John

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens from Milliways onto the tumbletown ruins of what used to be an industrial area on the fringes of Arlington. The temperature is summertime-warm, the air dry; the last rains to pass through here are long since gone. Overhead, a scavenger bird or two circles, visible only to people who know what they're looking for. A breeze listlessly

Comments

[luckyspartan]

The Spartan is much lighter on foot than the heavily armored Ellen. Ellen's power armor makes her more like a walking tank than a woman on foot. John suspects the power armor is probably more capable of taking heavy fire than his own, and adjusts his spacing and movement patterns accordingly. Weapons were always a step ahead of armor, and he had no intention of testing his own in this universe. He would have to play to his strengths--agility and precision--when they encountered hostiles

[luckyspartan]

John checks the action of the weapon. "Accuracy isn't important. Precision is important. Predictability is key."

The Spartan makes a few adjustments, and then bends an almost imperceptible kink out of the barrel as he walks.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That, at least, I've got." Ellen indicates her own gun. "Predictability, I mean. This is a plasma rifle from up in the Commonwealth- somewhere north of here, though I don't know how far. It's slower-firing than a laser rifle or some of the bullet guns, but every shot is exactly the same as the last, which is better than any other gun I've ever had to use."

[luckyspartan]

The Spartan could tell Ellen was a valuable resource on the field. He forged ahead, choosing not to comment.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The Wasteland rolls on, vast and empty, for quite some time before the figures appear in the distance: three armor-clad humans, and one... Well. It's got treads, and it's made of metal, and it has snakelike arms terminating in claws. But it's got some kind of glowing dome on the top, possibly with a... yeah, that'd be a brain inside.

Humans and machine alike are painted in black and red.

[luckyspartan]

"Three contacts," John says suddenly, watching the distant newcomers. "Two are in power armor, like yours. Black and red markings. Third is a cyborg of some kind. Same markings. They're heavily armed." He takes note of effective flanking routes and covered firing positions. "Are they hostile?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Brotherhood Outcasts," Ellen identifies the description. "And a Robobrain. Not usually hostile, but their mission here in the Wasteland is to collect any advanced tech they find in 'the wrong hands' and send it back to their headquarters. Anyone who isn't Brotherhood of Steel is 'the wrong hands'." She grimaces. "I've met a few who were decent, but most of them look at me like they're trying to decide if they could peel my armor off without losing theirs first."

As she speaks, the forward of the two humans stops, then unslings a missile launcher from across its back. The second human produces a squared-off rifle. Fortunately, the group isn't facing in John and Ellen's direction; whatever threat they're perceiving is coming from further away, and another direction entirely.

[luckyspartan]

John guessed that the Outcasts would determine his powered assault armor was in the 'wrong hands' as well. He would just have to not be seen by them, if it came to that. Spartans might weigh three quarters of a ton with their armor, but they were very light on their feet.

The soldier scans the area for the contacts the Outcasts are about to engage or threaten. "Should we assist them?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Unless they-"

Ellen had been about to say unless they kill it first, but the phrase dies before it can ever be said. The enemy's heaved into sight. There are three of them to start with, green-skinned and over-muscled, looking like someone poured ten feet of angry into nine feet of skin. They don't so much wear armor, or even clothing, as they wear bodged-together patches of scrap metal and leather taken from every conceivable source. The one in the lead has some kind of helmet crammed down onto its skull, looking almost more like a trophy than protective wear. It's armed with a minigun, its barrels already spinning up; the others have assault rifles.

Ellen's breath hisses between her teeth, and she draws her plasma rifle immediately. "Definitely assist," she says. "Mutants. These things are nasty."

[luckyspartan]

John fires four times in rapid succession at one of the mutants flanking the leader, noting how at this angle and range, his shots bounce off of the hostile's skull. He had just succeeded in making it angrier. The enemy was more like the Covenant than he had thought. He switched tacitcs.

"I'm going to close range," the Spartan says, dodging off to the side and leaping down into a deep gully. He takes off once out of sight, running faster than anything in the wasteland could manage, with the possible exception of a Enclave vertibird.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods once and flashes a thumbs-up; it's easier than trying to make herself heard over the sound of gunfire. As John darts away he may hear her armor shouting "LET 'EM EAT LEAD!", but that's about all the sound that'll be coming from her end of the field... other than the zzthwip! of green plasma bolts, anyway.

The mutants are a relatively perceptive bunch, but their attention in this battle is on the beleaguered Outcasts. Whether they'll realize that they're about to be set upon by death from below is tough to say.

[luckyspartan]

Exceeding the speed limit in a residential zone, the Spartan leaps out of the gully, on the flank of the mutants. He soars through the air like a three-quarter ton missile, ending the arc with a flying kick in the trailing mutant's back. The impact snaps the creature's spine neatly. He slides with fluid grace off of the corpse and vaults up the side of the next-nearest mutant. The creature turns in opened-mouthed surprise at the Spartan, just in time for John to shove his rifle into the thing's mouth, pull the trigger, and then snap its neck for good measure.

The last mutant is probably torn apart between the Brotherhood Outcasts' heavy weaponry and Ellen's plasma rifle.

In any case, John rolls behind a slab of upturned concrete for cover. The Outcasts could turn hostile as well, from Ellen's description of them.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

There really isn't a lot left of any of the mutants by the time the smoke clears. As for the Outcasts, there is a certain quality to their stillness that suggests open-mouthed gaping is probably going on behind those full face helmets of theirs.

Eventually, one of them clears his throat.

"... what just happened?"

(Ellen is taking the opportunity to head for John's original gully and mosey on past the site as best she can. Unless this bunch operated under McGraw's jurisdiction they're probably not people she really wants to talk to.)

[luckyspartan]

John is perfectly content to remain undetected. He will not be seen unless he decides to let the Outcasts see him.

As far as they knew, they started shooting and when the smoke cleared, everything was dead much faster than they could have anticipated.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

And Ellen is plenty happy to hold her hand over Dogmeat's muzzle until the Outcasts go on their way.

She'll just surface and look for John once they've moved along. So very much simpler.

[luckyspartan]

"You were right," John says, once the Outcasts have gone out of sight. "Definitely nasty."

He polices the dead mutants' weaponry, or whatever the Outcasts didn't take, before he continues with Ellen toward their destination.