Fallout: The Savage Wasteland

Game Master thegreenteagamer

Marcus pokes it with his finger "You good, robro?" he turns to Fitz, still remembering this fine moment where he had real authority... even if it was fake authority "Should I reboot him or something?"

"Maybe seeing the Chief is a good idea. Let's go."

Mickey keeps his shotgun handy, ready to unleash hell at a moment's notice.

Marcus shrugs "Chief first, reprogramming little fella later. Got it." and wields his ripper and shield. "You know Mike, those two robo-blokes from before are quite good at protecting people... if we find their terminal we may be able to send them back to town. They'd do more good than here."

"Really? Mindless automatons with death machines on both arms, relying on computer signals from this far out to keep them working and not going haywire and massacring everyone?" Spencer shakes his head. "Call me crazy but that sounds awful. Not to mention they look weird."

Still, the hunter sticks with the others, suspiciously eyeing the Protectron as the group moves into the back room.

Assuming the Protectron doesn't spaz out when Mickey hefts his gun, Fitz slips on his Gauntlet.

Well, remember, it thinks Marcus is a soldier. I'll add some mapping if this turns into a combat, but you've handled this pretty diplomatic like, so for now, mind theater continues.

The right hallway leads past a room with a series of desks that at this point seem more dust than wood, with computers flickering in the dim florescent lights of the police station. Eventually, the hallway ends at a large, thick, oak door that says "Chief's Office" with a glass window in the front, obscured by blinds. The door is open a crack, and when you walk into the room, you see a single Securitron model robot, seemingly turned off, plugged into a charging port, balanced perfectly on its single wheel.

The screen is utterly black until you all enter, and then it's chest screen lights up with a solid picture of a grizzled man in his late 50s with a cigar clenched in his teeth, gray temples, and a black moustache that looks like Sam Elliot and Burt Reynolds had a love child.

The voice the robot portrays sounds extremely human compared to the Security Bots and Protectrons, albeit it sounds like a caricature of a noir detective movie's chief.

"Soldiers, huh? Well, admit, this is my territory but I'm all for the Goddamn US of A, so what is this mess I hear about animal based terrorism?"

"Sonuvab!tch! That damn robot thinks it's a people!" Rufus exclaims loudly.

Marcus salutes the manly screen just before proceeding to bullshit his way out of this mess... and into the armory "Soldier, sir. Sergeant Marcus Edwards, 3rd Regiment, 2nd Squad of the Armored Division. These civils have requested my help while my squad was patrolling the region because of some damned yellow skins sightings." he relaxes a bit now, he's seen lotsa leader-types around in the 'Hood and now can feel it inside "We rescued them not further than two clicks away to the east, but my squad got ambushed by an unknown foe. Tall, quick and brutal, a genetic abomination that only the commies could have dreamt of." he walks around the room, trying his best to rock this play "My CO, Captain Rodriguez ordered me to bring them to safety, but on our way here they have asked -no! They have pledged me to let them fight for their nation, the greatest of them all! By the Second Amendment that our Founding Fathers blessed us with, I cannot deny their right to defend it! No sir! I formally request them to be called to arms and join the Millitia, and for them to access this Station armory to equip themselves. In the name of Freedom and Democracy we shall defwnd our land, or die trying!"

Persuasion: 1d4 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 5
Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Bennying that. I shall not be denied my moment to shine!
Uncle Marcus Wants You to Join The Army: 1d4 ⇒ 11d6 ⇒ 6
ACE: 1d6 ⇒ 5

The face on the screen suddenly blinks out and a similar, more angry looking one pops up after Rufus's exclamation. Again, a solid picture. The door shuts behind them suddenly and the deadbolt locks.

"You boys have two minutes to explain yourselves before I put you under arrest for attempted riot incitation, police harassment, resisting arrest, and hell, let's throw in public beligerance and communist sympathy."

The regular face returns to the robot. "Keep your charges in line, Edwards. Militia. Hmm. It has been quiet. I thought my officers were doing an amazing job keeping the peace. There hasn't been a report in more days than we have bullets, and son, we have a lot of bullets!

"Thank you, Chief Officer. In the name of the U.S.A. Army I thank you. And forgive the dirty mouth of the civil, some of the southerners live too deep inside them states to see too much real technology." he turns a bit, just enough to give him a stare that he should feel even under the helmet. "Your officers have already been informed and are on the way to ground zero, but I fear it will not suffice. Around commies and their cowardly tactics we need to deploy as much firepower as we can."

"So you robots jus' sit in here, scratchin' yer arses while the world burns? Shiiiiit, son. That there is a waste of bullets." Rufus spits, looking disgusted at yet another waste of old world resources.

The angry face reappears as Rufus pokes the bear AI program again.

"You sir are going to spend a night in the drink tank for public intoxication, beligerance, and harassment of an officer of the law."

The door opens back up and two protectrons are standing at it, and the Chief leaves the charging station.

The chief levels two gatling laser arms at Mickey and Spencer. "Lower your weaponry, and do not interfere with the arrest."

I'll put a map update soon - if you resist its an opposed agility to interrupt

Rufus sneers at the robot. "I've slept in a heckuva lot worse, robot! You and what army, robo-fascist?!?"

"Everybody calm down! We don't need this while we are under the threat of biological communist abominations! HELL NO!" he turns and points to Ruffus "You! You shut up and go with them, they will free you tomorrow... I will pray to the Almighty so that this forces a bit of sense into you *whispering* please, pretty please, don't resist the mean tin cans *whispers*" he then turns to the Angry TV and says "And you, Chief Officer, this man may be drunk and an a!~&+*@, and it's getting the best of the training and composure this Nation's Army taught me not to punch him real hard, but we may proceed without spilling american blood... not when there is commie blood to claim."

Persuasion: 1d4 ⇒ 11d6 ⇒ 5
Damn you Ruffus, if I die because of a lack of bennies I'm coming back from death to haunt you. I swear it by Excaripbur
Bennying: 1d4 ⇒ 11d6 ⇒ 6
Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Rufus sneers at the robot. "I've slept in a heckuva lot worse, robot! You and what army, robo-fascist?!?"

"I'd say a minimum of three Protectrons, two of the larger robots, and himself constitutes an "army". At least as far as we're concerned, hm?"

Rufus shakes his head at the vaulties. "Kids today... Ain't got no respect for proper protest movements. Probably raised on Barney and the Teletubbies in that damn vault. Ain't got no spine..."

Mickey frowned in confusion.

"What the hell's a teletubby? - You know what? Never mind. Don't care."

Mickey lowered the barrel of his shotgun in the professional manner he'd been trained and stood at ease.

Not putting the shotgun away, just holding it in a non-threatening manner.

"Chief, just how many able-bodied do you currently have here at the station? We're going to need to know, if we're going to form a proper response to the commie threat."

Not sure if the Ugly hindrance applies here since, well, robot. Subtract 1 if it does.

Persuasion: 1d4 - 2 ⇒ (3) - 2 = 1
Wild: 1d6 - 2 ⇒ (3) - 2 = 1

And spending a benny. 2 left.

Persuasion: 1d4 - 2 ⇒ (4) - 2 = 2
Wild: 1d6 - 2 ⇒ (1) - 2 = -1
Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 1; Total = 3

Not spending more than that. Could use some help here.

Nobody is trained in Persuasion, so nobody can Aid you.

Then I guess things are about to get interesting.

Not really. Rufus spends the night in lock-up and the rest of us continue with our business.

Spencer is growing more and more uncomfortable as things continue, and he slowly lowers his rifle and puts it on the floor. Please please please get us out of here.

But I am trained in persuasion, Sundy xD Assume that Marcus' been aiding other the whole time, because that's half of what I've been doing since we started talking with Angry Screen-o.

Mickey lowering his weapon and Spencer straight putting his down, (I assume Fitz is doing more or less the same) seems enough to calm the situation. The protectrons attempt to sieze Rufus's weapons and escort him to the cells. (Now that's the question...will Rufus drop his girls for a night? *insert dramatic soap opera music*)

The chief bot blankly stares at Mickey's request, and then turns to Marcus again. "It is out of place for a new conscript to question ahead of a commanding officer... Which unit did you say you were with again?"

Marcus thanks for being under a power helmet... he's starting to sweat "3rd Regiment, 2nd Squad of the Armored Division, sir. I cannot stress the dire situation under which we are, Chief. We risk the further deploy of communist troops unless we contain it soon enough."

WELL, I was gonna wait for Rufus's deciding whether or not he gives up the weapons and goes quietly, but 24 hours without a post means...

Before Rufus can respond to the chief's demand that he lowers his weapon, he feels some good old fashioned police brutality on the back of his head, as the protectron gives him a hard nonlethal swing, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. They each grab a leg and start to drag him off.

Chief's Notice: 1d8 ⇒ 2
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 3

The chief seems not to notice that the serial number on the power armor is scratched out, or that it has no functioning power.
"Well, now that that mess is handled, I can tell you, soldier, that we have 20 protectron models in house, as well as two security bot SWAT members out investigating a murder...hmm...I wonder if it's the same Commie bastards, and I myself have control of three securitrons I can project my AI into. Now, of course we'll have to send bots to protect key areas, but I can say you can easily take...six protectrons with you."

Marcus breaths relieved again"Much appreciated, Chief. I know supplies aren't limitless, but we will need a few clips of ammo if you can spare them. As for the remaining protectrons, having seen one of those modified chinese beasts and not knowing the total amount of foes, I'd recommend fortifying this location specially. Specially if there is any amount of explosives, or God forbids, one of the new self-launching nuclear devices. If they get their greasy red hands on one of those, Anchorage will pale in comparison..."

He will wait for the Chief's permission,or lack of, to access the Armory and then will signal his conscripts to follow him outside.

"Most of our weaponry is built-in, you understand. Prevents civilians from using an officer's sidearm against him. I believe the previous chief stored them away somewhere, but he overrode my ability to access the files as to where he put them before the human element was replaced. We can supply ammunition, though, for most energy weapons, and...hm...well we have explosives for the SWAT's missle launchers, but...that may be a bit much for conscripts."

You get 200 MFC, energy cells, and electron charge cells each - a raise on a persuasion gives you 10 missles.

Rufus hands over his ladies gently and grins at the others. "Finally, a little peace and quiet! I REMEMBER ANCHORAGE YOU FASCIST PIGS!" Rufus goes screaming and kicking.

The cells are clean, oddly, although the bed seems to be rotted clean through to the springs, and a good night's sleep will be rough. if you do sleep there you'll need a successful vigor roll to not be fatigued, as you're pretty much sleeping on the floor.

Herein lies the rub.

The chief claps his metallic hands together. "Well, what are you waiting for? Commies won't wait for you to sleep, you've villainy afoot! Also...I haven't had my SWAT team check in, that's strange..."

Smarts: 1d8 ⇒ 2
Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 3

...you lucky bastards, you, the chief doesn't even figure out you reported the murderer. Police station full of robots and I can't even kill one of you. I have had zero deaths in either game. I'm a failure of a GM. :-/ Oh well, at least I crippled two of you.

Marcus accepts the cells and tells the AI "These conscripts managed to hold their ground without military training, I trust them not to blow themselves or anybody else by mistake. I will accept your judgement if you deem too dangerous, but we may need the explosives for the monster."

Persuasion: 1d4 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 4
Ace: 1d4 ⇒ 4
ACEEEE: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Yep, Uncle Sam wants me to have 10 claw-no-mores

Vigor: 1d8 ⇒ 4 or Wild: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Clearly Rufus has slept on worse.

"Fair enough, but we don't have the hardware for humans to fire them."

"We'll handle it, Chief. Once again, your service to this glorious nation is up to the high standards it deserves." he then turns around and signals the group to leg it as fast and calm as they can. "Troopers, march! Today we will defend freedom!"

And so we go. I'm totally crancking up my Persuasion next level up."

"Rah rah!" Fitz cries and falls in lockstep with their glib savior.

"Woohoo. Go U.S.A.." Spencer tries to cheer, but is clearly still perturbed by the robot presence. "Whatever did happen to good red-blooded Americans? Oh right, we replaced them..."

Mickey watched as Rufus went out hissing and spitting. He sighed and said privately to the others, "You know he's going to be impossible to live with for a while, right?"

He turns to Marcus and says, "Sergeant Edwards, it might be a good idea for us to bunk here for the night. We can better take on the dea- uh, commies in the morning. Plus, it'll give Priate Atherton a chance to, uh, sleep it off. He would be a highly valuable asset."

Mickey pauses and then remembers to end his sentence with, "...Sergeant."

Since I don't want you to face the claw alone, nor will I be in a particular update mood late, we'll call this a scene. I'll give you 2 xp, and while you guys spend the night in the station, you can do an interlude for an extra xp per player, telling one another stories. You'll probably be right outside of Rufus's cell, so he can participate.

Mickey: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Fitz: 1d4 ⇒ 1
Rufus: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Spencer: 1d4 ⇒ 2
Marcus: 1d4 ⇒ 2

Rufus lays back on the not uncomfortable bunk and whistles. "Dayum but this brings me back! Did I ever tell ya'll about the time I got kicked outta Disneyworld? Shiiiit. So I was travelling through the area with the rodeo when we found ourselves with a couple days off, on account 'a the sudden outbreak of 'pernicious syphilis' what sprang up amongst the young ladies of Kissimmee. In my defense, they live in a place called Kissimmee; you gotta expect somebody's gonna take ye up on it. Anyhoo, I decided I'd go pay my tributes to the Great Mouse, maybe see the frozen head of Walt Disney they keep there. Eats Cuban kids, he did. Big ol' spider droid body and little ol' frozen head. Damndest thing you never saw, kids."

"Anyway, I was puttin' my moves on Cinderalla when this big ol' security goon come rollin', saying she's his girlfriend and to put my pecker back in my drawers and get gone. Well I only pulled it out to show the nice lady the proper length and girth for pleasin' her, right? So I didn't take kindly to this goon gettin' all huffy at me. I decked him! WHAM! Glass jaw went down like a paid boxer in the ninth round, he did! Cinderella starts hitting me with her glass slipper, wonking me all over the head, while I was tryin' to zip up. Shiiiiit. So I did what any red-blooded Amurican would do: I slapped her upside that crowned head. Big of an error there. Turns out Cindy was a black belt. Wow that girl could high kick in them petticoats! So I high tailed it out o' there, took the first door I could grab, which happened to be the costumed characters dressing room! Alls I know is Minnie Mouse started screaming and Goofy done started yelling about decorum, so I kicked him right in the goofy bits and that's when Dumbo sat on my head."

Rufus pauses to chuckle.

"Shiiit son. You know they gotta jail in the Magic Kingdom? Even the cots are covered with mouse ears, they are."

"Still, got a night with Snow White where I showed her what the seven dwarfs never could. I was Dopey for a week after that trip...."

"I can top that."

"No one is supposed to know this. Damn Overseer had it classified, but screw it. It's not like I can get exiled again."

"There's something we refer to as Vault Madness down there. I heard the Doc say once that humans wren't meant to never see the sky, or never feel the wind on your face, or eat the same food almost every damned day. And some folks, they just snap, you see. A lot of them just try to overdose on Med-X, or smuggle a 10-mil pistol into their bunk."

"But some of them get violent and try to hurt people. Usually, Vault Security steps in and that's that. But, one guy, he lost it in a major way. He started killing people."

"He was careful though. Always made it to look like an accident. Remember 4 years ago? The year without a lottery? That was him. Hogan Jobs. He was a techie who worked in the reactor. It took us forever to pin it on him. Because he wasn't a quiet loner. Had friends, wife, kids. Folks liked him. Some thought he should run for Overseer."

"But he slipped up. And we cornered him. Bastard didn't even try and hide it. He just laughed and laughed. He thought he was bullet-proof. You see, he only went after the old, the weak, the sickly. The ones who were a burden according to him. And there was no way that folks would have him executed, because he had the strength to do what they wouldn't."

"I didn't know if he was right. But we decided not to take the chance. We waited until the early morning, and walked him out the vault. We wore rad suits. He didn't. We took him somewhere were the rads were so hot, you could practically feel it through the suit. We shot him in the kneecaps and told him to crawl. We hung around until blood started pouring out his ears. And then we went home."

"Hogan Jobs, the only Vaultee I ever escorted outside. May he rot in hell."

Marcus stares at Mickey while he recounts the tale of Jobs, simply wordless "Mickey... that's... hard. Hard and extreme. I can understand you, but still. And yet I know he deserved it..."

"I know you guys in the Vault didn't have it easy, but at least you were safe. Safer than us. Since I was a child I've seen the whole spectrum. I've seen good people do horrible things in the name of justice and horrible people do the right thing god knows why. And still life was notmally miserable for most.

"That's why I joined the Brotherhood... I thought that if I made the greatest of efforts I could, maybe life would improve. But not everybody in the Hood have that goal, nor are all of them the good guys..." he turns to the cell Ruffus is hold in "Ruf, I don't understand half of what you say, and the other half is mixed between insults and jokes... but I like you. You are honest and straightforward. I don't f#~$ing care if you are black, white, a mutie or a ghoul. What matters is what you do, no who you are. And I'm sorry you had to hide when we went to the base... but maybe if I keep going with all of you, vaulters and ghoul, I can show the old blokes too rigid to adapt that we can make a difference. Maybe even teach those of them that have almost disconnected from humanity and near became robots..."

"I remember one mission, two years ago. The scouts found rumours that they have confirmed about a chemical lab half buried fifty kliks north of the base , no signs of recent life known. That's hitting jackpot, no less. We went there for a preliminary sweep&retrieve op, three knights and two paladins... our CO for that mission was then Head Scribe Jameson. An egotistical sonuva who looked at wastelanders as numbers inside an ecuation. After packing our bags with as much as we could we started the way back. During the third day we found a group of five wastelanders, malnourished and wounded. They claimed that raiders have attacked their settlement, a band of twenty five. They managed to hold them off for five days, even killed a pair of two o' them. They were a group running to another settlement for help, with no avail they said.
His gaze go low, his voice trembles.
"Jameson ordered us to keep marching... he said the Brotherhood had to secure the technology, not to babysit radiated humans. Only help he allowed us to provide was a few rations and water.

"And we marched home. When we arrived not a single men was sent to help. Not even one. Two months later news arrived of the settlement. Scavengers found it, no man survived. They were all piled in the middle, mutilated. Some of them half eaten. That night one of the Paladins that came, Paladin Kowalski, he sneaked into Jameson room and stabbed him. He then recorded his last words and blew his head off. The tape said only this "We let that happen. We followed orders... but in the end we let that happen. May God have mercy.""

"I hope I can change that. Maybe with your help I can make the Brotherhood use his resources to help. Because it won't matter how much tech we preserve if we lose the little humanity that we have left."

Anyone else picture our characters passing around a bottle of whiskey? :-) Awesome stuff, guys.

Lotta Jamesons in the Brotherhood, especially scribes. This makes the third. Papa Jameson really spread his seed among the scribe women.

"Shit, that's right! I told 'em my name was Jameson that summer!"

That serves us right for allowing scotchs in our perfect Hood. Damn Scotchs, they ruin everything!

"My life in the Vault was pretty easy, all things considered. Much easier than life out here."

"I think the worst thing that ever happened to me was losing the pen my mother gave me when I graduated from school. It was a nice thing, blue with gold trim. I loved it."

"When she passed, it gave me a nice memory to remember her by. But one day it just disappeared from my room. To this day I'm not sure whether I dropped it somewhere or someone stole it, but it was gone."

"A small thing, in concept, but losing something with such sentimental value, and thinking it might have been because of my own carelessness...well I was depressed for quite a while, actually. It was kind of like losing her all over again, I think."

"It's, ah, nothing compared to what the rest of you have been through. But it impacted me all the same."

+1 xp for those who participated. Sorry Spencer - you had over 60 hours.

The morning comes without event, though you never heard the SWAT bots check in, either. The police station seems eerily empty, with a skeleton crew in place. It seems throughout the night the Chief dispatched bots to various point throughout the county for fear of the communist threat.

A protectron shuffles in the area and unlocks Rufus's cell without a work, and ambles off.

You can hear the sound of rainfall outside, and it seems the light of morning is blocked by gray clouds as far as the eye can see through the bars of the window.

"What, no mint on my pillow?" Rufus calls after the protectron. "Service really took a dive after the bombs fell."

"Hm. Tracking the Deathclaw will be harder in the rain, won't it?"

"Though it bothers me that those Security Bots never came back..."

"Alright, let's tell the chief we want to form up a posse and head out there ourselves. We can try fixing an engine to make some noise and lure the Claw into a ambush like we planned."