Remi-Boi
Florida-Man
Chapter One
07:00, January 3, 2287
Oregon, North-Western USA
Brookings, Curry County
Ranger Julia looked out over the great Northern Expanse. Her numb cold-stricken fingers gripping her Assault-Carbine. "God, I'd have done anything to stay in the Mojave if I knew this would be my new posting." She muttered to herself, teeth chattering as she spoke.
She gazed at the white blanket covering the vast hills and mountains to her right, and the icy coastline to her left. She, along with the entirety of the 2nd Ranger Battalion was posted for recon, and support duty on the edges of California's northernmost border. Naturally she would not care, the pay was good and she'd do anything for her country. But she couldn't help herself but to think why else would they be posted there except to spearhead another lengthy campaign.
They had narrowly secured a second victory at Hoover Dam against the Legion. The Victory, like the last one, incredibly costly. Many young troopers laid down their lives so that the Dam could be held, for the Tyrant Caesar to have his brains litter his tent. And for the Legion to finally be routed from the fort. The only good to come out of the Pyrrhic victory was the breakdown of the Legion. Post battle of the Dam, with Caesar and most of his influential legates killed. The Legion collapsed inward on itself, with many of the absorbed tribes within its ranks deserting its armies, the many slaves revolting against their captors. Nothing of the Legion existed but the Denarius coins it used to use as currency. It pleased her the Scourge that had killed her brother hath been put to rest.
She continued to watch over the whitened wasteland, rubbing her chin. Her Radio crackled, "Ranger Julia?" She looked down at her HAM Radio she had, half buried in the snow drift. She answered the call. "Ranger Julia, Watch Post Blackburn reporting." The Radio kept to static for a few seconds before anyone answered her. "Copy Ranger, we have unconfirmed reports by Watch Post Delta that T-45 suited unknowns are traveling atop the coastal ice sheet. Can you confirm, Over." She would grab binoculars hanging off her neck. She began to search the ice sheet for movement.
She spotted it, four figures in T-45 Power armor, she tried to search them for markings She found Red and Black Brotherhood markings, it seemed different than the Mojave or the Western Brotherhood, perhaps another chapter, she mused. "Can Confirm HQ, Markings appear to be Brotherhood. Over."
There was a long pause on the radio, before they responded again. "Are you sure Ranger?" She rechecked the markings on the T-45 as they kept walking away. "Not a doubt in my mind."
The static came again for another half dozen seconds, before an answer was given. "Acknowledged, new orders from CO. Tail Brotherhood soldiers, and identify weather they are the Western, or some new Chapter entirely."
"Copy, Over and Out." She hung up her Radio.
She tightened her winter coat, storing what equipment she had in her backpack, satchel and any pockets she could fit an item in. Saying a silent prayer, if she was go follow this new Brotherhood North, she could only pray for an end to the Nuclear Winter.
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Oregon
Madras, Jefferson County
Kyle Bell sat back in his rocking chair, gazing over his field of crops. While he was not old just reaching his late 50's, he felt the part. He had been a decedent of a Navarro Veteran, he and his family had been able to integrate with the NCR for a time. At least until, a half decade ago. Rumors and general suspicion, perhaps a rat, had given the NCR information of their family history. And later in the afternoon, a squad of NCR Rangers had broken down the door. He had enough time to hide in the closet, but his parents were not lucky, they were kidnapped. Likely they were put on a show trial- Executed, or worse...
Kyle shook the memories awake for now. He continued to observe his Mr. Handy robots, he originally programmed them to help him as farmhands, but he recently had them begin doing lumber duty. A process of cutting down, harvesting, and replanting trees. He was charitable, giving excess firewood to many in the settlement. Not even priced, no one could ever have enough firewood in the winter.
He heard footsteps running down his dirt paved path. He saw the man, he was the local town priest. The man as Caucasian, around his mid 60's, and was balding. He was dressed in his typical black sermon robes. His hair was matted, and his eyes were wild- Like he had seen a Deathclaw eat a man for supper. He was yelled. "Come! Come quick! We need your help!"
He tilted his hart upwards. "What do you need Father?" He asked, watching the fear-paralyzed expression on his face.
The Priest would choke out the words. "...The Washington Brotherhood are here.. They want the payment..."
Kyle was met with both a searing flame of anger, and a equally extinguishing fear. "We agreed that our payment was on the 7th, we'd have the Scrap by then.." Kyle did not just have a couple old Mr. Handy robots, he had about two dozen Protectrons, whose he had conducting salvage operations in the lower hillside, where many old metal structures existed, ripe for disassembly. About two years before, the settlement had first came into contact with the Washington Brotherhood fighting the Cause Partisans. They claimed we were within their territory, and that they wanted a large cut of the scrap. Naturally the answer was no, until they came with ten men in T-51 with laser rifles. and forced a deal.
"Can't we tell them to wait?" He asked, a string of nervous sweat trickled down his forehead.
"You want to ask? Fine by me, don't be surprised if your the next person to get an explosive collar. And sent North to Seattle."
Kyle lowered his head, accepting defeat. "Tell them I'll have payment by Tonight, I'll get the supplies."
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Nevada
Goodsprings, Mojave
Sunny Smiles sat at the porch of the local Prospector Saloon. Cheyenne laid at her feet. The town had become ghostly after the NCR's 2nd victory at Hoover Dam. And a good portion of the inhabitants moved on. Though a few stayed, Doc Mitchell sat next to her, drinking a Sunset Sarsaparilla. In his words he was "Taking it Easy, like Easy-Pete used to." A couple others were around also, Chet, Trudy, and the robot who called himself "Victor".
Business was good, she was lucky to still be young. She could pay off the taxes the NCR had on the town. Hunting Geckos, Coyotes, and anything that brought in either meat to be cooked up for the Saloon, or good hide that could be sold off to Chet. It was a easier like than that of the many older inhabitants of the town, who were chased off when they could not pay the taxes. Except for Doc Mitchell, he was a special case. The local NCR troops garrisoned in the town looked the other way, in exchange for usage of the Doc's medical expertise.
The NCR had a small squad of troopers as a garrison force within the town, using the old schoolhouse as a barracks and operating center. They helped guard the route to Vegas. The roads were mostly safe, but one could never be too careful, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to hit a couple bandits, or even a small band of Ex-Powder Gangers, ambushing lightly protected Caravans with Dynamite, then stealing all they could carry. Their impact on trade however, was minimal compared to the amount of material sent down the roads to Vegas. The NCR even began building a primitive railroad system which stemmed from Shady Sands right into the Mojave, which they expect to be finished by 2289.
Sunny Smiles listened to the radio, rubbing Cheyennes head as she closed her eyes.
"Play the guitar, play it again, my Johnny
Maybe you're cold but you're so warm inside
I was always a fool for my Johnny
For the one they call Johnny Guitar
Play it again, Johnny Guitar"
She felt as if her potential was being wasted now that the town was safe. There was little to do but to sit on the Saloon porch, hunt the occasional critter, and watch traders and NCR patrols pass. "Hey Doc." Mitchell looked over at her. "Hmm?" He mumbled. "I might travel west, see if there's any work in California. You gonna be fine without me Doc?" Mitchell looked up. "Go, do what you wish to do in life, I learned life was too short long ago."
"What if you go, what if you stay, I love you
But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I know
There was never a man like my Johnny
Like the one they call Johnny Guitar"
She sat up, Cheyenne getting up with her. "You sure old-timer?" Doc nodded slowly, not saying a word, had had grown old and more fragile with age. "Alright. You, Trudy, and Chet better hold down the fort." She said jokingly, heading inside where she had her gear stowed on a booth seat, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway.
"There was never a man like my Johnny
Like the one they call Johnny Guitar
Play it again, Johnny Guitar "
07:00, January 3, 2287
Oregon, North-Western USA
Brookings, Curry County
Ranger Julia looked out over the great Northern Expanse. Her numb cold-stricken fingers gripping her Assault-Carbine. "God, I'd have done anything to stay in the Mojave if I knew this would be my new posting." She muttered to herself, teeth chattering as she spoke.
She gazed at the white blanket covering the vast hills and mountains to her right, and the icy coastline to her left. She, along with the entirety of the 2nd Ranger Battalion was posted for recon, and support duty on the edges of California's northernmost border. Naturally she would not care, the pay was good and she'd do anything for her country. But she couldn't help herself but to think why else would they be posted there except to spearhead another lengthy campaign.
They had narrowly secured a second victory at Hoover Dam against the Legion. The Victory, like the last one, incredibly costly. Many young troopers laid down their lives so that the Dam could be held, for the Tyrant Caesar to have his brains litter his tent. And for the Legion to finally be routed from the fort. The only good to come out of the Pyrrhic victory was the breakdown of the Legion. Post battle of the Dam, with Caesar and most of his influential legates killed. The Legion collapsed inward on itself, with many of the absorbed tribes within its ranks deserting its armies, the many slaves revolting against their captors. Nothing of the Legion existed but the Denarius coins it used to use as currency. It pleased her the Scourge that had killed her brother hath been put to rest.
She continued to watch over the whitened wasteland, rubbing her chin. Her Radio crackled, "Ranger Julia?" She looked down at her HAM Radio she had, half buried in the snow drift. She answered the call. "Ranger Julia, Watch Post Blackburn reporting." The Radio kept to static for a few seconds before anyone answered her. "Copy Ranger, we have unconfirmed reports by Watch Post Delta that T-45 suited unknowns are traveling atop the coastal ice sheet. Can you confirm, Over." She would grab binoculars hanging off her neck. She began to search the ice sheet for movement.
She spotted it, four figures in T-45 Power armor, she tried to search them for markings She found Red and Black Brotherhood markings, it seemed different than the Mojave or the Western Brotherhood, perhaps another chapter, she mused. "Can Confirm HQ, Markings appear to be Brotherhood. Over."
There was a long pause on the radio, before they responded again. "Are you sure Ranger?" She rechecked the markings on the T-45 as they kept walking away. "Not a doubt in my mind."
The static came again for another half dozen seconds, before an answer was given. "Acknowledged, new orders from CO. Tail Brotherhood soldiers, and identify weather they are the Western, or some new Chapter entirely."
"Copy, Over and Out." She hung up her Radio.
She tightened her winter coat, storing what equipment she had in her backpack, satchel and any pockets she could fit an item in. Saying a silent prayer, if she was go follow this new Brotherhood North, she could only pray for an end to the Nuclear Winter.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oregon
Madras, Jefferson County
Kyle Bell sat back in his rocking chair, gazing over his field of crops. While he was not old just reaching his late 50's, he felt the part. He had been a decedent of a Navarro Veteran, he and his family had been able to integrate with the NCR for a time. At least until, a half decade ago. Rumors and general suspicion, perhaps a rat, had given the NCR information of their family history. And later in the afternoon, a squad of NCR Rangers had broken down the door. He had enough time to hide in the closet, but his parents were not lucky, they were kidnapped. Likely they were put on a show trial- Executed, or worse...
Kyle shook the memories awake for now. He continued to observe his Mr. Handy robots, he originally programmed them to help him as farmhands, but he recently had them begin doing lumber duty. A process of cutting down, harvesting, and replanting trees. He was charitable, giving excess firewood to many in the settlement. Not even priced, no one could ever have enough firewood in the winter.
He heard footsteps running down his dirt paved path. He saw the man, he was the local town priest. The man as Caucasian, around his mid 60's, and was balding. He was dressed in his typical black sermon robes. His hair was matted, and his eyes were wild- Like he had seen a Deathclaw eat a man for supper. He was yelled. "Come! Come quick! We need your help!"
He tilted his hart upwards. "What do you need Father?" He asked, watching the fear-paralyzed expression on his face.
The Priest would choke out the words. "...The Washington Brotherhood are here.. They want the payment..."
Kyle was met with both a searing flame of anger, and a equally extinguishing fear. "We agreed that our payment was on the 7th, we'd have the Scrap by then.." Kyle did not just have a couple old Mr. Handy robots, he had about two dozen Protectrons, whose he had conducting salvage operations in the lower hillside, where many old metal structures existed, ripe for disassembly. About two years before, the settlement had first came into contact with the Washington Brotherhood fighting the Cause Partisans. They claimed we were within their territory, and that they wanted a large cut of the scrap. Naturally the answer was no, until they came with ten men in T-51 with laser rifles. and forced a deal.
"Can't we tell them to wait?" He asked, a string of nervous sweat trickled down his forehead.
"You want to ask? Fine by me, don't be surprised if your the next person to get an explosive collar. And sent North to Seattle."
Kyle lowered his head, accepting defeat. "Tell them I'll have payment by Tonight, I'll get the supplies."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nevada
Goodsprings, Mojave
Sunny Smiles sat at the porch of the local Prospector Saloon. Cheyenne laid at her feet. The town had become ghostly after the NCR's 2nd victory at Hoover Dam. And a good portion of the inhabitants moved on. Though a few stayed, Doc Mitchell sat next to her, drinking a Sunset Sarsaparilla. In his words he was "Taking it Easy, like Easy-Pete used to." A couple others were around also, Chet, Trudy, and the robot who called himself "Victor".
Business was good, she was lucky to still be young. She could pay off the taxes the NCR had on the town. Hunting Geckos, Coyotes, and anything that brought in either meat to be cooked up for the Saloon, or good hide that could be sold off to Chet. It was a easier like than that of the many older inhabitants of the town, who were chased off when they could not pay the taxes. Except for Doc Mitchell, he was a special case. The local NCR troops garrisoned in the town looked the other way, in exchange for usage of the Doc's medical expertise.
The NCR had a small squad of troopers as a garrison force within the town, using the old schoolhouse as a barracks and operating center. They helped guard the route to Vegas. The roads were mostly safe, but one could never be too careful, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary to hit a couple bandits, or even a small band of Ex-Powder Gangers, ambushing lightly protected Caravans with Dynamite, then stealing all they could carry. Their impact on trade however, was minimal compared to the amount of material sent down the roads to Vegas. The NCR even began building a primitive railroad system which stemmed from Shady Sands right into the Mojave, which they expect to be finished by 2289.
Sunny Smiles listened to the radio, rubbing Cheyennes head as she closed her eyes.
"Play the guitar, play it again, my Johnny
Maybe you're cold but you're so warm inside
I was always a fool for my Johnny
For the one they call Johnny Guitar
Play it again, Johnny Guitar"
She felt as if her potential was being wasted now that the town was safe. There was little to do but to sit on the Saloon porch, hunt the occasional critter, and watch traders and NCR patrols pass. "Hey Doc." Mitchell looked over at her. "Hmm?" He mumbled. "I might travel west, see if there's any work in California. You gonna be fine without me Doc?" Mitchell looked up. "Go, do what you wish to do in life, I learned life was too short long ago."
"What if you go, what if you stay, I love you
But if you're cruel, you can be kind, I know
There was never a man like my Johnny
Like the one they call Johnny Guitar"
She sat up, Cheyenne getting up with her. "You sure old-timer?" Doc nodded slowly, not saying a word, had had grown old and more fragile with age. "Alright. You, Trudy, and Chet better hold down the fort." She said jokingly, heading inside where she had her gear stowed on a booth seat, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway.
"There was never a man like my Johnny
Like the one they call Johnny Guitar
Play it again, Johnny Guitar "