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The Last Three Miles; Otriad is in sight, but it's not all
Topic Started: Sep 27 2016, 11:01 PM (148 Views)
FallenSanity
Member Avatar
I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The travels south of the ruins of Waco had been much the same as the travels to them in the first place. Miles of empty busted road, ever increasing layers of desert encroaching onto the savannah and bushland, with the occasional ruined town or car pileup rounding off the typical sights of this long highway. The occasional interchange or small town proved to be of little value to the Madsnake, as nothing in its own right signified that where he was came with value. He still saw the rare sign, telling him how far the town of Otriad was, but the paint was not fresh and it was faded - how closely could he rely on it? Was he just marching to a dust lot?

Break down!

The Madsnake barely even noticed as his surroundings, very slowly, started to build up into something more than a wasteland. He could see sweeping parking lots to the left, and random houses dotted around to the right of the highway, and more than that, a massive makeshift gateway further ahead, standing proud and alone, with a massive semi-trailer positioned just to its right. In huge red writing, that looked as fresh as the day itself, the Madsnake could read ‘Otriad - Just three miles east!’ It was a shocking feeling, to know you were so close to your goal, but more than that existed. It was fresh paint, and that meant that the area was not only inhabited, but blooming. The Madsnake sighed to himself, as he walked through the gate, content with knowing that he could soon relax himself. It had been nearly a day since he walked out of Waco, and he’d had no rest in that time. His gut was roaring, and his mind was twisting, and he needed to stop.

In a small gap, from the gate to the Madsnake, the ruins of this city built up. Old stores and houses built up on the right of the highway, while on the left the road dipped off, feeding into the smaller suburbs that dwindled not far away from the major road. Broken down cars and trucks still littered the road, but they were in many cases pushed off of the highway, unlike what it had been like all the way back to Waco and beyond, where cars had crossed into the road and blocked paths. Now, they had been pushed away to make travel easier likely for caravan merchants, though the larger trucks still blocked some areas from travel. It was just another good sign of inhabitants nearby, and the need to keep things in fine condition.

Oh yay, more people for you to freak out and hunger over? You’re gonna love it here, hm? Gonna set up a nice dumb little house, or are you just gonna linger, do what benefits you, and then make your way out? Does it even matter?

Worthless scum!


The ruins dotted either side of the road along with the bushland and savannah that were engulfing them, but the Madsnake could still see some surprising things in the distance. A water tower was, somehow, still standing far to the west, while a huge grain elevator stood, in ruins, to the southeast. As the road slowly dipped down into the city, the Madsnake could see the growing field of bushes and trees, turning the ruins into this beautiful, ever flowing mixture of urban and natural. Even as some of the road bridged over a small river, plants were growing over them, and only a thin, man-sized gap was left, made by travellers who picked their roads carefully. Beyond that, the city continued to surprise the Madsnake, as yet more well-standing ruins could be soon, some looking almost entirely untouched, and instead decrepit and ignored, left to rot rather than ruin. To the west, there was even an old servicing station, cars all sitting on busted rims, but none all that worse for wear aside from rust, while the station itself was still in decent enough condition. Only as he walked a little bit further did it click in the Madsnake’s head that none of this was, necessarily, good.

Just ahead, crossing over the wasted highway, a beast as terrifying as the worst sorts of nightmares stomped its way through life, it’s long, sharp claws all held down together, pointed at the ground. It’s huge, curved horns pointed forward with its eyes, while a massive mouth of teeth held itself closed, as the Deathclaw sniffed the air for its next hunt. The Madsnake slowly snuck over to the bushes in the midst of the highways lanes, sinking down into them, and watching as the monster continued on its hunt. The Madsnake had seen Deathclaws before, but this one was easily the biggest, with enough scars and muscle to freak out the most veteran of ghouls or Paladins. He chose to keep low, watching close but following from a great distance.

Fucking coward!

Just gonna sit by and let it wander around? C’mon, remember when you would’ve taunted a monster like that? Funny that you even call it a monster, it’s just surviving, why do you kill people huh? Think you’re justified in your actions?

Grisly creep!

Fuck off!

Don’t worry Daniel, just keep slithering around and maybe it’ll leave you alone, I mean are you really worth its time? A few big steps and an easy swing, you’re not some big game prize, and you’re not much of a meal, are you? You’ll die like everyone else.
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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FallenSanity
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I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Worthless cunt!

The Madsnake trailed after the horrid mutant, a beast made by the hands of man, and intended as tools of war. To think that something like this was thought up by a human mind just made the Great War a little bit more comprehensible. Each massive, clawed foot had the earth shaking beneath it, carrying two tonnes of weight across the wasteland and possibly even more. The lumbering bane of so many was as muscular as you’d expect, and boasted a gut showing that it didn’t have a very hard time surviving around these parts. When the Madsnake peered around, given the chance to, he could really see just how much nature had worked to take this land back.

The trees, the bushes, they were one thing. Critters and creatures were another, and the Madsnake could see all sorts. Before he had seen only the rusted out cars in their station, but now he could see overgrown roaches and flies wandering around them, crawling out from beneath and flittering in and out of the bushes, while further ahead and down the road he could see a fight going on, between what looked like a massive cat and some oversized ants. The whole thing was an utter horror to consider, because these were only the things the Madsnake could see, and he didn’t exactly have 20/20 vision. Whatever else was out here, causing a mess, it was a thing to worry about.

Not scared, are you? I hope not, as long as you don’t mess with them you should be fine, right? They’re just hunters after all, right, needing to eat and prolong their lives, not play and toy with their food like a certain someone, hm?

Fucking murderer!


The Madsnake was thrown back to the situation when he heard the low growl of the Deathclaw, the monster hunting for its next meal, as it stomped up the highway exit towards the shells of human civilisation. It could clearly smell something; it’s arms were spread outwards just that little bit, and it moved faster as it closed in on some unknown target. The Madsnake stuck to the concrete barriers on the side of the highway, in view of the mighty monster but far enough that it had no traces of the lingering human. As the Deathclaw moved in on its unknown target, his follower hung close, as if he was a shadow to the mutant lizard, lost in the intrigue of being able to watch such a creature that would otherwise be impossible to see in this sort of temperament. The Madsnake lay low, almost on his belly once he and the savage critter were up and off of the highway ramp, staring up at something the Madsnake had never seen before.

A Red Rocket Super-Duper Mart joint location. A huge carpark would be seen, with a few busted vehicles scattered around, forming a sort of semi-circle facing outwards, which slowly turned into it’s own Red Rocket gas station. However, where the filling station would end, it instead blossomed into a huge mall, as a Super Duper mart swept across the rest of the block, and perhaps further. The Madsnake couldn’t see the back of it from his location, but he was able to make out, just barely, a few sandbags set up on top of the rusted out cars. He dropped to his belly proper, and crawled into the bushes off of the road, where he remained, motionless.

The Deathclaw, clinking its claws together in some sort of threatening motion of dominance, didn’t seem to care about what it saw; it cared only about what it could smell. The monster dived further into the ruins of mankind's hubris, stepping on top of one of the cars in its path, its huge feet denting the rusted out hood, before stepping over and off, lurking in the shadows as it stuck its head everywhere it could. It’s hopeful meal was near, and when it was found it would be devoured, regardless of anything. The beastly giant pressed one huge clawed palm against a window, as it got down on its other hand, and sniffed at the floor. Tracks, traces of bloodied meat, fresh and tasty to the sensations. The Deathclaw pushed its way into the Super Duper mart, and what happened next shifted the tone more violently than the Madsnake could have expected.

A choir of havoc ridden, coarse and explosive barks filled the area, and the Deathclaw was pushed out when a pack of five huge, fierce seeming dogs lunged at the beast, their smaller bodies colliding with its own. The Deathclaw grabbed one, and threw it nearly ten feet away, causing it to yelp and roll, before bounding back into the fray. The Madsnake stayed down, eyes wide, as he watched what might have been one of the most intense fights he’d ever laid witness to. Claws and teeth met with a hide thick enough to deter the mightiest bullets, and they were winning, as the horrid incarnation was forced to step back and out into the carparking area. By the time it turned back to fight however, it was well aware and ready to fight - it just needed more space.

In its first swing, bringing a mighty clawed hand down, it struck its target. Four razor sharp claws tore through the canines hide, splitting it open and sending it across the tarmac, while three other dogs leapt up to dig their teeth into the brutes mighty arm. At that very same time, from seemingly nowhere, a gunshot met the roars and the snarls, and the Deathclaw was forced to recoil by a bullet colliding with its head. Two more shots and the beast staggered again, before finally a fourth shot. This time, the Deathclaw was not hit, but that’s because it wasn’t the target. A few feet away, a mine went off, and the scaled monster was crippled. The dogs hounded it down, as bullets peppered its hide, and the Deathclaw decided it was, perhaps, the time now to flee.

As it headed back the way it had come, a whistle could be heard, and the dogs rushed back into the mart. The Deathclaw lingered, lumbering away as it tended to its wounds. It looked over its shoulder, snarling to itself, before heading back out and into the highways own dangers. The Madsnake rose, moving towards the carpark carefully. Covered in dirt and looking like the most typical wastelander you could ever meet, he knew exactly what to do.

“Hello? Did you scare off that Deathclaw? You… you saved my life.”

The doors to the Super Duper mart were burst open, and three men came out, one taking a knee with his sights set firmly on the Madsnake, while another stood just behind him, his gun raised just the same. The third was calmer, but had a gruff and vengeful face. He wore a thick windbreaker, dull green, and had a gas mask hanging from his neck. His hair was thick and flowing, with slight curls in it. He was, most assuredly, their leader. He walked over to the Madsnake, his revolver kept in his firm grasp, as he looked over this stranger.

Fuck him!

Kill him!


"We did, huh? Lookin' like that, I can't see how you're much of a meal for some beastie like her."

It's true, isn't it? You're all muscle and no fat, you skinny little bitch, did you really think he'd fall for this? C'mon, you can do better, right?

The Madsnake hesitated, his mind racing, before composing himself again. He told this man a convoluted story, wherein he had been chased by the Deathclaw through the forests on the other side of the highway. Only once he emerged had he managed to hide, but then it came here instead. The man looked uncertain, as if he could see the holes in the story the same way the Madsnake could, but in the end he was convinced. He nodded, and motioned for his men to lower their arms.

"Alright, fine. You look like you're hurt and hungry, so we'll give you some stuff before you leave. I'd offer you a place to rest, but you lead a God damned Deathclaw to us, so I don't feel the need to apologise for not offering you a place to rest."

The Madsnake nodded, as he followed the rather buff and well-off leader of what could have been anything from raiders to militia. They stopped at the door, and he turned around, his dark eyes on the Madsnake.

"Names Fowler. Yours?"

The Madsnake thought for a moment. He wasn't all too great at this sort of thing; most times he gave his proper name, so as to leave his reputation, but these people were no more than a pit stop to him. There was no point in making them possible enemies just yet. He had to think on the spot if he was to get anything helpful like food, medicine, or if he was lucky, rest. He was reminded then of a name from long before, and he grit his teeth hoping Fowler would fall for it.

"I'm Thomas."
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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FallenSanity
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I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The Madsnake was surprised with what he was seeing, within the confines of the walls of the Super Duper mart. Countless, almost endless aisles went on and on further than he could see, with cashiers desks turned into makeshift fortifications, all facing the long, boarded up wall of doors. There were platforms atop the aisles, or those still standing, that formed a catwalk patrolled by guards and soldiers alike. And most importantly, scattered all around the mall, the Madsnake saw junkies, sprawled out and twitching, some freaking out and attacking each other before being knocked back with threats of death and dismemberment. It was it’s own little settlement, but it wasn’t a happy one.

“Welcome to the Super Doping mart, Thomas. Used to be Skeeter’s Doping mart, but uh, well, Skeeter wasn’t very popular with my boys, so now it’s just Super. Don’t uh, don’t go round back. Might be some animals attracted to the area, no clue why.”

Shit stain!

Fowler led the Madsnake through the aisles, and as they went the Madsnake noticed a very undesirable lack of products. There was nothing on any of the shelves, nor the floor. The best you’d get is some of the straw, debris, and miscellaneous garbage that was left behind, but that wasn’t exactly something that interested the sort of people who scavenged in malls such as this one. The best he could see were a few tins, for those who scavenged the metals out of the wasteland. Worryingly, this place looked like it would be the perfect place for raiders. The Madsnake looked at Fowler, quizzically now, as he wondered just who he was walking with.

“Alright, so, we’ll get you some food, some drink, and uh, uh… Maybe some new clothes too, you could use them. You weren’t hurt by the big bastard, right?”

The Madsnake shook his head, peering over Fowler’s shoulder to the back rooms he was leading them to. He could see men lingering at the doors, rifles in their hands, thick armour on their bodies, and most predominantly of all, masks over their mouths and goggles over their eyes. They were gearheads, just like the ones the Madsnake had run into back on the highway, near Waco. He started to hope they weren’t part of the same gang, because if they were, he could be in for a world of hurt. Judging by the lack of vehicles visible in or around the mall, though, he made a safe assumption that he had been fortunate enough to meet a different party of bandits. That made him much more at ease, though not exactly beaming with confidence.

Is this meant to be your heaven? Drugs, murders, raiders? You must be having a field day, all you’d need now is some whores to really fill the quota, hm?

Fowler stopped at the door, turned, and held a hand up at the Madsnake, signalling it was time for him to stop. The Madsnake obeyed, stopping and moving away to one of the aisles, leaning on its end, facing the doorway and relaxing for the first time in a while. He heard all sorts of murmuring, but he couldn’t make out any of it, and he couldn’t deny that it annoyed him. They all muttered, and he couldn’t decipher what was in his head and what wasn’t. He looked up, at the two men who guarded the doorway, and tried to hone in on their conversation.

“What do you mean he looked like a snake?”

The two of them were intimidating-looking fellows. One wore what was, for all intents and purposes, a series of belts and harnesses, with enough armour and random crap attached to make him look like an utter beast; chunks of tire, scrap metal, legitimate body armour, and even cardboard, all linked into one surprisingly good looking outfit. His boots were matching, and he had bandages over both hands, and his gas mask was small, showing off a bald head. He looked bitter, perhaps angry, as he doubted his friends words.

“I swear! They kept saying he was a snake, or somethin’. Kept saying he slithered around, moved faster than anything human they ever knew. And apparently he bit them on the neck!”

The other of the two raiders, who was surprisingly ecstatic about whatever story he was telling, was the shorter of the two, but the stockier. He wore a proper suit of armour, thick jeans and a leather top that looked like a jacket with massive shoulder pads sewn into it. His boots had metal spikes all over them, and two bullet bandoliers made him look more threatening than he really was; he had some sort of custom assault rifle, but it didn’t look like it could manage to fire even one bullet, let alone the amount he was showing off. His goggles were rusted and dusty, and his helmet hid the messy black hair underneath.

“So, the scouts from Leo’s said that some random waster or junker, took out, like, four of them? No problem? Sure they didn’t just wanna look like shit, so they made the guy sound like some strung up badass?”

Talking about you, d’you hear that? Isn’t that lovely? You’re getting a little reputation, you’re turning yourself into a typical mass criminal, huh? How can someone say you’re insane now?

The shorter of the two groaned, slumping his shoulders and holstering his rifle over his back, the strap running across his chest and resembling the kind people used to use for guitars. He gestured with his hands, which had thick dark gloves on each of them, with what looked like blood stains all over the fingers.

“Nah man, it’s not like that! One of their boys had his throat stabbed in, like, it was a direct hit in the middle of his throat! Nother one had his gun fuckin’ blow up in his hands! Seriously, this guy is some messed up mystical dude. The other two he bashed one dude’s skull in, and busted the other one so badly he nearly killed himself to be put out of pain! Seriously it’s fucked man!”

The more dubious raider shook his head, looking up and down the hall as he let the words of his partner sink in. He shrugged his shoulders, scratching his neck and sighing for a moment as he really thought about it. The fact was that what he was describing wasn’t too sordid up for a more experienced raider, some of the raiders in this very shopping mall had done worse. As the silence built, the Madsnake decided it was his turn to speak up. He leant forward, looking around, and speaking low enough that only the two of them could hear.

“Are you two talking about the Madsnake?”

The shorter raider jumped off the ground, turning and whacking his friend in the shoulder, pointing to the Madsnake with a big, stupid grin on his face, as he finally ‘remembered’ the name of the man he’d been talking about. The taller raider rolled his eyes, just barely turning his attention over to the stranger chatting them both up.

“I’ve heard about that guy. Apparently he took some job in Bucket Town, meant to subdue a few junkies. Word is he tore one of their throats out, and then ate their corpses, decorating the drug-den with their own bones and blood and gore. He didn’t even live there after, word is he was out of Bucket Town the next day, leaving a trail of corpses along the way. Pretty sure I overheard some Rangers putting up bounties on him”

The taller of the two raiders showed some interest then. A bounty on one guy was a decently big deal, assuming that one guy didn’t run a gang, and it didn’t sound like this ‘Madsnake’ fellow had any friends, let alone a whole gang. Before they could talk anymore though, the door opened, and Fowler stood there, ushering him in.

“C’mon Thomas, this way. We got some stuff for ya.”

The Madsnake nodded at the two door guards, and made his way into the back of the Super Duper mart, where what he saw almost blew him away.
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
FallenSanity
Member Avatar
I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The back room wasn’t all that big, not in its own right at least. The main room was that of the employee lounge, though it had changed much since the end of the war; the couches were pushed up against the wall, forming a row of seats, and the fridge had been turned into a shelving unit. That was all something interesting, but it didn’t compare to the quartet of chem stations in the room, and the dozens of boxes filled to the brim with drugs, all stored on the fridge shelves and those set up along the walls, and to the Madsnake, a man who had seen a number of drug dens and stores in his life, this was beyond anything else.

Only three people were in the room, one of them a typical raider in typical garb, but the other two were different, and drastically. Wearing what looked like hazmat suits, they worked on the chem stations mixing medical brews and drug cocktails to produce their much required narcotics. Fowler motioned over for the Madsnake to follow, towards one of the two doors of the room, and they two of them left the producers to their duty, while the resident guard kept his eyes, the entire time, on the front door, his finger gently brushing the trigger.

“Ignore what you see in here, friend. The people out in the mart know it’s all just, like, drug stuff, but people outside here might not be as aware. We do trade with caravans and that’s it, don’t bother making personal outings or welcome anyone else these days, not unless they’re already addicts. So uh… Yeah, just, don’t make a note of this place, ‘right?”

Shiteating fucker!

The Madsnake simply nodded, following behind the man who, at this point, he had to assume was some sort of lieutenant. If you ran an organisation like this, it wasn’t likely you’d be the one to greet the new guys at the door. The Madsnake wandered down the thin hallway, before coming out into what looked like a small dining room, where there were a few bags set out. One of them was open, with a few cans of food and some new clothes in them. Fowler crossed his arms, watching the Madsnake as he went through the bag.

“Should be some basic stuff. Pork ‘n Beans, some dog food, uh, veggies, stuff like that. The clothes are just some stuff we picked up off of a trader who came through and got nosey. Some of the boys thought they saw a Ranger’s badge on him, so they shot him in the back of the head. Sorry ‘bout the blood, nothing we could do. Should also be a bottle of water in there, if you’re wanting it.”

Guys like this really rub you wrong, don’t they? He’s offering you food, clothes, water, and you’re all standoffish? What’s a guy gotta do, blow you? Nah, you’d just hack them open like all the others, wouldn’t you?

The Madsnake nodded, grabbing the bottle of water and feeling it in his hands. It was surprisingly cold, and he wondered if perhaps they had some sort of chiller or cooler for drugs. Whatever the situation, it wasn’t worth investigating further than that. The Madsnake pulled the bag over his shoulder, as he was ushered out by Fowler, who was seemingly growing more and more agitated by the Madsnake’s presence. The two of them left, and as the Madsnake passed through the chem lounge, he noticed that the guard had changed - as had the craftsmen. A wandering hand was quick to nab a handful of chems and store it in his bag, before he was pushed out the front door, and Fowler with him, the suddenly angered lieutenant locking it after him.

“C’mon, Thomas. Boss won’t be happy with me having some stranger back there for so long. You gotta go, you’re fine to stick to the frontline with the junkies but don’t make eye contact with anyone, got me?”

The Madsnake nodded, and with that, Fowler was done. He didn’t even wait to see if the Madsnake was certain of what was being said. The raider stormed away, and brought a pair of guards with him, before vanishing behind the aisles. Clearly, the Madsnake had missed something. He decided not to linger on it for much longer than that.

Stupid cunt!

The Madsnake passed into the mounds of junkies, writhing and flopping about each other as they passed all sorts of drugs around. The Madsnake had to deter his gaze as he saw the needles of Med-X that were passed around. He set himself up right near the only door not locked, sitting down quietly, as he went through the pack again. As he did so, he saw a glimmer in the corner of his eye, as one of the junkies pulled a short knife on the other. Soon, the situation was aggressive and violent, and the Madsnake had no plans on sticking around after that. He rushed out the front door, along with what must have been the only still mentally capable junkies in there, as gunshots rang out from within the mall. Whatever was going on would likely be coming to an abrupt end.
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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FallenSanity
Member Avatar
I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
“Y-you’re that guy wh-who was, uh, taken o-out back, right?”

The Madsnake’s attention was stolen, all of a sudden, by a ghoul, whose face was even more disgusting than usual. He scratched as flesh, and some bone exposed himself, and the Madsnake grimaced, before nodding. The other junkies slowly moved in, and he didn’t hesitate to pull out his bat. They all stopped, holding their hands up, backing away slowly.

“Woah, woah, we’re not… we’re not gonna mess with ya! Promises, swear! Please don’t hurt us, we’re just junkies man.”

The Madsnake gripped his bat tight, lowering it slowly to let the junkies know he was on the defensive, but was most certainly standing down. None of them moved closer, and most in fact just seemed to wander about, confused and lost. The ghoul stepped forward, and the Madsnake was quick to look him in the eye, opposing him as best he could without inciting a legitimate fight, something he would actually like to avoid when it came to junkies like these, unless he was absolutely certain he could eliminate his opponents. With five men plodding about, he felt more than a little outdone.

Who’da thunk there’d be a day when ‘the Madsnake’ was scared of a bunch of busted up brain-fucked users? Can you even see weapons on them? Seriously, this is what breaks your rampage?

The addicts themselves didn’t look all that dangerous. A few of them wore decently defensive desert clothing, and one of them seemed to be dressed in worn out raider garb, but beyond that none of them could stand much abuse for too long. Though he couldn’t recognise any weapons on them, the Madsnake was sure they had them, and he wasn’t going to tempt them to bring them out. As the ghoul lingered, he concocted a simple enough plan, pulling out some of the drugs he’d managed to steal from Fowler and the raiders. The ghoul’s eyes widened, and the Madsnake almost considered pulling them back.

“Th-those for us? You stole those fr-from Fowler? The back room? Really?”

The Madsnake nodded, and as the ghoul reached out, and a few of the other addicts closed in, he quickly drew his hand back, his bat adjusting, pointed more outright, and the crowd that was gathering froze up. They were clearly afraid, and knew they could lose a fight, but how many of them would be willing to fight back? Was it even worth fighting? He just couldn’t tell.

Druggie cunts!

“These will be yours when you come with me. I’m heading for Otriad. I want an entourage. You will die for me if the need arises. If you’re fortunate, you’ll all live long enough to enjoy a free high. Anyone who objects, feel free to stay here.”

As he spoke, the chorus of bullets began again in the Super Doping mart, and the addicts around him had quite clearly made their decision. They all nodded, their eyes darting from the Madsnake’s to his palm of drugs, and he felt a wave of authority sweep over him as he took control of this rabble of narcotic starved servants. It was an authority he wasn’t entirely used to; in fact, five people were the most he’d ever had any sort of legitimate control over. He tucked the drugs into his pack, and gestured west, in the direction of Otriad. As a group they began to walk, and much to the Madsnake’s surprise, a few of them pulled out weapons, enough to get them by safely. One had a crossbow, one a rusted old hatchet, and then there was a simple and old revolver, which didn’t look to be in good condition, but would certainly be enough to take down anyone that attempted to challenge them.

At the front of the pack, the ghoul, who was surely the most intelligent and brave of them all, pulled out from his duster a handmade shotgun, and the Madsnake became immediately glad he’d not attempted to fight them; lords could only imagine what would have happened. The trek through the ruins would be a hard one, but Otriad wasn’t far now, and if they could keep away from the monsters and beasts of the deadly wasteland, they would be in for a fine journey. The Madsnake looked at his hastily-hired gathering of guards, and accepted that while they weren’t the best, they’d at least provide a wall of flesh between him any anything else out there.
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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FallenSanity
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I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The ruins near Otriad, and more specifically between it and the Super Doping mart, were littered with dangers. Aside from the common bugs and small beasties skittering through the undergrowth and debris, there were all sorts of older dangers, set up by unknown individuals or caused by the destruction of the city itself. Some buildings were barely standing, creaking and readying to collapse at any second, while mines and barbed wire were buried under gravel and dirt and made into hidden traps, ready to take any unwatching person wandering around. With a lunatic and a bunch of junkies crossing the chaos, it was unlikely they’d all make it to Otriad, and the Madsnake was just happy to know it’d be other people stepping on the landmines in his place.

Though it was no hallway of skyscrapers, and certainly not an urban jungle, the Madsnake and his crew could still see all sorts of ruins around the road. Many houses and other buildings had been built up to the roadline, and with cars, grenades, and missiles all exploding during and after the war, it was no surprise how much damage there was. A few of the junkies stumbled over cracks in the road, and when they came to a huge, overturned tree, there was more struggle than could be understood as they tried to climb over it, while the Madsnake walked around it. They weren’t an impressive bunch, that was absolutely certain.

Oh boy, this is how far you’ve come? Wow, what a success story, huh? You were some lost little scab in the wastes, a tribal, but look at you now, surrounded by junkies stuck to you only be leverage, it’s such a sight isn’t it? You’re pathetic, you know that?

“D-do you any of you, uh, the hunting, y’know?”

The junkie who decided it was time to break the uneasy silence, who was scratching scabs off of the back of his neck, looked around the party with a violent energy. Ticking and flinching, he was the most tweaked of the entire group by a wide margin, and it was amazing that he was the one to speak first. From what the Madsnake could see, it looked like it took all of his brain power to manage that barely-a-sentence. Still, he spoke, and it would get others speaking. The ghoul amongst them spoke up almost immediately, toting his shotgun in hand, looking down the road with a thousand-yard gaze.

“I hunt, m-mostly mole rats, or uh, roaches. I r-remember seeing a st-stag around these parts a while ago, and I’ve h-had my eyes on it… If I spot it we c-could do with some food.”

The other junkies nodded, off beat from each other and awkward, clear that they were all just barely clinging to reality. The Madsnake looked ahead, watching as just into the ruins a pack of dogs fed on what must’ve been a previous wandered. Assuming no one bothered them, they’d keep to themselves, but there was enough body and weaponry here to put them down if the need arose. Fortunately, that need didn’t, but there was a feeling of fear and worry amongst the junkies, the sort of feeling the Madsnake made the best use off of. He wondered what he could do.

“What’s your name boss? You got one right?”

Fuck off!

“Thomas.”

The Madsnake looked around, and a few eyes were on him, but far from many. A few of the junkies flicked their attention to him, and then they flicked it away. He looked ahead, and saw the road widening out, and he sighed to himself. The Madsnake was tired of this wandering, he wanted to get to Otriad. He could see just in the distance some wonderful looking lights, and he knew that he was on the proper track. It wouldn’t be long now before he was where he wanted to be. What did he want to do when he was where he wanted to be?

Who knows.
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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FallenSanity
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I didn't even know I had this
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[align=center]FINISHED[/align]
Daniel Orton [HC]
Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook
Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag
Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike
Status Effects: Internal Parasite
Abilities: Sucker Punch
S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8

Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire
Lvl 1: Humble Hobo
Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat
S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7

CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners

LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is

FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur
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Triminac
Private Dick
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Me again, Orton's guardian angel here. Criticisms are few, you're fixing what you need to fix. It's just turning into nitpicking here, but I will nitpick the fuck out of you. Let's do it.

Watch the repeated phrasing or wording, as it starts to look choppy when you say “built up” multiple times a paragraph.

I would have liked for you to go into more detail about the whole stealth process. I understand the monster was kind of far away, but Deathclaws have some pretty heightened senses, at least as far as smell and hearing. Watching each step to avoid snapping a twig, or clanging metal, the tension felt at both the monster’s movements and your own. Any mistake could have meant death, and I would have loved to see that reflected in your writing.

I see what you’re going for with the frequent interruptions from Orton’s thoughts, but I think it would help the narrative to only use them when Orton is going to react to them in some way. Whether it’s causing a momentary hesitation, or inciting him to anger, it’s gotta have some sort of relevance to his actions.

Everything else is lookin' good. I'm glad there wasn't a real fight scene, but you managed to sneak some tense moments in there. It worked well. Your flow was smooth, I can tell you're workin' on it. You're on a good track.

Quote:
 
Onto the Rewards:

Level up! Orton's done some serious shit, but knowing when to turn it off means he's learning. Being a psychotic barbarian doesn't make for the best survivor. A manipulative asshole? A little bit better.

Aluminum water bottle: Safe, reusable, and can be placed over a fire to boil the water inside. If you're desperate for scrap metal, well, I guess it's good for that too.

Denim Vest: I suppose the vibe they got from you was "Tool" so they gave you a denim vest to reflect that. Enjoy, tool.

Burlap sack: It's pretty small, but better than carrying things in your goddamn hands. Very slight boost to carrying capacity.
Virgil Wakes: Level 4
S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9)
Bucket Town Reputation: +174
Roy Reputation: +5
D1-CK: Level 4
S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5
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