# d20 Apocalypse: Vault 52 (Updated 10-25)



## Falkus (Sep 11, 2005)

Despite my failure to keep up with my last story hour, I've decided to start a new story hour for my d20 Modern campaign that starts on Tuesday, hopefully. As you may have guessed, it's based in the Fallout universe, and will follow the actions of a small group of vault dwellers from Vault 52 in Southern Colarado. Here's the introduction:



War. War never changes.

War has always been mankind’s favorite hobby. Since the concept of personal property, territory and religion were developed; mankind has waged war over them.

Despite the destruction, the loss of life, mankind has always waged war. Each generation looks at the destruction and vows to never again let it happen. And then the next generation starts another war over some new grievances.

In the late twenty-first century, mankind’s favorite hobby took on a fatal twist. The risk of nuclear war, thought gone with the collapse of the Soviet Union, reappeared as the global community collapsed into fighting, bickering nations over the diminishing resources of Earth.

Despite the risk of nuclear annihilation, the nations of Earth refused to back down. Nobody thought that anybody would push the button, everybody was sure nobody would escalate the war beyond conventional means.

On October twenty-third, 2077, over the course of two hours, most of the world was turned into radioactive cinders. Nobody knows who initiated it, nobody cares anymore.

The few survivors on the outside began to build a new life among the wasteland, creating new communities, and even nations.

Some survived the holocaust by hiding in underground vaults.

Your vault, Vault 52, was one of these. For over a hundred and fifty years, your ancestors survived, living and dying in a metal tomb in an old uranium mine in South Colarado. Eight years ago, your vault opened, and you began to settle on the surface, and coming to terms with the wasteland that the United States had become.

Isolation became your people’s mantra, for the wasteland brings out extremes in people. Old evils resurfaced; banditry, drug dealing and slavery, while new evils were created. However for every action, there is an equal and an opposite reaction. In some people, the extreme was not evil, but good. People whose very lives would change the wastelands for the better, bringing hope back to humanity.

Life in the wasteland is about to change.


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## Soullessweare (Sep 12, 2005)

Some parts sound familiar. Hmmmm.


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## Verbatim (Sep 12, 2005)

Consider me officially tagged on this one. I loved all the Fallout series, and before that the little known game called Wasteland for those of us who remember C64 games.


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## Falkus (Sep 12, 2005)

*Vault 52*

The start of the campaign has been pushed off to Thursday, due to scheduling issues with the universities roleplaying club (someone else took the room we were going to use on tuesday). So, in the meantime, to tide you over, here are the specs for Vault 52.







Welcome to Vault 52, Vault of the Future. Vault 52 has a radical, experimental design that sets it apart from the other vaults under construction by VaultTec. Unlike other vaults, which will operate in isolation, Vault 52 has been designed to function in conjuction with Vault 53 and Vault 54. While each vault will be self sufficient, there will be communal areas for members of seperate vaults to interact, and thus provide a sense of community. VaultTec researchers believe that this will help stave off the inevtiable boredom that will come with livining in a vault*.

Vault 52, in order to ensure the survival and prosperity of its inhabitants after the end of the world, has come equipped with multiple, redundant water chips; advanced air filtration** and hydroponic farms to provide clean, nutritious food. The entire vault has minimal automation in order to ensure that the entire population of the Vault will have jobs and duties during the long period they will spend inside after the end of the world. The funds saved through the lack of automation have been used in ways to ensure your safety, such as the construction of a series of executive restauraunts for the VaultTec board members in Vault One.

Vault 52 has a maximum capacity of 1500 people, using hot bunking, and is designed to remain closed for approximately one hundred and fifty years, after which the citizens will use the provided Garden of Eden Creation Kit to create a new life for themselves on the surface. The GECK uses the latest in cold fusion technology, and has a large amount of genetically enhanced seeds that were determined by a committee to be perfect for use in the post apocalyptic world. When coupled with the design schematics, the GECK will provide your descendants with a perfect and clean home in the New United States that they will inherit***.

Vault Number ............................52
Starting construction date .......September 2059
Ending construction date ..........January 2068
Starting Budget .........................$500,000,000,000
Final Budget, with interest ........$745,000,000,000
Total number of occupants .......1,500 (at capacity)
Total duration ...........................150 years (at capacity)
Number of living quarters .........200 (hot bunking required if at maximum capacity)
Door thickness ..........................4 yards, steel
Earth coverage .........................4,200,000 tons of soil, at 200 feet
Computer control system .........ZAX 1.1 supercomputer
Primary power supply ...............Hot Fusion
Secondary power supply ..........None
Power requirements .................4.64mkw/day
Stores .......................................Complete construction equipment, hydro-agricultural farms, water purification from underground river, defensive weaponry to equip 40 men, communication, social and entertainment files (for total duration)

*Please note that due to budgetary considerations, Vaults 53 and 54 have been cancelled, and Vault 52 will operate in isolation. While this will mean that the secondary entrance originally meant to connect the vaults will now lead to an empty uranium mine with connections to the surface, VaultTec does not believe that this will compromise the security or health of the inhabitants of Vault 52. We understand your disapointment at this, and as a result all PipBoys in Vault 52 will come equipped with a free version of The Sims 13 as a consolation gift.

**Also note that construction on the advanced air filtration system has been cancelled and it has been replaced with a standard air filtration system on the advice of the funding commitee, as an extensive two day study by the Air Filtration committee has shown that the risk of radioactive and virulant particles getting into the vault system after the end of the world are virtually zero. Remember, the safety of you and your fellow vault members is our priority here at VaultTec.

***Results not guaranteed. Contact VaultTec service support at 1-800-vaultec in case of malfunction. The GECK comes with a fifty year warranty.


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## Falkus (Sep 16, 2005)

*Our heros (for the lack of a better word)*

Quinn: One of the more level headed of the group, the man known as Quinn is a trained doctor. He shies away from gunplay, refusing to even carry a firearm. The Vault Security staff assigned him a crate of grenades instead.

John 'Beefstick' Holmes: The most adventerous, Beef has always wanted to leave the Vault. He's got a standing application to live topside, as soon as a space is available in the apartments. He spent most of his youth in the VR simulator room on driving games.

Grey: Grey was hit hard in the womb by the radiation and FEV particles that got into the vault, and suffered heavy mutations in his genetic code. Despite being the youngest member of the group, at the age of eighteen, he appears to be a thirty-six year old man. However, this radiation gave him strange, mental powers, allowing him to inflict pain on others from a distance. He's also ambidextrous, leading him to carrying a pair of Glock 20s wherever he goes, and earning him the nickname of crazy from other vault security members.

Gunter von Hurst: Gunter is one big, big man. Tough and hard to kill, he's taken his share of scrapes and brusises during his stint in Vault Security. He carries a special weapon. A big pipe with nails and studs welded to it. He chose it over the standard baton for the intimidation value.

Hef: Hef is the group's technical expert, and the man with the slimest grasp on sanity. He uses a custom made shotgun, and often believes in violence being the first, last, best and only solution to most problems. Despite this psychosis, he's the best man around when it comes to building and repairing stuff. He's gotten more than one angry complaint letter sent to the engineering chief in the Vault, leading him to be currently on a temporary assignment with security.

Descriptions to come. Once my players get them to me. First story hour to be posted soon.


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## Falkus (Sep 16, 2005)

Security Patrol 6. That’s what they were known as to begin with. On this day, on the fifth level of Vault 52, it was just standard, routine patrol. Walk around, make sure nothing goes wrong. It rarely did, ever since a third of the population moved out onto the surface.

Two hours into the patrol, and Hef’s radio squawked. “Hef here,” he said. His personnel modified shotgun was hanging at his side. He was never far from it.

“This is Young,” Jamie Young was the head engineer in the vault. “Got a job for you. Most of my other boys are busy. Vent shaft is making funny noises in recycling on level seven. Until our topside factories are fully functional, we depend on that area. I want you to find out what’s wrong, and fix it.”

“Can’t you send someone-” Hef started to say.

“Can it Hef. I want you, and your time to do the job. Young out.”

“You heard the man,” Quinn said. “Beats walking around all day. Let’s get going.”

After a bit of coaxing, Hef finally agreed to go. Rebellious to the core, he was a known troublemaker, and kept having issues with his superiors officers in security and engineering.

It took them about five minutes to get down to the recycling area. The only automated center in the entire Vault, it was capable of turning the entire daily garbage output of the Vault into usable materials for fabrication and hydroponics. Very few people came in here, just a janitor and an engineer on occasion to make sure everything was running properly,

As they looked around, they heard a distinct rattling from the vent on the north-east corner of the room. Sounded like a fan was loose.

“I’m not checking that,” commented Beef, looking at the vent apprhensively. “I know how this works. I look in there, and some monster tears my face off.”

“That’s just in the movies,” Gunther shot back at him. While they discussed the issue, Hef climbed up on the footladder to get at the fan.

“Everything’s perfectly all right,” he commented, as he removed the cover. “See, nothing hap-” and was cut off as a hundred pound cockroach came out of the shaft, chittering, as it cut open a wound on his arm

“GET IT OFF ME!” he screamed, as two more followed the first out into recycling. Half a dozen weapons cleared their holsters. 

Despite the original surprise, the fight ended quickly. Beef, with a huge Desert Eagle, splattered one, and Grey blasted a second one down with his twin Glocks, and finally, Hef smeared the last one all over the wall with a twelve gauge shotgun shell. The end result of this brief fight was that Hef was almost completely covered in cockroach guts, and totally freaking out.

Quinn preformed an impromptu autopsy, while Gunther called it in.

“Fascinating,” Quinn muttered, as he viewed the results on his PipBoy. The PipBoy was the ultimate in personnel computers before the war. It used computer chips, instead of vacuum tapes, and could read up to 256K holodisks.

“What?” Grey asked, while the others cleaned off and calmed down Hef.

“Uranium particles in the blood, and radiation resistant,” Quinn replied. “Some sort of viral particles as well, but I can’t identify them. According to the DNA, this is a hive speices, like an ant, rather than a traditional cockroach. One thing is for sure, radiation could not possibly cause this sort of mutation in a cockroach.”

“What’s it mean?” continued Grey.

“I’m not sure. I’m gonna call in to security. You keep Hef from freaking out anymore.”

Quinn gave a brief and concise report on the rad roaches to Helena Pares, the security chief of the Vault. She was quiet for a moment, obviously deep in thought, then said, with her calm and authoritive voice. “Get in there. Find out how they got in the ventilation system.”

“You want us to go in there? Into a cramped ventilation shaft filled with giant, mutated cockroachs?” shouted Hef.

“Yes, and I want you to do it without complaint,” Helena ordered. “This is a direct threat to vault security. If these things get into the fabrication, or worse, the environment controls or hydroponic farms, they could kill half the people still here! Find out where they’re coming from, and stop them. Now!”

“Yes ma’am!” Quinn said, and headed over to the vent sheft. “Right, who wants to go first?”

“That shaft leads back to environment, and north a bit, then it goes up to living quarters,” Hef said, looking down the open shaft. Fortunately, there were no hundred pound cockroaches in sight.

Grey pulled out his radio. “Let me check with environment control.”

A few minutes of conversation later, and he had enviro sealing up their vent entrance for now, to keep the rad roaches out.

“Now, who wants to go first?” Gunther asked.


To be continued…


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## Falkus (Sep 18, 2005)

“Suck it up, you’re the engineer,” Gunther said, in response to Hef’s complaint, ands followed Hef into the shaft. Gunther was shining a heavy duty floodlight down the shaft for Hef to see.

The other three followed right behind them.

About thirty feet down, they found it. Hef’s Geiger counter started clicking, and metal shards on the floor confirmed it. The roaches had tunneled into the vent from the adjacent, abandoned uranium mine. Hef crawled up to the hole, tossed in a chemical lightstick, glanced in and confirmed it.

“This ain’t good,” Hef muttered, grabbing his radio. “Hey, boss,” he said, calling Helena. “We got problems. Looks like the roaches buried in from the mine. What do you want us to do?”

“Meet me in the command center for more orders,” she replied crisply. “I’ll have an equipment package ready for you.” And she signed off.

“What’s this going to be about?” Quinn wondered.

“I’ve got a bad feeling I know,” replied Grey.

After a few minutes of amusing comedic events involving a narrow vent shaft, people’s faces and their behinds, the team managed to get out, with Hef welding the vent shut after them to keep anymore roaches from getting.

“It’s simple, really,” Helena said. She was a tall, cacusian blonde with an Uzi holstered at her side. She took her job as security chief seriously. “Thanks to the bodies and analysis you performed, we know that these rad roaches are similar to ants in that they have a hive style life. That means there’s a queen and a pile of eggs. Guess who’s going to go destroy them? All you have to do is go into the uranium mine through the old exit, plant a few napalm bombs on the eggs, and get out.”

“It’s a uranium mine, we’re going to be contaminated,” Beef protested.

“You’ll have radiation suits. Nothing to worry about. Just don’t get them ripped,” she advised. “Young will let you through the airlock. Be careful. He’s also got your extra ammo and the napalm charges.”

“Anything else that can make this easier?” Quinn asked.

She handed over a sheet of paper. “Here’s a map we map using sonics. I recommend checking out the big caves, that’s most likely where it is.”

Half an hour later, and Team six was suited up. Floodlight in hand, they advanced through the door. It was an airlock, essentially, designed to keep radioactive particles out of the vault. Of course, it was moot, given that the radiation eventually got in through the inadequate air filters.

“Looks clear,” Gunther said, shining his floodlight down the mine tunnel, holding his pipe in his other hand.

“Say, you’re a demolitions expert,” Hef asked Gunther, looking at the wall. “What would happen if we planted a charge here to bring down the wall.”

Gunther examined the wall for a minute. “Well,” he commented. “Given that this wall was modified in accordance with Vault-Tec’s plans for a second vault here, taking this wall down would collapse half of level seven in our Vault, destroy the coolant systems for the reactor, and cause the fusion kernel to drop through the center of the planet in less than a second, while destroying everything in a mile radius.”

“That’s a bad thing?” he asked.

Despite the fact that the helmet visors were mostly opaque, the rest of the team managed to give me strong off withering glares that he shut up.

Doing their best to keep quiet in the clumsy radiation suits, the team advanced down the tunnel, until they reached an intersection. Quinn’s keen eye picked out a pile of rocks next to the wall.

“It’s a body,” Hef said, after Quinn pointed it out for everybody to see.

“Oh come on,” Grey replied, as Hef started to shove rocks aside. “It could be anything.” He cut off as Hef uncovered two skeletons in Vault 52 suits. They’d been dead for at least fifty years. “Including a body,” added a Grey.

A quick search of the remains turned up a pair of glock 20s, and some clips, that Grey took. There was also a pair of smashed Pip-Boys. One was beyond repair, but he managed to download a file from the other one.

“Audio log of Jim Hansen. We managed to get out through the doors leading to the old uranium mine. They got the rest of us, only me and Suzie left. We didn’t have time to grab radiation suits, so we’ve got to get out of here as fast as possible. There has to be an exit some- what’s that sound? Oh sweet mother of-” and the recording cut off.

“Interesting,” Hef muttered, and decided the keep the file for future reference.

After that brief interlude, the security team continued moving up the tunnel, Gunther’s floodlight lighting their way.

The tunnel eventually opened up into a large cave with some old mining gear. The team’s attention was more focused on the six hundred pound cockroaches scurrying around.

“Okay, here’s the plan-” Quinn started to say,  but was cut off as Gunther let out a berserk roar, and charged the cockroaches, swinging his lead pipe and banging it off the floor.

“Oh, to hell with it,” muttered Quinn, and pulled the pin on a white phosphorus grenade and threw it into the room. With a whump, it detonated, frying three cockroaches instantly. He’d aimed it carefully so as not to roast

A slashing mandible caught Gunther on the chest, but it didn’t even slow him down, as Beef blasted away with his Desert Eagle, and Hef fired his shotgun, both missing.

Grey, on the other hand, wasn’t shooting, but closed his eyes and concentrated. One of the rad roaches was about to clamp down on Gunther’s leg, when it suddenly light out a high pitched squeal, and collapsed dead on the ground, it’s tiny mind fried.

And with all the bugs but one dead, Gunther pounded away with his pipe, splattering the last one across the floor.

Once the flames from the Willie Pete grenade died down, the team could make a full search. Several lockers with radiation suits dating back to before the war were found.

Hef and Beef found an old generator hooked up to the lights on the ceiling of the tunnel. The fusion cell in it still had half its charge.

“Sweet, I want it,” Hef commented, as he started to get out the tools to remove the cell.

“Hold on,” shouted Grey. “Turn on the generator, I’d rather have some light.”

“Not a chance, these things are rare. I can use it.”

Beef cut to the chase, and flipped on the generator, which activated the ceiling lamps, casting a dim glow all over the mine shafts.

Hef quickly turned it off, returning the mines to their state of pitch black. “I want the fusion cell, and I don’t want to run it down.”

“It’s a micro-fusion power cell, and these are lights,” Grey pointed out. “It’ll last for a hundred years, we’re not going to drain it, and we can get it after we’re done.” He turned on the generator again, and glared at Hef, who finally relented.

“Fine,” Hef grumbled, and fell into formation, thumbing another shell into his custom made shotgun.

It took about ten minutes of searching through the various caves in the mines, until the team finally arrived at a large cave. Gunther went first, checking to see whether or not it was the right one. A thousand tiny cockroaches swarmed out of the room, going all over him, his radiation suit being the only thing that saved him from being consumed like a moldy piece of bread.

It was the right room.

Stay tuned, for the thrilling conclusion of Episode One


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## Falkus (Sep 20, 2005)

Trivia: The overall campaign plot for Vault 52 comes from taking choice bits from the Wasteland paragraph book, and the Van Buren design documents.


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## Verbatim (Sep 20, 2005)

I loved Wasteland when I was addicted to my C64, some of my best times were getting Covenant and going against the Brotherhood. That and running up and down the trash mounds to increase my various skills. And Toaster Repair...ahh..the good ol' days...*L*

I am enjoying the story very much and the more I read it, the more I am thinking about going to my FLGS and picking up the campaign setting for Post Apocolyptic settings and running a game here on EnWorlds..


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## Falkus (Sep 20, 2005)

You'd defintely have me as a player!

One of the more amusing things in my campaign is how the Fallout setting is basically a fifties view of the future and what that means for computing. Since nearly all of my players of computer science students, I loved the looks on their faces when I explained how the PIP-boy used the top of the line prewar techmology, allowing it to read 64, 128 and even the expanded 256 kilobyte holotapes.


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## Verbatim (Sep 21, 2005)

Nice one..*L*

I will have to look into the book store tomorrow and will keep you posted accordingly...


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## Falkus (Sep 21, 2005)

“Don’t just stand there!” Gunther shouted, as he wailed away with his ratchet, trying to smash as many of the bugs as possible.

Quinn took the intiative, and threw a Willie Pete greande into the hall the baby roaches had come from, instantly vaporizing half of them and lighting the corridor aflame, preventing more from coming, if there were any.

There were still hundreds of four pound rad roaches crawling around. Grey took one look at them, then looked at his Glocks, and realized he’d a lot more bullets. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused, starting to fry the minds of the roaches. Hef hung back, unwilling to risk hitting Gunther with his shotgun.

Beef, on the other hand, pulled his standard issue vault security baton, and swung at the bugs crawling over Gunther. Gunther ducked, and the baton went harmlessly over his head.

“Watch it!” he snapped, smashing at the bugs with his pipe. It didn’t take long for him to finish them off, sweeping them off of his radiation suit and onto the floor. A minute later, and the team began exploring the cave, after the flames died down.

A huge pile of alien looking eggs was visible at the far end of the cave. Obviously, their target. No other roaches were in sight.

“This will be easy,” said Quinn, as he armed the detonator on the napalm bomb he was carrying.

There was also a metal door in the wall, the team decided to check it out after frying the bugs. Quinn set the bomb down, activated the timer at a thirty second countdown, and then started to head towards the exit.

At that point, a cockroach the size of a Volkswagen dropped down from the ceiling where it had been concealed in deep shadows, surprising all of them.

As the timer counted down to hot, napalm death, the security team fought a vicious melee against the Queen Roach in order to get out alive and in time.

Beef choose to run away, barely dodging a vicious slash from the mandibles of the roach. Thirty feet away, he turned and blazed away with his desert eagle, bouncing a bullet off the wall.

“Where’s a super sized can of raid when you need one?” Hef hollered, as he blew a hole in the radioactive roach with his shotgun.

“Quit complaining! You’re not next to it!” shouted back Gunther, as he started beating it with his pipe.

Quinn ducked out of the room. In these close quarter, his grenades would be a liability. Grey managed to nick it with one of his Glock 20s, but it wasn’t slowing down.

Gunther grunted in pain as a slash from the mandible of the roach tore open a big hole in the front of his radiation suit, causing some worry among the others.

So while Gunther, Beef and Hef kept up the heat on the Queen Roach with their guns, Grey adopted a different tactic. For the third and last time that day, he closed his eyes, and focused, setting the nervous system of the roach on fire, essentially, and causing it grievous pain.

The queen roach wasn’t looking so hot now, oozing from several holes in its carpace. Another shotgun shell from Hef, and a fifty caliber AE bullet from Beef slowed it down even more. What finally brought it down was the continued psionic attacks of Grey. The creature’s tiny, tiny brain fizzled and popped, and the radiated roach collapsed on the ground with a hefty thud.

With fifteen seconds left on the timer, the group piled out of the room, the napalm bomb detonating and incinerating the eggs behind them.

Hef looked at the metal door, after the hellfire set off in the room finally died down. The group was good at lighting things on fire. The metal plate on the door read: Air Force Ammo Depoty, 1954.

“Yes!” he shouted, as he started to pick the lock. “It’s an ammo depot!” he called to the others. After a minute, he got it open, and the team piled in to see what weapons and ammunition they could find.

Unfortunately, the government had pretty much emptied it out before the war. The only thing they could find with a 1928 M1 Thompson Submachine gun, and two drums of ammo. Hef got an urge to put on a fedora and crack his knuckles as he picked it up, but it quickly passed.

“Pity there isn’t anything else. I was hoping for some more serious firepower,” commented Beef, as they left. “You know, a grenade launcher, or a bozar. You know, some of the good stuff from before the war.”

“Nothing wrong with a Thompson,” replied Hef. “Hey, what’s that?”

He pointed at the wall. A solitary beam of light was shining through. The team quickly started pulling away rocks, and working at it. After about five minutes, they’d opened up a sizable hole onto the surface.

“Let’s take a look,” Suggested Beef, leading the way. The others followed, eager to get out of the mines for a few minutes, before trudging back through them to the rear vault entrance.

They were out in a forest, much like the one that surrounded the walls of the Vault’s settlement on the surface. They were on the other side of the mountain from the vault, now. Mutated birds chirped. In the distance, an old, ruined highway was visible. Closer, and more importantly, was a small shack. With nothing better to do for the moment, they decided to check it out.

Beef and Hef opened up the door, and stopped in amazement. There, in front of them, was a car that had apparently been stored here before the war, and hadn’t been touched since.

Beef let out a low whistle as he plucked a phamplet, yellow and stiff from age, from the windshield of the car and looked at it.

http://www.nma-fallout.com/forum/album_page.php?pic_id=866

And this was where our first session finished. They may have found a Highwayman, but it's gonna be a quest in itself to get the thing running.


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## akillian (Sep 23, 2005)

*Of Shotguns*

A quick note (hi Ben its Mike), I play Hephaestus 'Hef' Jericho, the 'mad scientist / gun nut' of the group. We've since played a few more sessions (which I look forward to seeing fictionalised here) especially some of my... erm, freakier exploits.

Just for reference, my character is an inventor, with points placed heavily on Crafting and Knowledge of the Sciences. As such, I try and invent new and interesting stuff for the group every session, mostly from scratch. The first example of which is my 'shotgun'. Which is actually a heavy modified grenade launcher, converted into a revolver pistol.
Featuring two barrels (to fire the top and bottom cylinders either individually or dually) it can carry a load of up to 6 12-guage shells. There are an entire set of rules for it I wont go into, but lets just say I invented a few interesting shell variants. 
Like Drug Delivery Shells. What wasnt mentioned in the above post is that Quinn gave me some of the extracted Roach blood, which I refined to isolate the mutagen... and then made several 12-guage mutagenic-dispersal shells. 

Oh and I filled one with a stimpack to heal my friends from long distance. Sortof.


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## Falkus (Sep 26, 2005)

Additional cast members

Larif A'Sylin: A former member of the vault morale corps, Larif transfered to the vault security team in search of more excitement. An ordained priest, Larif is fond of shouting out quotes from the bible, while blazing away at miscreants with his ten gauge shotgun.


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## Falkus (Sep 26, 2005)

A week later
The team was on various assignments around the vault. The more technically inclined members were in the Vault Control Center, working with the Zax 1.1 AI supercomputer. This mostly entailed switching out magnetic tape reels. The team had the car secret, and was working on repairing it. A part to fix the computer/engine interface had been ordered from the vault’s fabrication facilities. The fusion cell in the mine’s generator had been salvaged to power it. All that was left to do was find some tires.

Then the intercom sounded. “Security team six, report to the briefing room immediately.”

Hef, Quinn, Beef, Gunther, Grey and Larif wound their way through the vault, and eventually gathered in the briefing room. Security Chief Helena was already there, a scowl on her face, as usual.

“We got a problem,” she stated, once everybody was seated.

“Not more cockroaches,” Grey said, groaning.

“No, worse,” she replied. “Earlier today, one of scout patrols spotted a caravan of outsiders setting up camp several miles west of here. We don’t know who they are or what they’re up to. That’s your job.”

“What do you mean?” asked Larif. He was new to the team, after transferring out of the Vault Morale corps. He was looking for some more excitement.

“We’ve got some disguises for you. We want you guys to circle around, and find out what they’re up to. Make contact if you have to, but do not let on that you’re from a vault, and especially don’t let them know where we are.”

“And kill them?” asked Hef, eagerly.

“NO!” snapped Helena at Hef, her patience wearing thin with the borderline sociopathic mad scientist. “If they’re a threat to the vault, come back here, and then we figure out what to do with them. If you kill a bunch of innocent travelers in this region, you’ll draw the attention of outsiders.”

“What if they shoot first?” asked Gunther, as he slid a clip into a glock he’d been given by the armory a few day’s ago.

“Then use your best judgment. There’s a lot of them, I doubt you could kill them all in a straight up fight. If you they chase you, do not lead them back here, no matter what.”

“So-” Hef started to say.

“Stow it, and get a move on,” Helena ordered, not interested in whatever Hef had to say. “The armory officer has got your disguises and ammo.”


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## Rackhir (Sep 27, 2005)

As a big fan of the Fallout games. I think I'll make this the latest story hour I've killed off by taking an interest in it.

Looking forward to the next update


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## Falkus (Oct 2, 2005)

Several hours later.

“What do you see?” Grey asked Larif, who had one of the group’s two pairs of binoculars.

The team was in a forest, overlooking the caravan. There were a couple of wagons made out of old cars, and a big, temporary pen filled with two headed cows.

“A couple of guards, maybe a dozen merchants, I don’t see anything more than a pistol, brother,” replied Larif, as he scanned the caravan. “Wait, here we go. A big guy, looks like he’s in charge. Red hair. He’s got a nice machine gun.”

“Really?” Hef said, raising his binoculars. “Yeah, I see it. It’s an old M60. He must be one strong son of a bitch.”

“What should we do? Think they’re a threat?” Grey asked, walking up next to Larif.

“I doubt it. They don’t have enough guns down there to knock over a minimall, let alone a vault.”

“I say we make contact, a couple of us should go down there and start asking questions,” suggested Quinn.

“You sure about that?” replied Hef. “Maybe we should just kill them now.”

“And guess who just volunteered?” added Quinn. “Hef, you and Larif go down and have a chat with them. We’ll keep watch, and join you if it’s safe.”

“How will you tell?”

“If they don’t shoot at you. Now get going.”

Hef and Larif advanced down the hill cautiously, walking towards the guards at the edge of the camp. As they came out of the forest, one of the guards spotted and hailed them.

“Friend or foe!” he called out. The guard had a Colt M1911 in a holster, and was wearing a suit of leather armor.

“Friend!” Larif shouted back.

“What are you doing out here on your own? It’s pretty dangerous out here. Mutants, raiders, that sort of thing,” asked the guard, as the two approached.

“We can take care of ourselves,” replied Hef, patting his customized shotgun in its hip holster. “We’re just looking to do a little business, that’s all.”

“Well then, you’ll want to talk with the boss,” the sentry pointed towards one of the tens. “Go talk to the Trader over there. He’ll set you up.”

“The Trader? Interesting name, let’s go see what he has,” Hef said, and headed over, Larif following.

“I agree, brother,” confirmed Larif, nodding.

The Trader was just as imposing in person as he was through the binoculars. A very large man, with a M60 machine gun hanging on his back, over his body armor.

“Hello folks,” he said, as he lit up a big cigar. “What are you lookin’ for?”

“You the Trader?” asked Hef.

“That’s what they call me,” replied the man, holding the cigar in one hand. “I’ve been across the wastelands three times, and I know just about every town, settlement, city, base and camp where there’s anything worth trading.”

“What do you transport?” Larif inquired, studying the man. He seemed honest enough.

“A few luxury items, but mostly ammo. Everybody wants it, it’s easy to transport, and if you get in trouble, you can use it to defend yourself,” he explained. “Like the other day, when a bunch of bloody raiders thought they could take my cargo without my permission. We buried them.”

“Where are you taking this supply?” pressed Larif, trying to ascertain that the man’s motives weren’t hostile.

“Up to Denver, got a group of NCR rangers running an outpost up there. They always need some ammo, and you can usually scavenge some good stuff from the ruins while you’re in town. It’s a good run, but a little far for most people.”

“I saw that the tires on your vehicles were rubber,” added Hef, as Larif signaled to the others to join them. “Where do you get those? I’d thought most of them form before the war would have rotted away by now?”

“Not all of them. If they were stored properly. Not to mention, the NCR got an old fabrication and replication facility up and running in Shady Sands. They make good tires there, just like pre-war ones.”

The others arrived just in time to catch the last bit of this conversation. “You got any you could trade? We got a, ah, vehicle that needs some wheels,” asked Beef, smiling inwardly. He’d been wondering where he could get some tires for their car.

“Got a couple spares, I suppose I could let four of ‘em go. Cost you 300 caps, though,” Trader stated.

“Damn, we don’t have any of that type of money,” cursed Beef.

“You look like good lads,” said the Trader. “Let’s barter. Tell me what you got, and I’ll let you know.”

The team pooled its spare gear, talked amongst themselves, and nominated Lariff to do the negotiating.

The barter session was rather successful for the team. They walked away with four, perfect condition tires for their car, and a pair of tear gas shotgun shells.

“Not a bad haul,” Hef commented, thumbing the two shells into his shotgun revolver, as they started walking away. They’d gotten the equipment they needed and the mission was accomplished. An easy day, all in all.

“Well, you folks have a safe trip,” the sentry said to Grey. Then, a hole opened up in his face, and blood splattered all over Grey as the man was hurled to the ground. An instant afterwards, a gunshot echoed through the forest. 

To be continued


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## Fimmtiu (Oct 3, 2005)

Falkus said:
			
		

> To be continued




Now that's good news! Keep them coming.


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## Falkus (Oct 4, 2005)

“RAIDERS!” one of the guards yelled, as they scrambled for cover. About sixteen men in gray clothing and using sports pads as armor had appeared at the edge of the forest on the western side of the roadway.

The guards their started firing with their Colt .45s, as half of the raiders charged, screaming and wielding large axes made out of old sawblades. The other half hung back, and took aim with flintlock muskets.

And somewhere in the forest to the west was a sniper.

The team reacted on instinct, their weapons clearing their holsters as they sought cover. Raiders this close to the vault was bad news, better to deal with them now, then worry about being trailed back to their home.

Gunther and Hef moved up through the wagons, weapons out, and Quinn followed, pulling the pin from a phosphorous grenade as he ran. Grey and Beef circled around to the left, and Larif went to the right, pumping his ten gauge shotgun.

Quinn wound up and threw his grenade, going off mark, however. He was aiming at the gunners, and managed to catch two of them in the flames of the grenade. They dropped their muskets and ran around, screaming and flailing and trying to put out the flames. The wasteland was short on public service messages, apparently, as no one had taught them to stop, drop and roll.

Beef dropped to his knees, sighted down the barrel of his Desert Eagle, aiming right at the head of a musketman, and pulled the trigger. He was rewarded with the gun feeding incorrectly and jamming. Cursing, he started to clear the jam.

The musketmen were using the ditch for cover. As the raiders with axes smashed into the line of cavern guards (one of them being ripped to shreds by a burst from Trader’s M-60 as he ran) the musketeers fired at the more dangerous targets, the security team. But, they missed. Rocks smashed into the ground and stuck in the wagon walls, one of them missing Hef’s head by less than a foot. The Geiger counter he wore on his wrist started to click.

“Watch out, the rocks they’re shooting are radioactive,” he shouted, double checking his Geiger counter.

One of the gunmen wasn’t as lucky as his fellows. He had packed too much gunpowder into his weapon when loading it. The whole thing blew up, taking his heads with them. Screaming wildly, he ran around aimlessly, waving his arms.

Spinning the cylinder of his revolver, Hef took aim at the trench, as Gunther and his pipe joined the fight between the caravan guards and axemen, brutally cracking skulls left and right.

Hef pulled the trigger, and fired the shell into the ditch. The shell was a tear gas penetrator that he had purchased not five minutes ago. The gas spread out in the trench, and the entire squad of gunmen dropped, coughing and rubbing their eyes.

((OOC: After this incident, I have decided to never allow my players access to tear gas again.)

Grey was having a great time, firing into the axemen, blazing away with both pistols, when suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as the sniper from the forest blasted a rifle round into him. “Damn it!” he shouted, rolling behind one of the wagons.

Trader, firing his machine gun from the hip, and hit the gunmen who’d lost his hands with a burst, blowing him down to the ground and into the eternal sleep of the dead.

Beef cleared the jam on his Desert Eagle, and quickly resumed firing, taking down one of the axemen who was locked in combat with a caravan guard. More than half of the caravan guards were down by now. Larif helped even the odds with a ten gauge shotgun blast that turned another one of the raiders into something very messy.

Quinn used the chaos of the melee to rush by towards the ditch. Dodging a sniper shot, he pulled out a pair of grenades, pulled the pins, and tossed them into the ditch amongst the helpless raiders. He immediately dove for cover as the grenades detonated, turning a ditch full of tear gasses raiders into something resembling chunky chili.

Gunter, meanwhile, had jumped up on the last axe raider, and straddled him, bearing him down to the ground as he beat his skull in with his pipe.

With the majority of the current threat dead, Hef took off into the forest, reloading his shotgun as he ran, looking for the sniper. Grey followed close behind, eager for a bit of revenge.

The pair had a hell of a time finding the sniper. Every six seconds or so, the man took another shot at the time, and while they could hear where he was, damned if they could find him. He was using some really good camouflage.

“We need a better plan!” Grey shouted, as a bullet sunk into a tree next to him.

“Find some cover; we can think better when we’re not being shot at!” Hef shouted back.

After about thirty seconds of this lethal game of dodge bullet, they came to rest for a moment, about four hundred feet into the forest, under a large tree, thinking they could take a few seconds to catch a breather before continuing the search.

From above them, there was the distinctive sound of a man working a bolt action rifle, and an empty shell dropped past Hef’s face, a second before a bullet went into his leg.

He screamed in pain, and fired upwards, along with Grey. Two shotgun shells and a 10 millimeter bullet caught the sniper right in the chin, and flipped him backwards out of the tree, to land heavily on the ground several feet away. The raider threat was eliminated.

To be continued


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## akillian (Oct 4, 2005)

You forgot the Sentient Treebeast.

During the battle, I used a round filled with Viral Mutagen, unfortunately, I missed and hit a tree instead, which suddenly became alive, vengeful and completely immobile. 
As the sniper fell out of the (other) tree, sans head, his rifle clattered to the ground and fired, which by freakish coincidence hit my Sentient Treebeast, killing it.


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## Rackhir (Oct 4, 2005)

It's nice to be reading a story hour that actually gets updated. It looks like the DM is doing a good job of capturing the feel of the Fallout stories.


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## Falkus (Oct 5, 2005)

Thank you.


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## Verbatim (Oct 5, 2005)

Pardon my absence, but I wanted to say how much I was still enjoying the series. Is there any chance we could see a RG on the players? As much as I love the story, I like seeing the "behind the scenes" stuff as well..

Keep up the great work and I hope somebody kept that sniper rifle, those babies are handy...


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## Falkus (Oct 5, 2005)

The rifle that the late Daniel Brown turned out to be a scoped Winchester 94. It's seen a bit of use since the team proved the NRA right, and pried it from his cold, dead hands. I hope to have the last session up online later tonight, which will result in everything up until our session tommorow being online.

Oh, and I'll see about getting those character sheets up online.


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## Falkus (Oct 6, 2005)

“Well boys, if I had a dozen men like you, I would never have to worry about raiders ever again,” Trader shouted, as the security team prepared to return to the vault. He tossed a bag at them.

“There you go, six hundred caps, a hundred for each of you. A full trips pay. And there’s more if you want to sign on,” he added. “I could use some guards as handy as you.”

Hef caught the bag, and conferred with his friends. The offer was tempting, but they had a duty to the vault.

“Sorry,” Hef shouted back. “But we’ve got some business of our own to take care of. How long are you going to be here?”

“I’m leavin’ tonight, don’t want to stick around, in case there’s more raiders in the woods.”

“Well then, we can’t join up. We’ve got to take a few days to deal with some business of our own,” Gunther explained, shrugging. 

“Sorry to hear that, lads. If you ever get to Denver, look me up. I’ll be there for a few weeks.”

And so they parted ways, the team returning to the vault to file their report.


Four days later
The wounded had been healed, thanks to the Vault’s autodoc, and the tender cares of the medical team, when the active team was called back to the briefing room again.

Only half the team was active; Hef, Grey and Gunther. Larif, Beef and Quinn were taking some R&R.

Unusually, it was one of the members of the Vault council who was waiting to brief them, instead of Helena. He was an older man, in his early fifties, with gray hair and a growing bald spot.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, simply, as the team came in and sat down.

“What else is new?” said Gunther.

“One of our patrols disappeared five days ago, about four miles to the south-west,” the councilor stated, ignoring the chatter and going right into the briefing. “We couldn’t find out what happened to them. Yesterday, Security Chief Helena Pares took another guard, Jonathon Demal, with her, checked out a couple of assault rifles, and went looking for them. They haven’t reported in. We’re sending you out to find them.”

“Wait, two security teams have disappeared, and you’re sending a third after them without any more knowledge than they had?” Grey asked. “That doesn’t seem very logical.”

“I won’t deny it’s risky, but we can’t spare any more men, and Helena, with her knowledge of our security, poses a grave risk to our isolation if somebody should capture her. There are raiders operating in this region according to your last report.”

“And, according to the same report, we killed them all,” added Hef. “In a rather messy and enjoyable fashion. You should have seen the look on that guy’s face in the second before I blew it off.”

“And you think they were the only ones? I’m not willing to take that risk,” snapped the councilman. “Get out there, and find them.”


Four hours later
“Well, I guess we can safely rule out that they got lost,” Hef commented. Their search of Helena’s last known location had uncovered some tracks, and a shallow grave. A bit of digging had uncovered the body of Jonathon, dead from numerous gunshot wounds.

“You think the raiders?” asked Grey, as he started searching the body.

“Who else?” replied Gunther. “How many armed groups can there be in this region?”

“They must have taken Helena alive. For interrogation?”

“That’s my guess. They probably want to find out where she came from,” noted Hef. “That’s what I’d do.”

“But you’re also a psychotic mad scientist,” replied Grey. “So what you’d do is hardly an ideal method for determining what others would do.”

Gunther pointed out the tracks, cutting off the potential argument before it started. “Well, at least we can find out where they went. Keep your eye sharp.”

Another hour passed by, as the team tracked through the forest, keeping an eye out for raiders or mutant animals. It was uneventful, though there were a few tense moments when they thought they lost the trail.

Finally, the came across a clearing, with a small, two story shack from before the war. After ascertaining that no enemies were around, they snuck up to the door, and quietly opened it.

“How many men are there? What types of weapons do you have? Answer me!” came a faint voice from the a room on the second floor. The questions were interspaced with the sounds of metal hitting flesh. Somebody was getting pistol whipped.

“Goddamnit, that’s got to be her up there,” muttered Hef. There was no window into the office that the sounds were coming from, at least, no window they could see from the door.

“I’ve got a plan. Get up there, and get ready,” Hef ordered, as he spun the cylinder of his revolver, and sprinted over 

There was the sound of someone spitting.

“Oh, real funny bitch. We don’t need you, you know. We know where your vault is,” there was the sound of someone racking a pistol.

Grey and Gunther got to the top of the stairs just in time to see, in a window, a silhouette of a man placing the  barrel of a pistol against a woman’s forehead. Hef aimed his shotgun pistol straight up, as he got below the office

“Laugh this one off,” the interrogator said, and then Hef fired.

The CS penetrater did its job. It blew through the old wood, and unloaded its cargo of tear gas into the room. People started coughing, as the interrogator dropped his gun, to try to cover his eyes.

However, some of the commandos in the room were wearing gas masks. One of them smashed open the window with the butt of his shotgun, and opened up on Grey and Gunther, missing. Grey replied with a pair of shots from his pistol, nicking the man, and Gunther squeezed down on the trigger of the Tommy gun, hosing down part of the room (but avoiding Helena).

Hef started jogging upstairs, firing once he was in position.

It was a vicious gunbattle. Three commandos wearing green combat armor versus three security guards, all within thirty feet of each other. The man at the window got taken down quickly when Grey planted a ten millimeter bullet in his heart, but two other gas mask commandos burst out of the door, pumping twelve gauge shells at the killer of their friend.

The first one went down almost instantly, as Gunther regained control of his Chicago typewriter, and sprayed another ten bullets in his direction, corresponding simulatenously with Hef blasting the man in the chest with a high explosive shotgun slug.

The last man suddenly clutched his head and screamed, as Grey focused his mysterious, mutant mental powers onto him, frying his nerves and figuratively setting his brain on fire. Hef took advantage of this to shoot him dead.

With that accomplished, all that was left to do was pull a gas mask off one of the dead men, knock the interrogator out with a swift blow to the back of the head, and pull both him and Helena out of there.

To be continued


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## Rackhir (Oct 13, 2005)

First bump


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## Falkus (Oct 13, 2005)

Currently, the story hour is fully up to date, since last week's session got cancelled at the last moment. I should have some more material after tonight's session.


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## akillian (Oct 14, 2005)

Ok, speaking as a member of the campaign, if the next post does not (eventually) involve us shoving sexy female scientists into the trunk of our car and/or bolting the de-meated skull of a mutated (she grew horns) ninja biker chick to the hood of our car, then he is leaving out some of the best parts.


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## Falkus (Oct 15, 2005)

That's still under discussion, and you know it.

Update will probably come after my midterms and RCMP aptitude test are done.


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## marcoasalazarm (Oct 16, 2005)

'The Trader'? Ain't that some guy from the 'Deathlands' books?


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## Falkus (Oct 16, 2005)

That's where I got the name when I was planning on that praticular segment of the adventure.


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## Falkus (Oct 22, 2005)

Just to let you know, I haven't forgotten about this, and I'm currently hard at work on the writeup of the latest session.


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## Look_a_Unicorn (Oct 24, 2005)

Just read your posts so far- I have discussed how awesome a setting Fallout would be to play in 

I love the Van Buren reference- so disappointed the game got scrapped.

Eagerly waiting for the next morsel


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## Falkus (Oct 26, 2005)

The team was heading back with Helena. They were only a few moments away from the Vault, and had met up with the rest of their group who had brought medical supplies to treat Helena’s injuries. All the interrogation of the commando (a very brutal and graphic interrogation) had revealed was that he was working for the New Government of Texas, and had come this far west on a special mission.

They got into the clearing where the Vault town was just in time to see several rockets take down all of the gates simultaneously, and a horde of commandos storming the base.

Looking back, it was incredible display of coordination and teamwork among the attackers. The rockets were barely out of the tubes of the Rockwell Type 45 BigBazooka rocket launchers before the other commandos were charging, taking down the men on watch with carefully aimed sniper shots.

But the team didn’t notice that, because at that moment, two more commandos stepped out of the bushes behind them, where they had been hiding. They were wearing perfectly fitted combat armor, grenades and ammo on a mesh vest, and they were both holding Pancor Jackhammer automatic shotguns. A crudity in their construction, Hef noted, meant they were of relatively recent construction, rather than being scavenged prewar equipment.

They were flanking a slender, handsome man wearing a white suit. He said, in a calm voice, contrasting to violence going on a few hundred feet ahead of them, “My name is Irwin John Finster. You have already lost. Your vault has been captured, your security being overwhelmed as we speak. Surrender, is your wisest option.”

“Why the hell should we listen to you?” demanded Hef, abrasive as usual.

“Because I hold all the cards, and because if you resist,” he put his hands together. “I’ll take you in by force, and rest assured, I’m more than a match for you. It’s a pity that this has to be done, but sacrifices must be made. So, are you going to surrender? ”

“Not a chance-” Hef started to say, as the rest of the group spread out, reaching for their weapons. He was cut off as Finster literally leapt across the clearing, and jump kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

Grey pulled his guns, and Finster leveled his arm at him, a gun barrel extending from his wrist. “Don’t even think about it,” he chided. Grey compliantly dropped both pistols.

“Goddman it, he’s a friggin’ cyborg or robot or something,” cursed Gunther, as Larrif tossed down his shotgun and raised his hands.

“Your companions are doing the smart thing, why don’t you?” Finster said to Gunther, the commandos pulled out zip ties and cuffed Hef and Larif, making sure that they wouldn’t be anymore trouble in the immediate future.

His attention was off of Grey for one, fatal second. In that second, Grey leapt forward, grabbing Finster ina hug and raising a shield through his mutant, psionic powers. A shield that was known to interfere with electronics in an EMP fashion.

Sparks ran up and down Finster’s body, and he cursed, and twitched, and then collapsed to the forest floor, jerking spasmodically, before finally ceasing all motion.

“Ye-” Grey started to shout, before the two commandos emptied half their drums into his back. Fortunately for him, they were using rubber shells, and he would live, albeit heavily bruised and in severe pain for a week. In the meantime, he was unconscious. Very unconscious (Rolled 39 when rolling damage).

Gunther, the last standing, non-captured member of the team, Quinn having suffered a heart attack and died shortly beforehand.(Player left the campaign) dove into the two guards swinging his pipe.

He took burst and burst from their shotguns without dropping, and roared with beserked rage as he swung his weapon, denting skulls and armor.

It was only until they reloaded their guns with live ammunition that he finally saw the wisdom in surrender, and dropped his weapons. The Texan commandos promptly clubbed him down to the ground, and started kicking him, in the finest traditions of police brutality. After they tired of it, the security team was escorted inside to the Vault, which was being converted into a prison camp.

A few minutes later
Finster’s body jerked again, harder and harder, as his cybernetic systems performed a hard reset thanks to a useful anti-EMP technology developed shortly before the war, as well as the fact that Grey’s EMP field was quite weak. Finster rose to his feet, brushing off his suit. “That almost hurt me. They’ll make ideal test subjects,” he commented to himself, before striding off towards the Vault to take command of the situation.

<to be continued>


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## Falkus (Nov 3, 2005)

Unfortunately, due to scheduling issues, this campaign, and therefore, this story hour, have been cancelled.


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## Rackhir (Nov 4, 2005)

Rackhir said:
			
		

> As a big fan of the Fallout games. I think I'll make this the latest story hour I've killed off by taking an interest in it.




Sorry, but I did warn you.


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