Fallout Genesis

"Howdy, Pardner!"
Mojave
September 1st, 2276
Character Submission for Vegas Reborn

New Vegas ended up becoming a new "home" for out no-longer-so-young hero. Not that Adrian Cole would ever use that word to describe it, of course. "Home" was a difficult concept to apply to a place like that. Too much noise, too many people, too many shady deals and cheaters. but after enough years had passed, he simply stopped thinking about when he would leave again.

It had been a long, long time since he'd left Victroia with a specific mission, a real purpose, a uniform that represented something far greater than him.

But all went wrong. Navarro had fallen, the survivors' trail had gone cold, Chicago turned out to be a dead end, Washington remained nothing more than a never-reached destination.

At some point, gradually, Cole had simply stopped looking.
One contract after another, one caravan after another, a rented room, a few bottles, quite a few particularly dirty jobs...New Vegas had become a convenient source of income where no one asked too many questions.

Cole had gotten his APA back years earlier, though in a way that could be hardly described as a normal transaction. The new owner had initially refused, despite how many times he trued to explain the situation- it was only when Cole pulled out the big guns and gently repeated his request one last time that the negotiation turned out to be surprisingly brief.

Since then he had fixed up his armour piece by piece. He had replaced components, welded plates, salvaged parts, and modified he internal system several times- by this point, the old Enclave insignia was almost unrecognizable under the years of maintenance, dust and paint applied over repairs- But the amour worked, and, at the end of the day, taht was all that mattered.

The Minigun had a similar story. It had become his most recognizable piece of gear, to the point that some mercs on the Strip simply referred to him as "Ol' Big Gun". Cole had never bothered to correct them.

That evening, howver, he had no intention of working. He sat alone in a bar far from the fancier parts of the Strip, with a glass in front of him and his helmet resting next to his chair.

The bartender walked past him.

"Long day, huh?"

Cole looked at his glass "A day like any other, I guess.."

"So...a long one" he chuckled

Cole cave a small smile followed by a sigh "...Yeah."

The barteneder returned to the other side of the bar as Cole stayed put on his chair,

he wasn't thinking about Navarro
he wasn't thinking about Victoria
he wasn't thinking about the mission.

To tell the truth, he rarely thought about those things anymore...they were loose memories belonging to someone else. A young Lieutenant, certain about his role in the world and about the good nature of his fight.

The soldier had been gone for a long time. All left was Adrian Cole. Fifty-two years old. Mercenary. Occasional drinker.

A man with a patched up APA and enough experience to know when a situation was about to get complicated.

He raised his glass- then he heard a noise coming from the entrance.

A mechanical hum.

Cole turned slowly as the bar door opened.

A Securitron entered the room, its metal wheels making a faint scraping sound on the wooden floor. It moved toward the bar before halting.

Its monitor lit up.

"Howdy Pardner!"

Adrian Cole

Strength: 6
Perception: 10
Endurance: 6
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 7
Agility: 7
Luck: 2

The Wasteland Steps Closer
September 2276

In America, private property was an idea that was jealously guarded. Corporations and even the state were not privy to the matters of land deeds and titles. Fortunately, the state was no longer around to protect them. The airship cruised over the property, its engines flattening plants and sending animals scattering. Behind it, a column of vehicles filled with armed men was trundling along kicking up dust.

From the distance, a group of raiders watched from horseback. They were armed with rifles and normally, would be a significant adversary for the wandering wastelander. Unfortunately, the FEARED corporation was not your average wandering wastelander. “We can’t fight them. We need more people.”

“More people that’ll just be lined up for slaughter. It’s not the manpower that’s the problem, it's our tech.” He pointed to one of the airships doing laps around the rolling plains, “As long as they have those birds that can fly over our defences there’s nothing we can do.”

“So what do you say, just acquire a way to fly?”

“No, we just need to find a way to keep those birds away.”

As they spoke, the airship turned around and seemed to settle its eyes on them like a predator stalking its prey. “Oh shiddings, I think they’ve seen us.”

The group sent their horses into full gallop as the airship drew nearer.

The Shard Complex - Shard I

Henry looked across at the table to Collin and Lance. Assembled around him were various high-ranking staff from the Business Administration and the FEARED Security Corps that formed the de facto executive branch of the corporation. The Civil had little say in such matters and existed only to administer over the popuAdministration lation. He said nothing for a while, instead amusing himself with whatever the staff were discussing. Oswald noticed that Collin and Lance were strangely silent, instead choosing to observe him with a slight hint of distrust in their eyes.

To him, it felt as if they were drilling holes through his skull so he turned around to check that there was nothing behind him. Turning back he slammed his binder shut which instantly gained the attention of the people around him. “Alright, let us begin, gentlemen… and ladies.” Henry flipped the page of his binder, “Alright, territorial expansion. As you know, this isn’t necessarily for more living space, it’s for resources. Our department of labour is ready to deploy their mining operations, but before we do that.” He looked up at Collin and Lance, “I need to know how well our clearing operations are going.”

Lance shrugged, “most choose to leave willingly, or at least, they pack up and leave. I think pointing canons at their faces make up their minds for them, those that don’t are handled. Word has spread. The corporation is coming. Preliminary flyovers show that the eastern most areas are mostly clear.”

Henry nodded, “Good, good.” He said, “It seems like I can trust the boys at the FSC to stay on top of things.” He returned to his binder, “Well, it has come to my attention that some of you are asking, why Henry? Why are we expanding so aggressively?” He paused and looked around the room. “Look, those of you who have worked with me know how I operate, I’m not one to mince my words.” His eyes settled on Collin and Lance, “I don’t think it is no secret in here, who controls what. By definition it is the civil administration that should be overseeing this, yet they are not even present at this table. Look around you, whom do you see? I see executives and business leaders, men hardly fit to run a nation yet here we are making decisions that affect the people below us.”

He slammed his binder shut and leant back in his chair, “The way that this place should work, is that the corporation and the business administration runs things on the side, and advises the civil administration on actions to take, ultimately, the executive power should be left with them. The FSC should also be on the sidelines with the goal of keeping people safe.”

He locked eyes with Collin, “however, we all know, but never had the balls to tell Wesker that he had let the Civil Administration become bloated and weighed down in bureaucracy, while us lot slowly subjugated them to middle managers. One of us in particular wields an alarming amount of power.”

Collin frowned and leisurely leant back in his chair to match Henry. “What are you trying to say there Henry?”

Henry chuckled, “don’t get too ahead of yourself Firschall. I haven’t accused anyone, I’m just saying what some people are thinking but too scared to say, for fear of repercussions from the said authority. But, they did have a saying in the old world, throw an insult and the owner will come to pick it up.”

Lance and Collin side-eyed each other, Henry noticed the fleeting glance. “That’s not to say that anyone here is scared of the FSC, I think that we can all agree that you boys do a good job.” He said. Henry looked around the table and saw several heads nodding. “Anyways, to get back to the point, why the sudden need for resources.”

He returned to his binder and opened it. “There have been whispers coming from the wasteland. A group known as the Legion heading West, it took the Hoover Dam from the Californians, apparently had the mighty NCR hightailing it out of there. Other groups are also intent on similar measures. Not only is it vital that the corporation can defend itself from these aggressors, we must ensure that we have the best access to resources.” Henry paused and looked around the room, “You can argue that maybe Wesker let the civil administration get bloated on purpose, such that the corporation arm of this place can operate without restraint. It may be in the distant future, but I believe that the Wasteland steps closer to reunification everyday and when it does…” Henry raised his finger, “I think it is in the best interest for all of us and our children that FEARED is somewhere near the top, like it was in the good old days.”

“Ergo, resources, vast storage, maybe some new discoveries may come along as well. We are ultimately a business, and we need to start thinking like one. A fella named Milton Friedman said that a corporation’s primary objective is to deliver profits to its shareholders, and that its social responsibility is next to nothing. Now in the mess of the wasteland I still believe that this theory holds. From this point onwards, the FEARED corporation has no obligation to the people in our territory.” Henry paused to let his message sit.

Collin scratched his chin, Lance leant back and rested his hand on his sidearm. Other members present shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “Any objections, kindly chuck them in the bin, I don’t have time for this. The Board has already approved the motion, it's happening now. However!” Henry raised his finger again. “That social responsibility now falls onto us, as people. As leaders in this society it should be up to us, not the corporation to look after them. Everything that we do from now on is from the kindness of our hearts and I expect each and every one of you to have your heart filled with such kindness, otherwise you can kindly vacate your seat at this table.” His face twisted into a mischievous smile, “I believe that the people are getting too arrogant and are now demanding concessions, forgetting the privileged life that they live compared to those wretches outside the walls.”

Henry spread his arms out and splayed his hands on the table, “by personally overseeing our obligations, shifting it from the company to ourselves, they will see for themselves the great lengths that we all go to. To protect this place, that will teach them. If it doesn’t.” Henry withdrew a small cigarette, a rare sight in the wasteland, and lit it. “I’m currently working on that solution.”

Henry inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs before realising too late that he had done too much. He coughed as his other hand fumbled around attempting to extinguish the flame. “Well, gentleman, thank you for your time. You may leave.”

Lance waited until it was just Henry and him left. He looked around the empty boardroom as a single cleaner entered. “Henry,” Lance said.

Henry looked up from what he was doing, “Yes.”

“Word of advice, if you aren’t going to let anyone ask questions, leave it to an email.” Lance said. He twisted the edge of his mouth in a dry smile before leaving.

The Trial pt. 2

Holmes
2275

The Ferrymen Guild wrote:

The Trial (pt.1)
Holmes
2275

Wilson MacCarthy stood and looked into his mirror. He swallowed hard and raised his chin and tied his black necktie tight.

“Will the accused please step up to the dock.”

He buttoned his cuffs and brushed his hair and brushed his beard.

“State yer name and yer employer.”

He polished his shoes til they shone like black silver and then he put them on.

“My name is Mack O’Donnell. I work fer Mr. MacCarthy; Wilson McCarthy.”

“And how do ye want to plead?”

He put on his jacket and, with a deep breath, like a diver waiting on the board, he then went out.

“I didn't do nothing wrong. I ain't guilty.”

The judge, an old timer himself, shifted in his seat and fidgeted with his spectacles. He looked around the room.

“Ain't there anyone to represent ye?”

“I do,” said Mack.

“Well where is he?”

Mack looked around, scanned the hall through the tobacco smoke. “He ain't here yet.”

The judge looked over his glasses and eyed the young man in the dock. “Son, there are many of us here who’re on a tight schedule. I, myself, need to send a mighty fine shipment of goods up to Cheyenne as soon as, and I ain't even signed the papers yet.”

Murmurs and nods rippled through the gloomy hall. The judge nodded with them. “If yer representative don't show up in the next thirty seconds, yet gonna have to represent herself, as sorry a performance as that'll be.”

Just then, the door crashed open and pale golden light streamed in across the floor and, in that glowing frame, there stood a silhouette, well dressed and with a hat on its head and its hands were on its hips.

“He's here, alright,” the silhouette declared and made its way up the aisle.

“Mr. MacCarthy?” said the judge. “Ye mean t’ defend this feller?”

“That I do, judge.” Wilson stood beside Mack.

“Well alright then. The defendant says he ain't guilty o’ slavin’, which, might I add, has not been made explicitly illegal by decision of council. As such, this case is the first of its kind and will decide the future stance of the whole guild on such matters. Is now the time to outlaw slavery in its entirety—”

There were hoots and hollers from the gallery and someone cocked their pistol. The judge swept his gaze across the breadth of the gallery and pounded his gavel hard.

“—or is the time not yet right, and is this feller merely an unjust sacrifice, teetering on the precipice of a grave mistake?”

The hall was in silence. The floorboards creaked as some attendees shifted around and yet more filtered in. When the room steadied once again, the judge raised his voice and declared, “will the prosecution please step forward and state their case?”

The mob leader from before stepped up, cast a glance at Wilson and Mack, and then turned to the judge as he addressed him.

“Ye got a name, son?” asked the judge.

“Name's John, after my father, so John Johnson.”

“Well, Mr. Johnson, ye got anyone t’ represent yerself in this here case?”

“Naw, I'll represent myself. It's a simple matter after all.” He looked at the accused.

“Alright then, will ye kindly state yer case. Why do ye believe this feller has been a-slavin'?”

“Like I say, it's a simple matter; we done caught him in the act.”

“That's a goddamned lie!” said Mack. Wilson put a hand on his shoulder as the hall stirred all around them.

“It ain't time fer the defendant t’ speak. Now, hold yer tongue til I say, boy.” The judge beat his gavel and then turned back to Johnson. “Go on.”

“We saw him dock up near the casino, in the North Docks, and we asked him where he was goin’. The feller was evasive. So we asked him where he'd been. The feller was still evasive. Then, we pushed him about it. He drew a knife t’ see us off, but there were four o’ us and we overpowered him. We turned out his pockets and lo’ an’ behold, we found this.” He pulled the denarius out of his pocket and held it up for all the hall to see.

The judge leant forward, squinting, and holding his glasses up before his eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

“It's a coin o’ Caesar's folk.”

The hall stirred. The judge pounded his gavel.

Johnson went on. “Why would one have a coin like this, if he weren't dealin’ with those scum?”

“A good question,” said the judge and he looked at Mack. “What ye got t’ say?”

Wilson stepped forward. He patted Mack on the shoulder and looked around the hall. He saw all eyes were on him. “This feller is an employee of mine,” he said, “and a darn good employee at that. I'd like to make sure that my vouching fer his character is duly noted. Now, about that there coin. Y'all know I had dealin’s with the Legion; after the Free Suns was conquered, we had t’ look elsewhere fer our dough. I judged the Legion to be the best option at the time an’, to this day, they remain the best, because there are no alternatives down south. I invested both money and resources into Flagstaff, their capital. I sent my workers down there to help with the construction—Mack was one o’ them—who’s to say he didn't just pick the coin up as a singular souvenir?”

The judge looked back over at Johnson and he looked back.

“Son,” said the judge, “I'd rather y'all had it out right now. This ain't no tyranny. Don't wait fer me to say he can speak, ye can speak; I'll stop ye with my hammer if I see fit.”

Johnson nodded and then addressed the gallery, all of whom were deemed to be a part of the jury. “Friends,” he said. “Who was it that sent Doc Callahan up north to deal with slavers—t’ kill an’ main ‘em? Why it was Mr. MacCarthy, weren't it? Why then, is he talkin' so much interest in defendin’ this slaver?”

There were murmurs all across the gallery and some nods made out in the gloom, in the flare of cigarette ends.

“Ye ain't proved nothin’ about slavery, boy,” MacCarthy returned. “What ye got is what we call circumstantial evidence. It ain't enough t’ convict a man.”

“Where'd ye think ye are, old man? In Californi’? The people here’ll decide, that's how it is.”

The judge banged his gavel. “Quit yet bickering’ an’ get back t’ the matter at hand. I've got a question fer ye, Wilson; why are ye defendin’ this feller?”

Wilson took a breath, he swept his eyes across the breadth of the crowd in the gallery, as he spoke, and settled them back upon the judge at the end of it. He said, “Mack’s my worker and a darn good one at that. But it ain't just that. He's a good feller—and let it be known that I vouch fer him! Folks, if we go a-chargin’ folks fer suspicion instead of fact, it'll destroy us.”

“I done presented the facts!” Johnson pounded his fist upon his stand and brandished the denarius. “look-ee here, what more d’ye need? The feller was down south in Flagstaff, a-servin’ Caesar himself—along with Mr. MacCarthy as well, mine ye—what’s this coin but payment fer his labour? And what was his labour if not the perpetuation of slavery in these here lands.”

Wilson frowned and the gallery murmured in speculation of their own. ”He's a silver tongue, I'll give him that,” he thought. ”He ain't technically wrong an’ our part in buildin’ Flagstaff was regrettable. I reckon the play is t’ stop him from playin’ on their imagination…

“Pure speculation,” began Wilson again, adjusting his tie and attempting a confident air. “Why, yer imagination is getting away from ye, lad. I reckon that coin weren't no payment of any sort! It's like I said, it was a trinket. Nothin’ more than a—”

“But still we cain't be sure, now can we, Mr MacCarthy? Can we folks?” Johnson addressed the gallery directly and its members stirred like broiling water just touched by heat. “An’ we can hardly be sure of your own actions in this, Mr. MacCarthy. Ye want speculation? How's this, fer ye: ye took her men down south, saw the profitability of the sick trade an’ it seduced ye like satan in the garden of eden!”

“Naw, it weren't like that—” MacCarthy tried to go on calmly, civilly, but that age was over, for now came the preacher, the man with a fire in his belly and a mind full of stones in which ideas were firmly set.

“Was it not you who sent Doc. Callahan up Green River t’ slay the slavers up there? Aye, ‘twas; but why? I tell ye why, folks, an elimination of rival businesses! I'd bet money on the possibility of the slave trade continuing up that river after The River Prince has been slain and ol’ Mr. MacCarthy moves in. Whoo-ee it's a scandal in the makin’!”

Wilson looked up at the judge with a pleading glance and the judge looked down at him and then banged his gavel thrice through the din of the speculation Johnson had elicited from the gallery.

“We will have calm in this hall!” he cried. “Now this is getting crazy, Mr. Johnson, Ye have no proof of any of this, do ye? If ye do, then please present it fer the court.”

“Naw,” said Johnson, calmly. “ I ain't got no proof, but do we need proof to make a statement of fundamental condemnation against slavery? Hell, here's that man's guilt—” he held up the denarius “—all shiny and gold, charge him and it'll strike the fear of the almighty in other folks as morally bankrupt as him.”

“But I didn't do nothin’!” cried Mack, looking here and there up at the gallery.

The exchange between MacCarthy and Johnson went on for around half an hour more, but did not change in its tone or position. The gallery smoked and drank and listened intently, studying every word and murmuring for and against points as they came depending on whether they fit with their sensibilities.

At last, the judge, with a sigh, banged his gavel one final time.

“Alright, that'll be the end of it,” he said and stood up with a groan and cracked his back. “Ladies and gentlemen of the gallery, I turn to you fer this verdict. Guilty, or innocent. If he is found guilty, fer such a crime, it is decided that he shall hang at the behest of the accuser. If innocent, he will go free. Guilty or innocent…

“Guilty?

“Innocent?”

And in the wake of the judge's booming voice, for each fate, the hands of the gallery raised up, and some folks even raised their cigarettes, the ends glowing like orange stars, so that they might be sure that their verdict had been counted. The votes were cast and, had their verdict been any closer, you'd not fit two wisps of a breath between them.

Radio Address of the New American Government

"This Month we celebrate the August Celebrations, about the great day of independence of Americans of old. Glory to the people of our country, people of liberty and bravery.

Anyways, on another note, the government will be giving out a free food ration to every dutiful member of the great american society, and if you are interested in a food ration you are to go to the nearest government building.

And the President will be holding a Radio Speech in the next days regarding this great month of independence. This was the New American News Agency, thanks for Listening."