thank the union you came. We were on our last legs."

[Zaporizhian Host]

Lieutenant Lynda Pierce
Noon, New Years' Day
Militia Barracks, Covenant

Lynda returned to the barracks hastily along with the other members of the Covenant militia that had been allowed to take the morning off to attend Russell's speech. Some of the more fresh soldiers had an ecstatic aura around them, evidently moved by the praises directed towards their contributions by their charismatic leader. Lynda was, unlike the more junior soldiers, not star-struck. Instead, she seemed satisfied, reflecting on how Russell's oratory skills had improved significantly over the years; she felt more proud of his ability to enkindle an audience than of her own wartime accomplishments.

Crossing the rubble pathway made between the Westside industrial area and Covenant, they entered the well-protected PLFA settlement and made it towards the barracks, housed in what remained of the former middle school in the Southwesternmost section. They passed the market where the distribution of surplus goods occurred under the supervision of the militia. Working there was seen as the least valued duty among the militia members, as arguments over who needed the scarce resources the most often arose. Lynda acted as judge many times and knew enough about choosing one family over the other to know that this particular job could be a burden. On this day, however, any conflict seemed to be swept aside, as the promise of peace had brought hope and reduced the consumption required by the militia forces. Lynda smiled to the militiaman stationed at the market and the few civilians gathered there.

The roads in Covenant were relatively well-maintained, and many houses were either intact or had received sufficient repair to be suitable habitats. The same could not be said about the barrack building, which was a pain in the ass for Lynda and her comrades to heat up due to its size and poorly plugged openings in old windows and holes in the wall. This last winter had been a bit more mild than the first two winters since she was stationed here, but the cold had made it through the thin blanket nonetheless, and her diary was littered with her wishes for an early spring. With the wide and bright sun out and some degree of mild warmth touching her dry-frozen cheeks when standing in it, it seemed as though her hopes might come true. When they arrived at the barracks, her immediate subordinate officer, comrade Florence, greeted them.

"Welcome back slackers!" She shouted as they reached a stones-throw distance away from her. "How was it? Does the Commissar send his regards to the soldiers wasting away out in the field?" She put her hands on her hips and observed the squad of troops, of which many were anxious to tell her how much of a scorcher Russell's speech was.

"We'll tell you all about it at supper this evening. These fellas' have to go on their patrol now." She looked at the handful of soldiers, grinning. "Ghouls don't rest and neither do we. Take the normal route along the defensive positions and come back, by the time you're done there'll be hot meal ready for ya'." They went into the barracks to get their equipment. "Meanwhile, comrade, I want to get up to the watchtower. Have you found out anything about the Cain fire of this morning?"

"Nothing of substance. It was still burning last time I checked. We can go up and see what the watchman on duty has to report."

The two walked up the stairs to the third floor of what remained of the old school building, and climbed up to the constructed watchtower giving the militia a solid view of the landscape and nearby settlements.

"Anything to report, Comrade?" Lynda asked as she fastened her sunglasses on her shirt collar and brought out her binoculars. First, she fixed her eyes on the fire going on at the old Ford plant, but little had changed since the morning, apart from a limited view of the fire due to the sunlight and a possible reduction in the smoke emitted.

"As a matter of fact, yes." The watchman started, directing Lynda and Florence to look towards Springwells. "Troop movements have been going the last couple hours. They seem to be concentrated to the North." Lynda couldn't see much, in part due to the ruins in the way of her view.

"Numbers, comrade Evans. How many? Where are they headed? What weapons do they carry?" She lowered the binoculars and stared at him, frowning.

"I... really can't say M'am, the view from here is not too great." He looked down at his feet.

"A guess. You have seen troops, how many have you seen? Approximately?"

"A few dozens? Maybe more?"

"Maybe more...", she muttered to herself. "Well, I'm going to write a brief update to Commissar Russell and send you to deliver it, comrade Evans." Lynda jotted down a few bullet points, probably the least preferred way her superiors liked to have information conveyed to them, but she thought it constituted clarity. "-Unusually large fire in Kingdom of Cain", "-Troop movements in Springwells, possibly a hundred", "-Permission to organize a reconnaissance mission requested", where the key points. She signed it, Lieutenant Pierce, and sent the watchman to deliver it right away. She then sat down on the bench in the tower, inviting Florence to sit with her.

"If there's someone I trust less than F.R.O.S.T, it's the feudalist slavers this side of town." She nodded her head at the Cain dominions. "By the way, do you have a cigarette by chance?" She put her sunglasses back on as to cloud her deception.

"Are you out?" Florence said, doubtingly, bringing her own pack and lighter out. "You know, your one smoke a day thing isn't really working if you're also getting cigarettes from your pals." She lit the cigarette, passing it on to Lynda after inhaling the coveted dried tobacco. "If we're on a break, we might as well put on the radio."

Lynda nodded, getting up to turn it on. The tune of Joe Hill being played for the fifty-eleventh time stimulated a sigh from the two. "Let's skip the PL radio, just this time." She switched the channel to Detroit Gold, hushing Florence jokingly and leaning back on the bench. There was peace, for the moment, and Lynda thought she deserved to enjoy it just for a few minutes.

[Mushroomio]

Thomas Polani
Noon, New Years Day
His Bunker

Thomas was bored. After all, he doesn't do much in his bunker these days. He was a frail old man, couldn't even go outside as the background radiation would surely wreak havoc on his body. He couldn't even stay in his nuclear reactor room for long, even with all the lead-lining in it. Instead, he used Grant and Harding to go outside for him. He had not ventured far from home, for fear of losing one of his beloved boys, and today was no different. Though they had already been outside that day, Thomas decided that they should venture out once more, and maybe even speak to the villagers at Covenant. Years without proper human contact had bored Polani almost to death, yet he never actually initiated contact out of fear that his sons would come to harm. But today, he decided he would take the risk and speak to people.

Out of the bunker the Securitrons rolled, and out onto the street they went. Thomas decided he would not scavenge this outing, and would only talk to people. The robots went past the ghoul-ridden, mine-laden, impassable area of the city Thomas once loved, being extra careful this time not to cross the street and come to harm. They rolled past Churchill, no potshots this time from the Vanguards, and finally entered Covenant. Grant and Harding went over to a civilian on the street, and Thomas broadcast his face to the screen of Grant.

"Hello, stranger. My name is Thomas, nice to meet you."

The citizen was startled, but spoke anyway.

"H-hello. I'm Charlie, nice to m-meet you."

"Do not be alarmed by Grant's body, he is harmless. Mostly. Just don't try any funny business and we could get along just fine."

"O-OK. What do you want from me?"

"Where is the barracks in this place? I wish to speak to one of the PLFA, I have business to discuss."

This was not entirely untrue, as Thomas wished to ask some of the PLFA to trade for some scrap. Grant was asking for an upgrade in his hull, and Thomas couldn't say no to his son.

Charlie pointed towards the base, and the Securitrons rolled their way over to it. There, Grant's face was replaced by Thomas' once again, and he spoke to the men guarding the front gate.

"I ask to speak to your commanding officer, please. I have a trade offer with the PLFA that I think they will find very interesting."

[Satterthwaite]

Isaak Heertje von Genteelmeyer
Morning, New Year's Day
Off Interstate 75: en route to Dearborn

[W] Graphic mentions of slavery

It was a good day that seemed to be dawning on them. Yesterday, Isaak had ventured out of the Association's territory with some of his best men, overconfidence lacing their movements and showing through the way they swaggered, armed to the teeth as they were with guns and various other weapons. They had no need of such a heavy-handed show of power, considering what they were about to do for the day, but it sent out a message to any who thought of resisting, a message that simply asked them to reconsider and to reconsider very deeply. Isaak expected no resistance at all, in truth, but there was always the chance that some young upstart would try and think of saving his sibling or friend or whatever kind of relations it was. Heroism was something that still bled through this day and age, no matter how stupid and fruitless it was. Still, the people were learning. Slowly, sure, but they were learning nonetheless, and it would only need to be a little while longer before everybody just calmly accepts that this was the way things are done now. Soon enough, there'll be no more time for heroism, not when survival pressed on their minds far heavier.

He had a thought yesterday to get out and get some fresh new bodies for the Kingdom, answer the summons with a grand number of tributes and climb up the ladders a bit. He approached the task with much gusto. By first light yesterday, he was already rousing his men from their slumber, waving off any complaints that were tossed his way with a hearty chuckle and a firm order to start getting ready. By sunrise, most of them were ready, and it only took another hour more until they finally found themselves walking along Fisher Freeway and then making detours to raid some of the homes that still looked like they housed some souls in them. If there was a God, then He still had some mercy left for Isaak, because the business was finished quick: eleven people of various ages sat on the floor of a ransacked house by New Year's Eve, and he decided to cap off their raids and their year with a bottle of some fine whiskey he had brought along.

He had a pounding headache when he came to, and the sunlight was already hitting his eyes even through the rolled-down blinds. It was a later start than he would have hoped, but at least there was still light. Often, Isaak slept all the way through to the afternoon after a good night's drink. He roused himself from his slumber and sat up, craning his neck this way and that, and that was when he caught sight of a tear-streaked face that seemed to be the only one out of eleven that were still awake.

"You didn't sleep?" he asked, his voice gruff and coarse. He cleared his throat, and massaged his temples. "You shoulda done your best to get some shut-eye. It'd probably have been the last peaceful one you'll ever get." He wondered, almost dimly, what kind of fate awaited the woman that was tied up and sitting in front of him, but that only lasted a couple of seconds at most. What took his attention was how she seemed to be crying and saying something, even despite the gag on her mouth. Isaak considered taking off her gag to let her speak, but he eventually thought better of it. Eventually, he stood up and stretched his legs, feeling the circulation running through them again. He must have slept on them wrongly, he figured, and he shifted his weight to and from one foot to another.

He did a headcount of the rest of the captives. Still eleven, still secure, still according to plan. He didn't even need to check his notebook for their names and stats, the information coming to him as easily as breathing. Jessica, 25, a bit starved but otherwise healthy. Lucas, 19, fit and strong. Anna, 11, too young to be of much use but might be a good investment for the future...

"You ready, boys?" he called out to his gang. He was answered by whoops and hollers, cheers that made it obvious that some of them probably tampered with the stock they had in their drunken stupor last night, but that was forgivable—inasmuch as none of them were irreparably damaged, and they weren't so Isaak let them have their fun. It built loyalty, he found, and that was nigh-priceless in this dog-eat-dog world.

Pretty soon, they got their stock in formation, lines of two with a couple bodyguards in each side to safeguard them from being stolen whilst they walked throughout the wasteland. With luck on their side, the captives will be quick in walking and they won't have to beat them as much for slowness, especially when bruises were a mark of subpar quality and often lowered the market value of a slave—not that he'd be selling these ones, really, as they were more a gift for the Kingdom than anything else, but it was still good to be known as that man who ensured quality no matter what.

He adjusted the hat on his head, his eyes squinting at the rays of the sun, still so bright despite the winter season—and yet despite the presence of the sun, the winter cold seemed almost cutting. The ground would thaw soon enough, though, and the chills would dissipate, and maybe he'd finally stop wearing far too many layers that were comfortable. Up ahead, the road stretched long and wide. The little girl stumbled and tripped on herself, then she started crying. Isaak hurried forward, thought "fuck it," and carried her up with him, which seemed to calm her down a bit and stopped her crying. If they were lucky, they could stop at Cleveland for a rest, and maybe even press the locals for some lunch, before heading out again in the afternoon for Dearborn and capping the day off there.

Isaak started to whistle some random old tune, which the little girl seemed to like. Where he first heard the tune was unknown to him, though it was probably something he heard from his men, but he had forged a habit of whistling it during times like these—times where he felt like standing back and just taking it all in. This was the culmination of a good day's work, and tomorrow already seemed a much brighter day for it.

[Endem]

First Sergeant Scott
Afternoon, 8 p.m. New Years Day
Taylor, Beaumont Hospital, Taylor Street

Scott shook Sergeant Mitchell's hand and jokingly remarked

"I wouldn't say you were on your last legs unless you lost one leg of course"

He then looked at the battlefield, littered with dead corpses, their blood releasing a sore stench, some of the bodies were burned to a crisp. Scott took a walk around the battlefield, he then turned to his men

"Burn the bodies"

They started pilling up every Irradiated body they could find when one of the soldiers shouted

"Sir, I found a soldier!"

"Alive!?"

"No, sir!"

"We'll take him to the base, we'll bury him in a peaceful and quiet spot"

The small hill that formed out of the Irradiated bodies was already waiting for Scott to order and ten Molotov cocktails would fly towards it lighting the bodies ablaze.

[The Twelve Isles]

Sergeant Zachary Linton
Mid-day New Years' Day
Detroit Union Airbase

Sergeant Zachary Linton sat in a booth by the main entrance gate, a team of guards occasionally walking past him on their patrol. He took a sip from a small vial of gin every once in a while. Everyone seemed happy, the war, for now was over. And while he knew deep down that it wasn't truly done. He hoped it would mean at least some what of a respite before the hellish conditions he had faced just back in December resumed. He turned to his fellow gate operator, Corporal Fournier and said "And it even isn't that cold. It doesn't get much better than this. I wonder what Mickey and Frank are doing up in Huntington Woods. No doubt cracking open a Nuka or two."

Fournier nodded, "Damn Sarge, I wish we had some good Nuka Cola down here. I haven't had anything but water and booze in the last few weeks and its driving me crazy. I ran out of my last chocolate ration a few days ago."

Sergeant Linton smiled "Yeah I feel ya" scratching his beard. "Hopefully they will have a few force rotations now that we are in a ceasefire, but somehow I doubt it will happen for a while. Not til' they are sure that it will last. Anyway, I make do with booze, and at least the water isn't making our hair fall out. Thank God for that."

Fournier replied "Yeah, thank God. I've been thinking lately, how am I going to spend all of my time now that we aren't constantly shooting reds?"

Sergeant Linton said "Probably shooting tweakers, gangsters and ferals. But on the bright side, most of them don't know how to shoot back."

Fournier smiled, "Then, hell, I might even survive til' summer."

Sergeant Linton replied "Now wouldn't that be somethin'"

The two paused for a moment, before the conversation resumed the siren in the room suddenly sounded three times and a voice came over the intercom. The voice belonged to their officer in charge "We have an armed individual approaching the gate here. No sign that he is hostile. Why don't one of you two figure out what he's doing here."

Fournier got ready to get up but Sergeant Linton made a hand gesture to stay, "I'll figure out what this is all about." He grabbed his rifle and left the booth, walking toward the gate. He turned his safety off and placed his rifle on a three round burst, just in case. When he arrived at the gate he said "So then... who are you?"

The man replied "I'm a mercenary" grinning, "I've come looking for work. Though I suppose I'm probably meant to talk to your commander about that."

Sergeant Linton gave a perplexed look to the man. "Interesting... well unfortunately for you, the war with the Liberation Front ended recently. Rather we have entered a ceasefire. That said we may have some work for you. Was this already arranged between you and someone in our administration or are you trying to set that up here and now? And, by the way, what is your name?"

"Im afraid this hasnt already been worked out," said Jimmy with a grin. He spoke in a thick southern accent, making him sound like Colonel Sanders gunslinger cousin. He was missing his top left canine tooth, and it gave him a simultaneously gap toothed appearance as well as adding a vague charm to him. He thought it made him seem worldly and experienced. "I heard rumors of fighting here down in Iowa, so I traveled up here to see what it was all about. Figured I could do something to help stop them Reds, as well as maybe make a pretty penny while doing it." As he spoke, he rested his shotgun on his shoulder, and stuck his left hand in his pocket. His fingers hurt, it was too cold, and he was hoping this would all be over soon so he could put his gun away and put his right hand in his pocket as well.

"As for my name, Im James Henry Barrow, though most folks call me Jimmy. Dont know what you know about Arizona, but the tribes down there call me Pale Rider, if that gives any indication as to who I am. Though I dont know why it would, so dont feel bad if Im not recognized, Im not from around here after all." Jimmy grinned again, before looking around at his rad horse and then back at Sgt Linton. "Oh, I almost forgot. This here," he said, giving the horse an affectionate pat on the neck, "is Apple Jack."

Apple Jack snorted and shook her head. She was certainly an ugly horse, at least by pre war standards. With two extra legs on either side and a face and growing two odd horns on her head, she looked like some sort of monster our of a fantasy novel. But, this was post war. Beasts of burden were not common, and so Jimmy took great pride in owning one. It was a status symbol, as much as it was useful.

[Labstoska]

Charlie Caro
Mid-day, new years day
Beneath Michigan avenue
In retrospect the decision to take the metro to riverfront probably wasn't the greatest one. It's not that the metro was dangerous, no certainly not he had been assured ten times over by the folks back at Detroit Metropolitan Airport Station that these tunnels were a damn lot more safe than the ground he was walking below but it wasn't the possibility of danger that irked him, hell no he had a plasma pistol, no it was the paranoia. The lights that illuminated the tunnels were dim at best and there was a good amount of space between them making each lonely light hanging from the roof of the tunnel feel like an isolated oasis in a vast void of darkness, every step between them was like a leap of faith. Now Charlie wasn't afraid of the dark all he was saying was that this place... it seemed to a amplify every little fear he had, the smallest crunch of his boots against the ground would echo right back down the tunnel making it sound as if some kind of horde of impossibly silent beings crawling up behind him. Turning around to confirm what he already knew had become like an addiction.

an hour later

The endless yellow and black tunnels had begun to loose their terror and instead had grown to be absolutely monotonous, apart from the occasional scattering of debris here and there the view he was presented was entirely unchanging, he had mostly just settled into a constant stumble forewords towards the Greenfeild Village Station, rather abruptly he was presented with a change in scenery, the tunnel began to open up into a station. It was illuminated by the crackling orange light of a fire, and by that light he was able to see a small carriage on the rails right next to the station's platform equipped with some kind of engine on the back of it, Charlie was fairly impressed seemed like they were finally motorising the F.R.O.S.T's military forces but god damn did he wish he had managed to catch a ride on one of those things.

He heard a few whispers and mumbles then a shout and the spray of bullets upon the track. "WHOEVER'S DOWN THERE DON'T MOVE A DAMN MUSCLE". Charlie stopped in his track immediately, probably best here if he didn't try to pull his plasma pistol on this one, they had the high ground and if he even tried to shoot one of them he'd be mowed down in a second. "NOW MOVE OUT OF THAT TUNNEL, REAL SLOW" Charlie began to shuffle out of the tunnel and presented himself to the patrol, the look of shock on their faces as the light of their fire fell upon his officers uniform was utterly priceless and a wide smile crossed his face as the man at the front with an automatic rifle spluttered to apologise. "Oh my God sir I... I can't... I" Charlie climbed up onto the platform and simply said "Well I think I may be able to let this little transgression if perhaps you boys would be able to give me a ride up to Westborn Station, see I got commands from the good old commander back at the union airbase saying I gotta get to Westborn quick." The man with the rifle turned and barked orders at his two men to get the carriage up and running while the man himself escorted him onto the carriage.

Charlie however was curious, if the tunnels truly were safe then why just open fire. As he was stepping up onto the carriage he turned round to the rifleman and said "By the way why did you lot assume I was some kind of raider, I'm fairly sure that these tunnels here were meant to be safe?" The rifleman looked away and then turned back and said in hushed voice "Well you've been going through these tunnels for a decent amount of time right, you must have heard the echoes that reverberate down them making your footsteps sound like someone else's?" Charlie simply nodded in response to this. "Well you see the thing me and the boys... well we think that things live down here, fragments of the old world I swear sometimes that I can see 'em just in the corner of my eye". Charlie gave the rifleman a smile "sounds like you most likely see some more of the surface, simple light depravation is the route of the problem take it from a man who was raised on an oil rig just take some time out in the sun". With that he left the rifleman and headed into the carriage. Despite his dismissing of the man's superstations, deep down he knew exactly what he was talking about, there was something so subtly wrong about these tunnels too much of what once was existed here. Charlie sighed to himself, it was going to be one fun trip to Riverfront.

[Alouite]

Sergeant Zachary Linton
Mid-day New Years' Day
Detroit Union Airbase

Sergeant Linton listened through the man's story, he couldn't help but be taken aback by the beast standing by him. Sure, radiation free animals were exceedingly rare after the bombs dropped, but he had grown to have a natural aversion towards anything mutated. Were it a ghoulified human he would have shot it on sight. However, it wasn't and he had more than enough composure to discard that thought. He said in his characteristically Michigander voice, "Well, I don't know too much about tribes in Arizona. But... one second." He turned to Corporal Fournier and waved. Fournier opened the window so he could hear his NCOIC better. "Corporal, why don't you call Lieutenant Daniels and ask if he would find use in hiring this here shotgun messenger."

The Corporal replied "On it Sarge." He closed the window and picked up a phone attached to the intercom system. Sergeant Linton turned to the southerner and said "Just a minute. I will let you know when I know. But like I said, the war is on hold at the moment, so don't get your hopes up."

The Corporal opened the window and said "Lieutenant Daniels said he would be happy to meet with the man and that I should escort him to his office for a meeting around two thirty." Sergeant Linton replied "Very well, open the gate." The Lieutenant pressed a button and the chainlink fence slid open. Sergeant Linton looked to the man and said, "You could keep your horse in a tent by the entrance, you will have to leave your firearms there too. It's a formality really, but one we can't really get around. Anyway, its.." Zachary looked at his watch, "A quarter to two now. By the time you get to his office it won't be much of a wait." He paused, "By all means, come on in." Gesturing for the man the enter.

Corporal Fournier approached and introduced himself, "My name is Corporal Fournier, I'll take you to the Lieutenant, it sounds like you may be in luck." He extended his hand for a handshake as the Sergeant began to walk back towards the booth, as he neared it he looked back at the corporal and the prospect and said "I will leave you two to it."