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A Special Request; Hagan's 3rd adventure (solo)
Topic Started: Aug 28 2009, 11:29 PM (241 Views)
Munk
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One-Man Conga Line
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Hagan was still smiles and laughter as he approached the center of town. The bulls-eye he had been at just yesterday was still standing and several teenagers were throwing darts at it. He reached to his belt and touched his new tomahawk, proud of his newest prize. Hagan briefly considered showing the kids how to really toss a dart, but instead decided to visit an old friend, one who would love to hear Hagan’s newest adventure.

The large tent was located on the east end of town, far from the fracas of the taverns and shops. It was made of thick brown, burlap canvas and windows were cut crudely into the fabric. Hagan walked in and was refreshed by a cool breeze that came from the left corner of the tent. Hagan’s interest was peaked and he touched the device. It was a old pre-war fan and it was running on two microfusion cells. Hagan studied the invention until he heard his friend’s voice speak up behind him, it was just how he remembered it, rough and deep, with a texas accent thick as road tar.

“Hagan! You toothy sonova bitch! How are ya?”

Hagan turned to face the voice and smiled again at his friend. His now-white hair was still thick on his head but he walked with a slight hump in his back. He wore an old gray sweatshirt, blue jeans and scavenged flip flops. Young in spirit, old in body fit him to a tee. Hagan was anxious to recall his recent brush with death, so he wasted no time.

“Cyrus. Good to see you, buddy. Sit on your ass and grab a drink, I got a hell of a story for ya.”

They sat in the tent in twin lawn chairs with a table between them. Cyrus went to the liquor cabinet and brought out a large bottle of Vodka and two shot glasses. He sat down in the chair next to Hagan with a groan. He put the vodka bottle into his lap and tried to twist the cork open. He struggled for 2 minutes before handing the bottle to Hagan.

“Open this, would ya? Doc says I got the arthritis in my hands.”

Hagan took the bottle. It wasn’t any fun watching Cyrus get old. Hagan remembered traveling the wasteland with Cyrus many years ago. He was young then but time has taken it’s toll. His brittle bones were wasting away and he was having trouble keeping food down. Hagan had watched many of his friends age and die, but he may miss Cyrus the most. Living forever had it’s downsides, too.

Hagan twisted the cork easily from the neck of the bottle and poured two shots. Cyrus took his and turned it bottom up, drinking it all in one smooth motion, then he signaled for Hagan to pour another. Hagan chuckled and obliged. Then he retold his story from this morning, about the skinny man and the empty guns. Cyrus listened with full attention.

When Hagan had finished Cyrus laughed. “That’s a great story there. It reminds me of those sisters we met at the old aquarium. Remember them? Ha-ha! That was one helluva time!” Hagan did indeed remember them and he laughed with Cyrus for several minutes. Suddenly Cyrus turned serious. He looked at Hagan and stopped laughing.

“Hagan, I got to level with you. I’m glad you came by because my daughter is coming into town. She’s traveling with a caravan heading west. They are going to stop at an old railroad crossing about 20 miles northwest of here. They’ll stay there for one night then leave. She needs someone to lead her back to town. I’d do it myself but these old bones wouldn’t get me 10 feet out there. Listen Hagan, if I knew anyone else, I’d ask them, but I don’t. I need your help, from one old friend to another.”

Hagan felt sorry for Cyrus. He had saved Hagan’s skin more than he cared to remember. After 14 years of traveling and shooting, Hagan felt truly honored to help his friend. He gave Cyrus the good news.

“Hell, Cyrus what kind of person would I be if I said no? Sure I’ll get your daughter for you. I haven’t seen her since she was tall as a grasshopper’s knee.”

“Great! Thank you so much, buddy. I got a reward for ya when you get back.” Cyrus pushed Hagan toward the door. “Remember 20 miles Northwest. Old Railroad crossing. She’ll be wearing black jeans and an old Nuka-Cola tee-shirt. Be careful with her, Hagan. She’s the only family I got left. Besides you, ya ornery bastard.”

Hagan was already shoved out the cloth flap that acted as a door and into the hot desert. He positioned himself the best he could and trudged northwest, hoping to reach the railroad crossing before nightfall.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Hagan had been walking for two and half hours, he was tired, hungry and his feet were sore as dogs. He was unsure whether to keep marching or not. If he walked non-stop he could reach the railroad crossing in roughly five hours, well before nightfall. If he stopped he’d be cutting it close. Cyrus had said the caravan would stay overnight at the railroad crossing, but he didn’t want to be out in the wasteland alone when the sun set. Hagan made a quick check of the sun and guessed it was about two in the afternoon, seven hours till dusk. Long enough for one quick hunt.

He started the hunt like he always did, walking to landmarks and counting the paces. Using an old hubcap as a makeshift hunting stool, he placed himself behind a large shrub facing east . With the sun behind him any animals coming toward his stand would be blinded. Hagan had made mud with a puddle of gray water he’d found and was using it as camoflauge and a scent cover. He enjoyed the tingle of the rads sinking into his skin and felt invigorated. Watching with fervent attention, he made a quick glace northwest and thought about the last time he had seen Cyrus‘ little girl.

A sound snapped him back into reality, a deep heavy breathing. He returned his attention ahead of him looking hard for any sign of movement. He heard it again, this time much closer. He suddenly recognized the sound with horror. It was too late, the creature had seen him and was charging quick as a bolt toward Hagan’s hunting spot. It’s hooves kicked up dirt and rocks and Hagan grabbed his shotgun. Standing up and firing from the hip, Hagan felt the heavy kick of the gun and blood gushed as the creature’s thick left shoulder received a healthy dose of buckshot. The beast was too close for another shot so Hagan reached to his belt and grabbed his new Tomahawk. He brought it over his shoulder and above his head. He flung it towards the creature with all his might, just as he did to the target yesterday. Hagan watched in alarm was the hatchet flew above the creature’s head and landed harmlessly in the dirt.

“Shit!” Hagan screamed. The animal was a few feet from Hagan now and it threw itself head first into his chest. The air escaped from Hagan’s lungs, and he fell under the weight of the 200 lb animal. The creature bit into Hagan’s forearm with short teeth and strong jaws, shaking it fiercely. Hagan gasped in pain and took his switchblade from his belt. He flipped it open and rolling with the creatures violent shakes, stabbed into the beast’s huge belly. The animal snorted and bit harder, Hagan felt the hot raspy breath on his skin and the deep teeth wounds that threatened to tear his arm apart. Screaming curse words and stabbing furiously into the beast, Hagan was unsure whether he’d live through this or not.

Hagan was starting to get woozy from all the shaking. He decided that if he was going to die, so was this smelly bastard. Putting all his strength into his thrust, he stabbed deep behind the animals front legs and dragged his switchblade through the beast’s thick hide and to the hind legs. Blood sprayed in messy waterfalls through the wound, and intestines fell onto Hagan wet and steaming. The disgusting creature released Hagan’s arm and fell into the dirt kicking it’s legs and breathing slowly. Hagan crawled away from it and grabbed his forearm. Nothing to serious but it hurt like holy hell. Too sore to deliver the deathblow Hagan watched the pathetic monster snort and die.

Hagan took a minute to inspect himself and patch his wounds before gutting and skinning the corpse. It was a feral pig, big and nasty. The radiation had turned it’s skin into a gnarled pink mash of bumps and moles. Course hair ran down the center of it’s back and it’s tusks had grown very large and hard. It’s hooves were hard as rock and covered in grime and shit. Hagan hated these things, but the meat has good.

After the body was skinned and food had been taken, he started to walk Northwest again, chewing on a raw piece of side meat. His arm was still sore as a dime-store hooker but it was bearable and he could still fire his shotgun. He made a mental note, as he picked up the hatchet from the dirt, never to throw it again, it was stupid of him and it had left Hagan unarmed. He still had a few hours before night-fall but he picked up the pace, he didn’t want to meet another one those ugly bastards in the dark.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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The railroad crossing was actually the ruins of a destroyed brick-wall train boarding station. It was small and burnt-out; the inside was covered in char and soot. A busted soda machine was lying on its side and this is where Hagan chose to sit. He’d been walking for six hours now and he soon fell into a light sleep. He dreamed about his past life again. He wished that just once he could a fun irreverent dream like other people, where the grass was blue and pigs ran hot dog stands. They were stupid, senseless dreams but they were better than dreaming about death and the wasteland like Hagan did every night.

The stars were out and Hagan could see the shimmers through the gaping holes in the roof. His eyes opened slowly and he could hear people talking around him. “The caravan” he thought. Amazing that some people still trusted others enough to set up a caravan around a potentially deadly stranger sleeping on a soda machine. Hagan’s sudden boost of confidence in these strangers was shattered when he opened his eyes and found himself staring down the barrel of an assault rifle.

“Who are you?” The man asked

“My name is Hagan. I wish no harm, I’m only here to pick someone up and do some shopping.” Hagan said to the barrel not wanting to make eye-contact with the person holding the rifle.

“Fine, but we stick together here. You steal, kill, fight or piss on the dog and we’ll slaughter you, fucker. This is your first and last warning.” The rifle barrel disappeared from Hagan’s face and the man turned around and walked away.

“Tough crowd” Hagan said and stood up from his uncomfortable nap, stretching his arms above his head and hearing the joints in his knees crack. He sighed and looked around him. Several small fires had been built and some people had tents, though most had sleeping bags and backpacks. Hagan didn’t know where Cyrus’ daughter was so he decided to walk around checking each camp. He attracted many looks, some disgusted and some merely curious.

He noticed a large cache of weapons and, seeing a nice SKS carbine on display, he stopped. A small pup tent was set-up near a fire pit. The fire was out but embers still burned, so Hagan figured whoever was inside would still be awake.

“Hello? I’d like to buy this carbine.”

“Shop’s closed hun. Come back in the morning.” A gentle voice called from the tent, a female voice. One that Hagan recognized.

“Please, ma’am? I just want to buy it quick.” Hagan said, trying to coax the woman from the tent.

“Fine.” She sighed “Stay there, I’ll be out.” Hagan heard the zipper of the tent, and out stepped a young women in her twenties, with blonde hair cut close to her neck in a bob, she was very skinny and flat chested, no curves. She was certainly a woman though, as her beauty left no doubt in Hagan’s mind. She was wearing a faded red Nuka-Cola tee, just like Cyrus had said.

“Little Laura Loo.” Hagan chortled, “How have you been?”

“Hagan?” Laura answered “Is that you?” She started to come toward Hagan, inspecting him. “It is you!” she shouted and ran toward Hagan throwing her arms around his thick neck, embracing him tight. “I haven’t seen you in years! How are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m fine.” he said and pulled her arms from him. “And I’m here to take you back to Bucket Town. I’m your body guard I guess you could say.”

“My dad send you after me?”

“Yeah, he sure enough did.”

“That wrinkled old snake.” she muttered “I told him I could get there myself. I’m a big girl. I sell guns for Christ’s sake, I’m not short of ammunition either. I got all the protection I need.”

“Now, calm down, he was just worried. He was always worried about you. Besides it’ll be good to catch up after all these years.”

“I guess your right.” Laura resolved. “But couldn’t he have sent someone with better aim?” She smiled and punched Hagan’s arm lightly.

“You outshoot me one time, and I never hear the end of it.” Hagan found the memory fond, and he smiled as well.

She laughed and told him to wait. He watched quietly as she packed up her tent and put the guns into a long wooden box. “You wanna leave now? It’s still dark, girl” Hagan asked

“What? Scared without your night-light?”

Hagan couldn’t help but chuckle; those years away had turned Lauren’s wits sharp as a tack. She approached Hagan with the tent and her sleeping bag stuffed into a duffel bag on her back. She heaved the gun box into Hagan‘s arms, it was heavy but Hagan could lug it around easy enough.

She was already weaving her way through the merchants and tents toward the exit. “Just like her father.” Hagan said and rushed to catch up with the impetuous girl before she left him standing alone. It was going to be a long walk back to Bucket Town.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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The night was cold; a stark contrast to the wasteland’s heat during the day. Hagan shivered and zipped up his jacket. Laura walked quickly in front of him, her long legs taking her along at an easy pace. Hagan walked calmly behind her, carrying the long wooden box with both arms. It hurt his arm a liitle, which was sore but he tried to stay positve and asked her a question to forget his pain.

“So you sell firearms now? How’d that happen?”

“I just fell into it, really. I’ve loved guns since I was little, so I learned to repair them. The people in the caravan would give me their weapons to repair. Sometimes they died before it was finished and I was left with the gun. When I got low on cash I’d sell it, and I guess I just got used to it.”

“That sounds like good business.”

“It is. I get lots of trade-ins and such, and that gives me more to sell. Makes business easy.”

“Oh.” Hagan looked into the box we was lugging around. A few rifles, two shotguns and several handguns laid stacked on top of each other. It was an impressive collection for a wasteland merchant. Hagan wondered what she was going to do when she got back to Bucket Town. He decided to ask her.

“Hunters always need guns and ammo." Laura explained. "Most of them travel with the animals so they get to different towns and settlements. I can repair their weapons, sell them munitions, and get them a new rifle if they want it. They bring me new guns for my inventory on a regular basis and I might even give ’em a discount.”

“That sounds like a damn good plan, little lady.”

“Thanks. I’ve been trying to increase sales for my pa. Keep up with his medical bills, you know.”

“Yeah. The old bastard is getting on in years, but he don’t need a goddamn babysitter yet. Let him keep his freedom.”

“Trust me, I couldn’t keep the bastard down if -” Laura stopped in the middle of her sentence and shushed Hagan, she crouched and motioned for him to do the same. “I heard something.” She whispered. “Someone talking, over the ridge, getting closer.”

Hagan barely understood. He was crouched with her behind a rock, and he had set the gun crate onto the ground. She peeked around the corner and came back asking for Hagan to hand her the scoped rifle from the bottom of the crate. It was a bolt-action in decent shape, but the scope wiggled a little on it's mount. She took the rifle in her and a single cartridge from her pocket, loading it into the chamber. She popped out from the rock and stood for a moment aiming the scope.

“BANG!”

A single rifle shot burst the night air, and Laura came back to the rock. Soon more gunshots were ricocheting against the boulder. It sounded like a giant thunderstorm. Laura said something then laughed. Hagan couldn’t hear her, he shouted over the gunfire.

“What?!”

“Raiders!” She shouted to him. “I sniped one! Popped his head like a watermelon!” She laughed. “They know where we are now!”

Hagan cursed under his breath and peeked his eye around the rock. Three raiders were firing on their position. Two had semi-auto handguns, the other a lever rifle. They shot bullets into Laura’s and Hagan’s cover, riddling the rock with lead but it held strong. Hagan began to aim him shotgun and fired one shell, it missed the raiders completely and he loaded another. One shot and a raider went down, she wasn’t dead; Hagan could see her struggling to pick her weapon back up. Hagan ducked back into cover and Laura went out aiming the hunting rifle she still held. Bullets whizzed around her but she stood strong, firing three aimed shots one after the other. It made Hagan realize how battle-hardened she was and that she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

The massive barrage of noise and lead stopped and Hagan stood up. The raiders were gone. Three of the bodies lay on the ground 50 yards away and Laura strode toward them. Hagan walked with her, footprints in the dirt headed west indicating that the last raider must have run off. She bent over each body and told Hagan.

“I just want the guns and the ammo, you can have what is left on the bodies.” She took three guns from the corpses and a few boxes of ammunition, dropping it all into the wooden crate Hagan was carrying again. He then looted the bodies for anything else that may be useful.

Laura was ready to go again. Hagan marched behind her, passing the headless corpse of the raider Laura had sniped. “She's as crazy as her father was.” He thought.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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The walk to Bucket Town seemed shorter now that Laura wouldn’t stop yapping. She asked questions about things Hagan didn’t even remember, though he did his best to answer the queries. Soon the sun began to rise and Bucket Town was in sight. Laura exclaimed and ran for the town. Hagan ran too, but much slower, still trying to balance the crate in his sore arms and not to fall onto his face. When he got to Cyrus’ tent, he saw that Cyrus and Laura were already hugging and talking. Apparently woken from sleep, Cyrus came over to Hagan.

“You did it, you magnificent bastard! Thank you, so much.”

“It’s no problem, Cy. I liked catching up with her. She’s certainly your daughter.” He smiled.

“She’s worse than I ever was.”

Hagan laughed and Laura took the crate from him, taking it inside the tent.

“Thanks again.” Cyrus said. “Here’s your reward that me and Laura decided on. I’m going to go talk to her. It’s been 5 years and I’m sure she has a lot to gab about.”

Hagan took the reward and watched Cyrus go back into the tent. Hagan was grateful, glad to help his friend. It was fun catching up but now Hagan needed a place to sleep.

“Maybe a quick drink first.” He thought.
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Munk
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((OOC: A little short but finished and ready for grading. :) ))
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40
Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC)
Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans
Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides

Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50
Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle)
Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC)
Currency: 0


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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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I suppose Laura repaid you with a little work on your shotgun.

Quote:
 
Special reward!
Your standard homemade shotgun is now in great condition. It's more accurate, loads smoother, and is less likely to malfunction. It also fetches a higher price at auction! Add a (Good condition) tag next to your weapon, and let it be known to the world.
+25 Karma
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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