John

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens from Milliways onto the tumbletown ruins of what used to be an industrial area on the fringes of Arlington. The temperature is summertime-warm, the air dry; the last rains to pass through here are long since gone. Overhead, a scavenger bird or two circles, visible only to people who know what they're looking for. A breeze listlessly stirs the air, kicking up brief dust-devils along the shattered ruin of the local roads. Beyond that, the place is quiet in the way that only emptiness can bring.

"This is where I came in," Ellen says over her shoulder. "Like I mentioned the other day, it's about a day's travel to the Fort Bannister region from here. There's still some pre-war asphalt laid down here but pretty soon it all gives way to open sand and scrub. The nearest radiation source is a hundred yards northeast of here, and we're not going in that direction, so unless my Geiger counter goes off without warning we should be all right."

Comments

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

He could tell by her tense posture that this was a sensitive topic. "I understand how that is, ma'am," says John.

He continues to walk in silence, passively evaluating every aspect of the landscape.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"It's all right. I'm sorry," Ellen says. "That was the first time I ever had to actually fight for anything- literally, I mean. A lot of things happened that day."

John is likely to spot it first: in the distance, skimming along a rise in the landscape that used to be part of a road, is a round, shiny metallic robot of some kind. It's no Monitor, though. The Monitors didn't have trailing antennae, or broadcast patriotic fife-and-drum music.

(343 Guilty Spark was weird in a lot of ways, but that wasn't one of them.)

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John raises his rifle, casually drawing a bead on the machine. "Eliminate or evade?" he asks. He decides to aim for the sensor array. If it was a recon drone, it would do no good blind. If he shot it though, anyone who was watching on the other side would know their position.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Eliminate," says Ellen. "It's Enclave. They're trying to scout out the Wasteland with the intention of taking over."

It's far from the most dangerous variety of robot in the Wasteland, but ever since Linden told her about what the Enclave tried to do in California, she's gone out of her way to destroy every eyebot she's come across.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John fires twice, working the bolt in between shots: once at the drone's sensor array, and another at its power plant. The drone explodes.

The gunshots are so close together that an untrained ear would mark them as a single sound.

John continues walking while he reloads his weapon and mentally notes the specific ballistics of his current weapon, just in case longer range engagements became necessary.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Very nice," Ellen says. "Suddenly I miss my old Gauss rifle. I haven't had anything that accurate in a long time."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John checks the action of the weapon. "Accuracy isn't important. Precision is important. Predictability is key."

The Spartan makes a few adjustments, and then bends an almost imperceptible kink out of the barrel as he walks.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That, at least, I've got." Ellen indicates her own gun. "Predictability, I mean. This is a plasma rifle from up in the Commonwealth- somewhere north of here, though I don't know how far. It's slower-firing than a laser rifle or some of the bullet guns, but every shot is exactly the same as the last, which is better than any other gun I've ever had to use."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

The Spartan could tell Ellen was a valuable resource on the field. He forged ahead, choosing not to comment.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The Wasteland rolls on, vast and empty, for quite some time before the figures appear in the distance: three armor-clad humans, and one... Well. It's got treads, and it's made of metal, and it has snakelike arms terminating in claws. But it's got some kind of glowing dome on the top, possibly with a... yeah, that'd be a brain inside.

Humans and machine alike are painted in black and red.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"Three contacts," John says suddenly, watching the distant newcomers. "Two are in power armor, like yours. Black and red markings. Third is a cyborg of some kind. Same markings. They're heavily armed." He takes note of effective flanking routes and covered firing positions. "Are they hostile?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Brotherhood Outcasts," Ellen identifies the description. "And a Robobrain. Not usually hostile, but their mission here in the Wasteland is to collect any advanced tech they find in 'the wrong hands' and send it back to their headquarters. Anyone who isn't Brotherhood of Steel is 'the wrong hands'." She grimaces. "I've met a few who were decent, but most of them look at me like they're trying to decide if they could peel my armor off without losing theirs first."

As she speaks, the forward of the two humans stops, then unslings a missile launcher from across its back. The second human produces a squared-off rifle. Fortunately, the group isn't facing in John and Ellen's direction; whatever threat they're perceiving is coming from further away, and another direction entirely.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John guessed that the Outcasts would determine his powered assault armor was in the 'wrong hands' as well. He would just have to not be seen by them, if it came to that. Spartans might weigh three quarters of a ton with their armor, but they were very light on their feet.

The soldier scans the area for the contacts the Outcasts are about to engage or threaten. "Should we assist them?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Unless they-"

Ellen had been about to say unless they kill it first, but the phrase dies before it can ever be said. The enemy's heaved into sight. There are three of them to start with, green-skinned and over-muscled, looking like someone poured ten feet of angry into nine feet of skin. They don't so much wear armor, or even clothing, as they wear bodged-together patches of scrap metal and leather taken from every conceivable source. The one in the lead has some kind of helmet crammed down onto its skull, looking almost more like a trophy than protective wear. It's armed with a minigun, its barrels already spinning up; the others have assault rifles.

Ellen's breath hisses between her teeth, and she draws her plasma rifle immediately. "Definitely assist," she says. "Mutants. These things are nasty."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John fires four times in rapid succession at one of the mutants flanking the leader, noting how at this angle and range, his shots bounce off of the hostile's skull. He had just succeeded in making it angrier. The enemy was more like the Covenant than he had thought. He switched tacitcs.

"I'm going to close range," the Spartan says, dodging off to the side and leaping down into a deep gully. He takes off once out of sight, running faster than anything in the wasteland could manage, with the possible exception of a Enclave vertibird.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods once and flashes a thumbs-up; it's easier than trying to make herself heard over the sound of gunfire. As John darts away he may hear her armor shouting "LET 'EM EAT LEAD!", but that's about all the sound that'll be coming from her end of the field... other than the zzthwip! of green plasma bolts, anyway.

The mutants are a relatively perceptive bunch, but their attention in this battle is on the beleaguered Outcasts. Whether they'll realize that they're about to be set upon by death from below is tough to say.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

Exceeding the speed limit in a residential zone, the Spartan leaps out of the gully, on the flank of the mutants. He soars through the air like a three-quarter ton missile, ending the arc with a flying kick in the trailing mutant's back. The impact snaps the creature's spine neatly. He slides with fluid grace off of the corpse and vaults up the side of the next-nearest mutant. The creature turns in opened-mouthed surprise at the Spartan, just in time for John to shove his rifle into the thing's mouth, pull the trigger, and then snap its neck for good measure.

The last mutant is probably torn apart between the Brotherhood Outcasts' heavy weaponry and Ellen's plasma rifle.

In any case, John rolls behind a slab of upturned concrete for cover. The Outcasts could turn hostile as well, from Ellen's description of them.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There really isn't a lot left of any of the mutants by the time the smoke clears. As for the Outcasts, there is a certain quality to their stillness that suggests open-mouthed gaping is probably going on behind those full face helmets of theirs.

Eventually, one of them clears his throat.

"... what just happened?"


(Ellen is taking the opportunity to head for John's original gully and mosey on past the site as best she can. Unless this bunch operated under McGraw's jurisdiction they're probably not people she really wants to talk to.)

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John is perfectly content to remain undetected. He will not be seen unless he decides to let the Outcasts see him.

As far as they knew, they started shooting and when the smoke cleared, everything was dead much faster than they could have anticipated.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

And Ellen is plenty happy to hold her hand over Dogmeat's muzzle until the Outcasts go on their way.

She'll just surface and look for John once they've moved along. So very much simpler.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"You were right," John says, once the Outcasts have gone out of sight. "Definitely nasty."

He polices the dead mutants' weaponry, or whatever the Outcasts didn't take, before he continues with Ellen toward their destination.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I'm just glad they didn't have tongue monsters with them," Ellen says. "Radioactive projectile spit's almost as bad as some of their guns. You're welcome to anything that looks good, by the way."

Two assault rifles, one respectable looking minigun, and a plethora of fragmentation grenades; these were not the sort of mutants to go around shouting "WHY YOU HUMANS ALWAYS FIGHT?" and hitting them with sledgehammers.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything move like you did there. That was incredible."

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

"Kelly was always faster than me," John admits.

With a single hand, he casually attaches the rotary chain gun to the magnetic equipment rack on his back. He then anchors the assault rifles on the magnetic holsters on his thighs. The weapons look undersized on the massive Spartan. The grenades go around his waist. After gathering up the spare ammo, he's good to go.

He didn't plan to fight with all of this on him, but it never hurt to have more than necessary.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen tries to picture what that must look like. Hers is not a world of high-special-effects entertainment. She can't even come close. "Good lord," she murmurs, shaking her head.

She does, however, take a moment or two to straighten out what's left of any mutant corpses as best she can and bow her head over them before moving out. There's nothing attacking just at the moment; she can afford it.

[luckyspartan.livejournal.com]

John recognizes the practice, but remains silent, taking the opportunity instead to recheck the land for anything of interest before moving up and taking point.