That Old Lonesome Road

[Flipout6]

This is my first story. *twitches nervously* please leave your thoughts about the story in a post, both positives and negatives, and I'll see what I can do. Most importantly, enjoy!

P.S, eventually I'll add a pic of Jason, but not yet.

 

West of The Devil's Throat, Northeastern Mojave Wasteland

 

“Sure is hot out here, isn't it, boy?”

Jason Rivers gave his furry friend a pat on the head. Its fur was warm, so the dog would be getting pretty hot. He'd need to find a cave or a body of water for his canine companion to cool down in. Until then, some water would suffice. He pulled a bottle of purified water out of his bag.

“Maybe this'll keep you cool for a bit.” Jason said. He poured some into his hand, and let the dog lap it up until he wouldn't drink anything else. He drank most of the bottle. Jason poured the rest on the dog, to help cool it down.

 

Jason didn't know where he was, exactly. He only knew that he had passed through Arizona, avoiding the group known as Caesar's Legion as best he could, and had passed an irradiated gorge a couple miles back. Judging by some of the old world maps he had read, he was probably in Nevada right now, and he knew for a fact he was moving South-West. From what he had seen so far, the Legion seemed focused on an objective several miles to the South, probably Hoover Dam or Las Vegas, for whatever reason. Why they were focused on such things and hadn't captured them was beyond him. Perhaps the locals were putting up a fight.

 

Jason's brown Regulator Duster billowed in the breeze. The sunglasses on his face managed to block out most of the glare from the bright sand, giving him a slightly clearer view of his surroundings. Ahead, there seemed to be a few miles of flat desert, punctuated by the occasional hill or rocky outcropping. Jason saw no sign of a large body of water, and no settlements so far. Black combat boots thudded into the sand as he planted one foot after the other, a solitary man with a cattle dog padding alongside him. A large leather rucksack was strapped to his back, carrying supplies enough to last both Jason and his dog a week on their own, if they were rationed. A Wasteland Wanderer outfit, minus the boots, rustled inside, rubbing against the leather. Jason couldn't tell how far he had walked, or for how long, when he walked beyond the range of the sand dunes and rocky outcroppings and spotted something ahead. Metal walls surrounded a small group of tents and shipping containers. A settlement? Maybe. He walked towards it, his hand coming to rest on the Scoped .44 in his right holster. He had upgraded it with a heavy frame a while back, because for this amount of traveling, he was going to need a reliable weapon. It wasn't his only defense, not by a long shot. In a holster on his other hip rested a Sawed-Off Shotgun for close encounters, and he had at least three separate combat knives on his person right now. Two were sheathed in the front of his belt in an X-Pattern, and one was tucked into his right boot. He carried several explosive devices, such as two satchel charges and a few frag grenades. For practical purposes instead of combat options, he carried a hatchet attached to his backpack. He didn’t carry a rifle for weight-management purposes, but his .44 alone had the firepower of a hunting rifle. Cautiously, he continued towards the town.

Edited August 9, 2012 by Flipout6

[MikeRyan]

Looking good man! keep it up! :D

[tokyobiohazard]

Don't know what you're so worried about :P It was great! ^^ *goes to give the almighty kudos*

[Flipout6]

Thanks, guys. I don't know whether to post the second chapter or to wait for some more feedback. I'll probably post, maybe within the next five minutes, but idk. I'll also post that picture of Jason at the beginning of chapter 3, or maybe the end of chapter 2. Edited August 9, 2012 by Flipout6

[Flipout6]

"Hunt, boy." Jason said to his dog. Hopefully it would find something to eat, like a Mole Rat. It barked excitedly and dashed off.

 

Approaching the walls, Jason could see that it didn’t seem to have an outside source of water. This struck him as odd, so he gripped his pistol a bit tighter. Nothing odd ever seemed to be good. He found an entrance to the interior, and walked in. Everybody inside was dressed in similar uniforms, which were divided into two groups, and were all armed. A flag was hoisted up onto a tall radio tower, which could be seen for miles, depicting a two-headed bear, with the words New California Republic etched into the bottom in large black letters. One of the inhabitants walked up to him, pistol in hand.

“What is this place?” Jason asked.

“You're in Ranger Station Bravo. State your business.”

“I'm going West. You're rangers?”

“Yeah, rangers. NCR rangers. Don't tell me you haven't heard of us before.” The man, who was wearing what appeared to be riot gear, and a trench coat, cocked his head at Jason.

“Never heard of the NCR. But you're not raiders.”

“If you haven't heard of us, at least that means you aren't Legion. We're a huge society out West, in California, that believes in democracy and the rule of law. We're lookin' to expand out here, into the Mojave, but we got Caesar's Legion across the river, who also wants the land. The most interesting part of it all is New Vegas. Somehow it was preserved, or maybe rebuilt, after the great war. It's run by some creep named Mr. House from the Lucky 38, the tower. He doesn't let any living thing in, only his robots. That's the Mojave in a nutshell. Ranger Station Bravo isn't open to the public, though. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. Don't take it personally.”

“Sure. But I need is directions.”

“Where to?”

“NCR territory.” Jason replied.

"Well, for that you'll want to keep going South-West. Hoover Dam is under our control, but it's strictly military property. We have a military camp called Forlorn hope just south of there, along with another Ranger Station and the Dam. I'd recommend going to the 188 trading post. Loop around to the south side of Vegas, take the eastern highway straight south. A lot of the NCR military in the region is posted in that area, you won't have to worry about Legion. Now, if there's nothing else...”

“Thanks.”

 

Jason, his curiosity sated, walked right back out the way he came. His dog was distantly visible, chasing something small. As he watched, the dog caught it, shook it around, and ran back to him.

“What'cha got there, boy?” The dog dropped it at his feet. An adolescent Mole Rat. This would make a good meal tonight. He picked it up and held it in his hand as he once again began to walk South-West. He would take the Ranger's advice. This 188 Trading post sounded like a good place to get some supplies. Not guns, ammo, or explosives, but food and water, and most importantly, information. It was still midday, and the desert sun beat down on Jason's head. He placed a wide-brimmed, dark brown hat upon his head, quite similar to what some of the rangers at the station were wearing. Once again, a long, hard road bid him welcome. Once again, he walked along it, a panting dog his only company. He was perfectly at home out on the trail, about the closest thing to a home he'd had in years. His dog padded along silently beside him. He loved that dog, with every fiber of his being. He walked his current road for hours, passing by another town or camp controlled by this “NCR” the man spoke of. By the time the Las Vegas casino tower was in sight, night had fallen for an hour. As per routine, Jason found somewhere sheltered to go for the night, laid out his bedroll, and (eventually) fell asleep.

Edited August 10, 2012 by Flipout6

[Flipout6]

Some people are giving me feedback via steam, so if I post two chapters in a row, it's not 'cause I just randomly feel like it , and also 'cause I'm typing them up a lot faster than I'm posting them, mostly waiting for feedback. :biggrin: sorry bout the fact that they were taken with a camera, but something on the computer is glitching out, and it makes big chunks disappear from textures, like hair and clothing.

 

I have some pics of jason in his 3 different outfits, basically so that people aren't left imagining what the hell he looks like :laugh:

http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/15/sweaterman.jpg/ In his wasteland wanderer outfit.

http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/829/jacketman.jpg/ In his Regulator Duster, his favored outfit.

http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/27/cowboyman.jpg/ In his Regulator Duster, with his hat and glasses on.

Edited August 12, 2012 by Flipout6

[Flipout6]

I'm several chapters ahead of the amount I've posted, so here's chapter 3. Lots of these chapters may be large walls of text. I'll see how I can fix that.

 

 

He awoke very early in the morning, around 5 o'clock, a half-hour before sunrise, as usual. As much as he hated the blistering heat of the Mojave Desert, he hated shooting at enemies in the dark even more. His dog woke up at the same time he did, and started licking his face before he could get out of bed.

“Hey, whoa there, gah, get off me, you!” Jason grinned as he hopped out of bed. The dog barked excitedly. “Eager to get going, are we? Well, give me a minute.” He rolled up the sleeping bag, donned his Regulator Duster, and attached the sleeping bag to the bottom of his rucksack. He beckoned for the dog to follow him as he was putting on his gun belt. The sun was just beginning to rise now, he could see its warm glow behind the mountains to the East as it struggled to shine past them, and bathe the world in orange. Jason didn't put on his sunglasses yet, nor did he put on his hat. His uncovered face wore no expression, but did reveal cold, dull blue eyes, messy dark-brown hair barely covering a nasty, jagged scar along the left side of his head, running over his temple, and heavily suntanned skin, especially around his cheeks, nose and mouth. He was unshaven, so stubble grew evenly around his jaw line and around his lips, under his nose. If he allowed it to grow, it would become a rough beard, but he didn't. He had a tiny scar on his lip, but that was just average wear and tear. Otherwise, it was a young, fresh face, often looking old beyond its time. One unusual feature about Jason was a pip-boy on his wrist, which he had received from a man he would eventually develop a very complicated relationship with. He marked down a few of the locations he had passed, including the Ranger Station and the irradiated gorge, which he simply labeled as “Irradiated pit.” As he walked, he scanned the horizons for any wildlife, or any raiders. Wildlife was food, raiders were dangerous, but carried valuable items and ammo. He picked fruit from plants every now and then for a snack, but otherwise found nothing. The sun triumphantly broke free of the hills, and a warm orange glow fell across every corner of the Mojave. At around 7:30 in the morning, Jason discovered Lake Mead. Testing the water, he found to his shock that it was pure. Clean, not irradiated or anything. The dog ran and swam around in the water, gulping it up as he paddles around happily. Jason drank as much water as he physically could, before refilling every empty water bottle he had. Then, he left his rucksack and gun belt hidden behind a rock close to the shore and jumped in, clothes and all, encouraging the dog to chase him and wear out some of its energy. All the while, he kept a sharp eye out for anything that could pose a danger to either of them, as all of his weapons were back on shore. Sure, he was only five feet in, but that five feet could mean the difference between life and death. This much he had learned. An hour later, Jason and his canine companion finally got out of the cool, refreshing water. Jason's clothes were soaked, but when that sun started really bearing down on them, he would be thankful he didn't carry a towel. Plus, he had bathed somewhat, and in the desert with little water anywhere, that was definitely a plus. Good thing the Pip-Boy was waterproof. This particular line of Pip-Boys seemed to be built to last. It was the 3000-A series, that much he had been told. (Plus, on this particular model, at least, it said so on the label.) Taking the Ranger's advice, he walked towards Vegas, and when he encountered the wall between the Wasteland and Vegas itself, he looped around to the south side. He passed by a place called Freeside, and a building with the label “Gun Runners” on top, but the Gun Runners had nothing he needed, so he moved on. By then it was late evening, and he could just barely see a spire stretching over some hills to the South. That must be the power plant the ranger was talking about. Now, to just follow the highway, and he would find the 188 trading post. It was getting dark fast, but if what the Ranger said was correct, these lands were Legion-free, for the most part. He finally saw it, off in the distance, at 9:17 PM, the glow of trashcan fires illuminating enough of the trading post for people to notice it from a distance. A single trailer, parked on the left side looking at it from the north, was visible both as a silhouette against the night sky as well as reflecting light from the fires, revealing some of its shape. The odd person walked into the trailer, but didn't come out, possibly marking it as where many of the beds were stuffed.

“There it is, boy.” Jason said aloud. The dog whined eagerly. It took them 15 minutes to get there. Jason didn't bother introducing himself, he set up his bedroll in the sand beside the bridge and eventually fell asleep.

Edited August 11, 2012 by Flipout6

[Flipout6]

Just so any readers know, there will be the occasional swear word. Not many, but some. I doubt those who play fallout are particularily offended by this, but I'm just giving you fair warning. (It's mostly just me using actual dialogue from the game, quoting people and the like, not using swearing in the descriptions and whatnot.)

 

Edit: If you have an account and like the story, please post and lemme know. If you don't like it, please let me know what I can improve :wink:

Edited August 13, 2012 by Flipout6

[Flipout6]

With all the excited swimming from the day before, Jason was more fatigued than usual, and slept in until 8 o'clock on the dot. He pulled his Wasteland Wanderer outfit from out of his rucksack, and put it on. The gentle cream color and tan pants weren't the height of fashion, but he didn't care. He'd owned this outfit for years, and it was comfortable. He put his rucksack and gun belt on, after packing his bedroll, and walked up to the overpass. The first person he saw was someone wearing a matching hood and robes, with..... was that a power fist, on her hand? High-tech equipment by anyone's standards, except for the Brotherhood of Steel or the Enclave. She also carried a pistol, he could see, but it didn't look like it saw much use. He went over to talk to her, for information, but he was greeted first.

“No offense, but you look like you've traveled a long way down some bad roads. Where'd you come from?” Her question caught Jason off-guard, not that he showed it. His face remained expressionless.

“East.” He replied simply, coldly.

“Very specific. You're not with the Legion, are you?” She was looking at him strangely.

“No.” he replied.

“Didn't think so. You seem to be cut from a different cloth than any of the folks around here. I'm Veronica. I live in a hole in the ground.”

“Not a bad place to live. Shelter from heat. And raiders.”

“See? It's not as dumb as it sounds. I'm not there often, though. Usually out here picking up supplies and food for my family.”

“They're alone?” Jason asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Yeah, but I'm not worried. They can handle themselves. And besides, someone had to get the groceries, know what I mean? And actually these days I think they'd rather have me out here anyway. But that's a whole other story. Listen, can I ask you something on the level?”

“Yeah.” Jason said. His expression returned to the usual blank slate. But he wasn't dumb. Quite the contrary, he was sharp as a whip.

“I had a run-in with this group, calling themselves the Brotherhood of Steel. Pretty Strange bunch. Do you know anything about them?” She looked him straight in the eyes as she said this.

“Lots. Reclusive bunch, don't interact much with the world. Gathers advanced technology.”

“Well, that shouldn't be a problem for me. I can't afford anything like that.”

“Really?” Jason accused, indicating her power fist.

“This was a lucky find. I salvage, and scavenge. Needed a lot of repairs. So where are you headed?” She asked.

“I drift from place to place. I stay where I'm needed, until I'm needed no longer.” He wasn't being very specific, but it was the general truth.

“Hmm. Looks like we have something in common, then.” Veronica stated. “I'll be honest. You're the first person I've run across out here that looks like he can really handle himself. There're places I've never been to that'd be too dangerous for just me. What do you think? Maybe we could travel together, help each other out.”

Jason's eyes lit up.... Just a little. He was quite good at hiding his true emotions behind a mask of apathy. “You have a family to feed.”

Veronica faltered for a second. “Like I said, they can handle themselves. And it's a big family, They'll be fine.”

“Can you fight?” He looked her over. She may look relaxed, but he could tell that she was capable of springing into action in a second.

“Yeah. I love punching things, but sometimes shooting things just has to do. But there's more. I've been taking things apart and putting them back together since before I've said my first word. If you need to make something, just ask me, and I can help you build it anywhere. Workbenches are for amateurs.”

“Alright. Let's go.”

“One more thing, I asked you about the Brotherhood because I'm one of them. I had to be sure that we wouldn't be enemies later down the road.”

“I'm fine with the Brotherhood.” Jason answered.

"Well, thanks for taking a chance on a naive young girl from California with stars in her eyes and a pneumatic gauntlet on her hand. Let's hit the road, huh?”

Edited August 13, 2012 by Flipout6

[BaldurAnthology]

Quite good. Remember to space out your dialogue more, For example,

 

“No offense, but you look like you've traveled a long way down some bad roads. Where'd you come from?” Her question caught Jason off-guard, not that he showed it. His face remained expressionless.

 

“East.” He replied simply, coldly.

 

“Very specific. You're not with the Legion, are you?” She was looking at him strangely.

 

“No.” he replied.

 

“Didn't think so. You seem to be cut from a different cloth than any of the folks around here. I'm Veronica. I live in a hole in the ground.”

 

“Not a bad place to live. Shelter from heat. And raiders.”

 

See what I mean? Means it's not so much a clusterf**k for people to deal with. That, and it's the grammatically correct way to post things. Cheers mate!