October 23rd, 2077 the world was changed forever, the rain of nuclear hell-fire finally came and decimated the planet. Despite the Great War wiping out all of society, the human race survived and adapted to the new nuclear wasteland. In America, the government created Vaults to keep part of the population safe during the apocalypse. One of those vaults located outside Omaha, Nebraska was Vault 950.
The year is now 2290 and new factions have arisen from the ashes of the Old United States, one of those factions is known as the Brotherhood of Steel. Paladin William Baker had just transferred to the Commonwealth from The Capital Wasteland in an effort to maintain the peace in the once war-stricken city of Boston. A Sole Survivor from a local vault, 111 had aligned himself with the Brotherhood rising to the rank of Sentinel and brought an end to a mad science organization known solely as The Institute. With The Institute now destroyed, the Brotherhood took on a military occupation in the city to rid it of the Super Mutant threat.
On the Prydwen, located in Boston, New England Commonwealth, Baker arrived and was informed to speak with Elder Maxson, "So Paladin Danse was a Synth? I cant believe that." said Baker.
"It was true we recovered samples of DNA from the Institute which displayed the records of escaped synths and Paladin Danse was a complete match with an escaped synth named only as M7-97" explained Elder Maxson, "However that did not stop us in our ultimate goal in eradicating The Institute from the face of the Commonwealth, I thank you for coming up here on such short notice being that we are in new need of a Paladin".
"The honor is mine, Elder. Anything I can do to aid the Brotherhood ." replied Baker.
"Good, because I have a mission for you, Paladin Baker. Ever since we first made the pilgrimage out to the Capital Wasteland from the West, I have been curious of what had happened to the other airships. Now rumor has it that a large portion of one of those ships survived after they crashed outside of what used to be Chicago. I'm sending you and a small detachment of Knights and Field Scribes on Vertibirds to investigate and make contact with this Midwest Chapter of the Brotherhood and immediately make contact with me as soon as you learn of any new information." Maxson ordered.
"Understood, Elder I will leave immediately, Ad Victoriam". Baker put his hand in a fist across his chest.
"Ad Victoriam Paladin, don't let us down." Maxson turned away and continued to stare out of the command window of the Prydwen overlooking the ruins of Boston. "Lancer Captain Kells!"
"Yes Elder?" responded Kells.
"Send out some scouts to Sanctuary Hills, I need to discuss some matters with the Sole Survivor"
"Yes, Elder, I will send a scout team in the morning".
The sound of the rotors on the Vertibird was powerful as Paladin Baker looked out the side door. Three Vertibirds departed from the Prydwen to make their way out west towards the ruins of Chicago. Laced in a full suit of T-60b Power Armor Baker was cleaning his laser rifle. "This was your first time in the Commonwealth right?" yelled a Knight "Sorry you didn't get to explore it much, place is a bit of a hell hole I'm glad to be getting out and seeing something new!"
Baker looked out the window and responded, "Nothing is really new anywhere, it's all the same scorched earth and destroyed cities as DC and Boston". The Vertibird to the left of Bakers was filled with Knights mostly carrying heavy artillery such as Fat Man's and Gatling Lasers. Baker was beginning to wonder if this was really a recon mission or rather an invasion to secure the Brotherhood's interests in a new land. He tried not to let his mind get clouded with those thoughts and instead closed his eyes and began to nod off while they made their voyage.
About 700 miles northeast of New Vegas lay the Colorado Wasteland. Walking in the breezy wasteland, an expedition force is en route to Denver. "God I hate walking around in the open like this!" one of them groaned while looking at the sky.
"Hey, it could be worse, Ramirez, we could be out in the Mojave fighting the Legion in Arizona." another soldier turned back and spoke.
"Ramirez, Adams! Quiet, both of you! I think I hear some ferals up ahead!" their commanding officer alerted. The men crouched and listened, their commander was right a pack of feral ghouls were coming towards them. "Quickly! We need to get to the treeline we have come way too far in the name of the Republic to be wiped out by a pack of ferals!" The 20 man unit of the 42nd Expedition of the New California Republic quickly ran to the trees and laid down out of sight of the ghouls. The soldiers awaited anxiously praying the ferals would spot them in the trees. Among them was a rifleman in the New California Republic, Sergeant Nicholas Taylor. "Everyone check your mags in your service rifles and prepare to engage," whispered Taylor. The clanging of metal and cycling of rounds alerted the ferals and just as they turned to face the unit a ghoul let out a blood curdling cry as they sprinted towards the soldiers. "Open fire!" shouted the commanding officer. A hailstorm of bullets decimated the attacking ghouls.
"Phew, that was a close one." Ramirez said.
"You said it. Good thing those ferals are stupid enough to run into our bullets" joked Adams.
"Alright men, that was good work, but now we need to move we are only 50 miles away from reaching the outskirts of what used to be Denver." Taylor exclaimed. The expedition continued forward toward Denver in hopes the rumors would be true in that there were people who have survived and made something of the Midwest. However the expedition was also a sign of New California's military power to show they were strong and could be useful allies to this new unknown faction.
It was an extremely cold day in the Colorado Wasteland, but for the soldiers of the New California Republic this was a vacation from the sweltering heat. After
finishing their tour in the Mojave, the 42nd Expedition force was informed by Ambassador Crocker that there was a rumor of a new faction existing in Denver and to go investigate it to create diplomatic ties. Nicholas Taylor was a devout soldier for the Republic and fought in both battles of Hoover Dam, he was offered to become an Elite Ranger but refused due to his compassion for his men in the 42nd. Now he was with them marching for over 700 miles to investigate a rumor, not a fact, but a rumor, the thought that this expedition could be all for not infuriated Taylor, but his devotion to the Republic kept him pushing forward. They were on day nine of their journey and they expected to see Denver soon when they stumbled upon a small town. They began to set up camp when Taylor smelled an all too familiar smell, the putrid smell of rotting flesh. "Everyone spread out and form a perimeter" he ordered. Swiftly, the men formed a wall around the town when suddenly, everything got uncomfortably silent. The breeze that was once present was now gone, everything stopped. An earth shattering thud occurred as the soldiers started to panic.
Closer and closer the thuds got louder and louder, but they couldn't see anything when all of a sudden, a private sounded like he was choking. As Sergeant Taylor turned to him he noticed three massive claws piercing through his chest.
"Lopez! Fuck!" shouted Taylor. Lopez reached out for Nicholas and choked up blood as he stammered "Nick! Aaahh! Help... me..." Abruptly, the soldier's body was split in half and the Chameleon Deathclaw made its presence known. The men panicked and opened fire at the Deathclaw as it disappeared behind the buildings of the town. Just as they thought it might be clear another soldier screamed as they turned toward him only to find he was being dragged away behind a shack by what appeared to be nothing when suddenly they heard a blood curdling crunch and the screams stopped.
"I need a Fat Man up here now!" Taylor belted, a sole NCR Heavy trooper in T45 Power Armor, named Rhodes, ran up and shouldered the massive weapon. He aimed it at the shack in which the mauling of their comrade was still occurring. "Fire!" Taylor ordered. The Heavy Trooper launched a mini nuke towards the shack destroying the entire building and silencing the crunching of bones and gnawing of flesh. A roar shook the entire area as the Deathclaw, no longer cloaked due to the high amounts of radiation, sprinted towards them on all fours. Taylor realized he was its target as the Deathclaw sprinted. Rushing to Taylor, it brushed aside the Heavy Trooper like a rag doll and pounced onto Taylor as he screamed into the Deathclaws face he brought up his sidearm, a .44 Magnum and put it to the chin of the beast, pulling the trigger exploding the head of the murderous animal.
Taylor was now underneath the now dead Deathclaw as another soldier and Rhodes, though wounded, pushed it aside. "You okay Sarge?" Rhodes questioned.
"I'll be fine, that was way too close, how many did we lose?" Taylor was distraught. The sight of Lopez being torn in two destroyed him.
"We lost two, sir. But that Deathclaw had your number Sarge, you're lucky it wanted to look at you before killing you." Rhodes replied.
"You alright, Rhodes? You took a hell of a hit from that thing."
"Oh yeah, Sarge, I'm fine, as long as I'm wearing my trusty T45 ain't nothing breaking my skin, well maybe some bruises, but I sure as hell ain't getting shit on by a Deathclaw." The men laughed as they set up camp and prepared to settle in the town for the night. Hopefully their journey won't be for nothing. Hopefully, we can get these affairs in order and create an alliance. We need all the help we can get... Taylor's thoughts slowed to a hat as he laid down for a few hours of rest.