Hellooooooo bro's! I have used the way of a pirate to obtain Word 2007, and I am happy about it! So, a few things to note! One, this does not mean I am ending Sheogorath's Madness. The next chapter is more than half done, and I'll be posting it once summer begins =3 Two, I love Fallout, and I will buy the new game as soon as it comes to meeeeee~ Three= I do live in this city, so any place that I blow up does not offend me, so it is all good. Four: I do in fact own Bethesda(false) so anything I write here is immediately cannon(false) and should be worshiped and praised forever after!(Not false)

Another customary thing I like to do is explain key concepts that I'm afraid may confuse people. In this case, I slyly changed the name of a mirelurk to a myrelurk. Ingenious =) The idea came from reading on vampires: the oldest, most powerful clans became known as vampyres, because they would always need to be burned at the stake! So switching from mire to myre signifies an increase in power! Hyuuuu~

Now then, as I will often shout. BACK TO WORK!


Does anyone even remember anymore? The way people lived before the bombs fell?

I wonder what our planet looks like. Out there in space.

How much an observer wouldhave seen it change.

What would our ancestors think of the people who pushed the button?

I'm sure some would've applauded them for their patriotism, their willingness to sacrifice anything for their countries.

Funny, isn't it? No one thinks of us as the U.S anymore. Except maybe the Enclave.

Does China still exist? Are there still Russians?

Or is everyone now just a human?

No, there are new titles to be had.

Raider.

Wastelander

Knight of Steel

I hear there's even a new wave of patriotism growing: the New California Republic.

Some legend about the Vault Dweller piecing together a shattered place

So now, they're growing, gaining followers, restoring order.

Of course, that's all far away.

For us, in the east

There is no protection

We have no sprawling web that binds us

Each settlement is on its own

Of course, that's always how it is

No use dwelling on that now, is there?

I need to get up

Groggily, groaning and sore, the man in the bed raised himself out of the fog in his mind. His neck was killing him, and he had a headache. Grumbling, he pushed his legs off the side of the bed and stood, swaying a little as the blood rush to his head caused a momentary blindness. "I hate it when that happens," the man mumbled as he wandered into his dingy bathroom. Looking in the oddly pristine mirror, he stared at the figure before him. What stared back was an oddly handsome young man, in his late teens. His face was slim, as was the rest of him, but it was also smooth. No stubble, no beard, no blemishes, save for a scar branching from his lip from an old fight with a ghoul. His eyes were a piercing green, though they were blocked somewhat by the glasses he placed on his face. His hair was a dark brown. It was mid-length, the bangs stopping before they reached his eyes. It was perfectly straight, though he didn't bother combing it. It was clean too, which was odd. Not many people took showers anymore.

His body was also mostly unmarked, with a few odd exceptions. His right arm bore the perfect outline of a Yao-Guai's bite imprint. The offending beast had been killed just before his arm had been removed from his body. He wore one of the beast's fangs around his neck as a reminder to always carry a backup weapon. The rest of him was pretty slim; he had no shortage of exercise, but the man's body refused to grow muscle. He wasn't too big as a result, even though he was about six feet in height. Sighing at his appearance, the man turned away from his mirror and used the toilet.

Now dressed in faded jeans from the pre-war era and a military issue green duster, the man returned to his bed-room and prepared himself for the day. The first order of business was finding his gun. Reaching under his bed, he grasped the cylindrical barrel of his favorite weapon. Retrieving the double-barreled shotgun from its resting-place, he ran a sentimental finger over the etching on the side of the weapon. It read 'Boom-Stick'. Finally ready, the man opened his door and stepped out into the world waiting before him.

But where was this world? Where is our story beginning? The surrounding area was known as Cincinnati. Before the end, it had been home to a substantial military presence, as well as several powerful private companies, such as RoBoCo, and Vault-Tech. As such, the area was a prime location for scavenging, and several private vaults, mostly created from Vault-Tech executives, had served to ensure a population of humans remained in the area after the crucible of war.

Cincinnati, or Sin'Nati as the locals now called it, also bordered the Ohio River. The irradiated body of water was good for two things: transportation, and mirelurk hunting. Before the war, the locals had constructed several concrete embankments along both sides of the river, which served to protect the city in times of flood. Today, they served to hold back a swarm of local mirelurks. These weren't your average blue-purple shrimp thing. The pollution that the various companies had pumped into the river had reacted badly with the radiation, resulting in a mire of tar-like sludge. Imagine microwaving a tub full of tar for a few weeks. Ships coming or going down the river had to have steel plating on their bellies, or risk being melted in the sludge. Amazingly, it supported a thriving myrelurk population. That anything could even live in the muck was beyond most people, but everyday myrelurks emerged from the ooze to scavenge prey further down the banks.

And what was a myrelurk? For one, it was quite large. Maybe the size of a mirelurk hunter even, or larger perhaps. Their second set of claws was fully developed, giving them four nasty snapping implements to impale you with. The toxic sludge was not the only reason ships armored their hulls. And their shells were like concrete! Nothing could puncture the (un)natural armor, not even a plasma rifle. The only shot was to go for its face. And so the embankments served another purpose, an easy way to get at their weak-point. The common method to hunting myrelurks was to drop a torch onto the crap on the surface of the water and let it burn. The startled creatures would try and climb out of their homes by way of the embankments, their faces pointed skyward, towards the waiting hunters. Free shots were then taken by brave individuals (no sarcasm) with special harpoons designed to fly straight. A rope attached to them would then be used to haul the often still-alive (why no sarcasm) and struggling creature up the embankment. They were then hauled to the nearest suspension bridge. There were many in downtown Cincinnati since the city was technically on both sides of the river, so there were plenty of places to fish. Once there, the myrelurk would hang from the harpoon until it died, and all the crap had fallen off its body. Then it was systematically stripped and harvested for maximum profit. Such was the lucrative industry that kept caps flowing into Sin'Nati.

How would one describe the city itself? Well, to the north had been the residential, suburban areas, along with business headquarters for the RoBoCo presence. Lots of scavenging here, the only actual settlers were hermits who wanted to live alone. South was downtown and the river, where most trade flowed. Goods included the impregnable myrelurk plates, as well as their oddly healthy meat (apparently their immune systems were over-active thanks to the crap, and managed to purge every impurity from their body.) On the other-end came armor and weapons and food-stuffs, and caps came from both sides. To the east and west lay uncharted territory, mostly gang-lands, warzones that few dared travel. To the north was desolation, miles of radioactive craters that had erased all existence. Thus, the river was truly the city's blackened, sick lifeline to the rest of the world.

What factions were alive in Sin'Nati? Well of course there was the local wildlife. Besides myrelurks, the local coyote population had mutated into a larger version of themselves. This new version had no fur whatsoever, and their claws had seemed to grow in replacement. Imagine a porcupine. Known as chimera, these monsters were quite clever, traveled in packs, and loved to ambush prey. Add to that your given mole-rats, ghouls, and the occasional large cicada. On top of this there were the traiditonal raiders, local gangs that had clawed their way into certain sections of the city. They threatened the caravans, killed innocents, blah blah blah. Then you had your Talon Company mercenaries and Regulators, bringing their war even to this far-off location. And there was even a Brotherhood of Steel presence in the old Union Terminal. They had just appeared there one-day, probably coming up from beneath the old subway tunnels. Where from, no one knew. However, more and more had followed, along with their pre-war technology. And so, the old museum was renovated and turned into their new home. Their behavior was typical of the Brotherhood: high and mighty superiority, aloofness, xenophobic.

But perhaps the greatest achievement was the fact that civilization remained in these wasted areas. Two major settlements had sprung up within Sin'Nati itself. Besides the Brotherhood presence at Union terminal, the main bastions of civilization were hunkered down in Carew tower, and what had been known as Great American Ballpark. The Passtime, as the settlement of the ballpark was known, was actually where most of the trade took place. For some odd reason, the original architects had neglected to build a wall on the side of the stadium that faced the river. What resulted, once the place had been renovated and restored somewhat, was a concrete fortress defensible on all sides but open to the river.

Trade was landed right at the bank and flowed into the center of Passtime, where there were dozens of tents and stalls of merchants pining their wares. In the stands stood a cobbled-together collection of steel plating, which designated private shops for merchants who did well enough for themselves to have reputation, where the goods flowed to them, instead of them having to stand in the bazaar to snatch what they could. Further up in the stands and on the outer shell that surrounded them were the expected stalls that housed residents, merchants or people who wanted to take advantage of the increased security. Large walkways connected the different levels outside the stadium stands, and the ones that led to the ground level were protected by walls of steel, barbed wire, and bullets when necessary. The ground level itself was home to a small shanty town of off-duty tradesmen and myrelurk hunters and other small-time workers. In times of emergency, the area would be evacuated into Passtime before the walkways were all sealed. There was no other way into the settlement.

At the top of Passtime were sniper nests and spotlights scavenged from the stadium lights and turned to point outside the fortress. They could turn on a swivel to follow a besieging mob, giving snipers a clear shot at night. Just below them rested the control box. Here, an enigmatic man known as the Umpire ran his business. He was in charge of security, and as such received a pretty sum from the merchants who plied their trade within his walls. The cameras throughout the compound gave him a birds-eye view of his kingdom, and there was rarely a situation within the settlement he was unaware of. He was a shrewd business man who allowed no slaves within his walls, for that would surely attract the attention of the Regulators. However, the Regulators themselves were also not allowed within Passtime, for where they went, Talon followed and inevitably blood was spilled. The Umpire did not like blood being spilled where he lived.

North of Passtime lay the northernmost bastion of civilization that stemmed from the black river, Raw Border. As its name implied, Raw border marked the abrupt edge of civilization in the area. To the north lay hermits, raiders, and nuclear fallout that broke Geiger counters. The tallest building in all of Sin'Nati, Raw Border commanded a view of the entire city, and t protected the only viable route south. All other streets in the city at some point led to Fountain Square, and that was heavily guarded by Raw Border's defenders. Home to seasoned wastelanders, scavengers, Regulators, and other armed groups, Raw Border held the line against the northern, western, and eastern chaos that sought to claim this city as theirs.

Not only did the tower provide a vantage for snipers, it also gave the residents access to the roofs of surrounding buildings. Strapped to the outside of the tower were several patchwork scaffolding bridges that could be dropped onto adjacent buildings, giving a daring scavenger unlimited access to the treasures within as long as the bridge remained. Currently, the bridges extended to the old Garfield Hotel on the far side of Fountain Square. Other than protection and scavenging, the tower afforded its residents use of the old radio antennas. One station was used by tradesmen to report rises and drops in prices of the different goods sold in Passtime. Another station reported deaths that had occurred on the previous day. Contrary to popular belief, this station was not on every day.

But the most famous station was one reserved for the leader, chief, CEO, President, Premier, el hefe, person in charge of Raw Border. Each day he reported on the jobs available for those who would take them, and the prices they paid. Most involved requests from individuals for a new fusion battery, or several pieces of scrap metal. A few were more high priority, such as protecting an expedition or discovering the fate of a lost individual (most times the worst case scenario occurred, sadly). But by far the highest priority were the requests by the leader himself. Every few weeks or so he would read off the name of some dangerous gang of raiders that had roamed too close to the city, and he would list their numbers and put a price on each head. He would always call the leader by name and give a special bonus for whoever killed him. It had grown to be a competition to see who could bag the most raiders. Surprisingly, few deaths resulted. People tended to be more careful when they wanted to see the caps falling into their hands.

This was the world that the man knew, where he had grown up. As he made his way out of his door, he stopped and remembered something. Quickly rushing back inside, he cursed himself for forgetting the molded myrelurk armor that was always on underneath his coat. Strapping the form-fitting piece of equipment on, he finally strode out of the room and down the hall, passing others who were waking up this morning. Just another fine spring morning in the Raw Border.

Having made his way to the radio room, the man nodded to the operator and was handed a microphone to speak into. The green light flashed, indicating it was time for him to speak. "My friends in Sin'Nati, I apprehensively inform you now that my father had abdicated the position of authority over Raw Border and has moved west towards the old city hall with his men. Don't worry, he'll be fine, he's stubborn enough t survive a few weeks out there. In response to this development, I am now in command of Raw Border and our defenses. Please do not fear any new changes that may occur, I do not wish to rule with an iron fist…" turning to look about, the man noticed all other speakers and radio operators had stopped working and were staring at him. This was big news. "…am I still on?" he asked the woman in charge of his terminal.

"Y-yes you are kid. Sir! I mean yes sir!" the employee floundered before ducking behind her terminal.

The man sighed and soldiered on. "The following jobs have been requested: Crazy Sam wants ten pieces of scrap metal for his statue to himself. Pay of eight caps per piece. Ellie Winzel wants to contact his son, who left with an expedition a week ago, and tell him that his wife has given birth to a baby girl. Payment of two-hundred caps for a returned message, ninety caps for knowledge of fate suffered. Four hundred caps for returning with Carl Winzel. An expedition is being formed to explore the old RoBoCo headquarters to try and recover any functioning robots. Payment of twelve caps every two hours, along with a bonus of two hundred caps upon completion of the contract. Finally, the raider gang known as the Blood Killers, simply ingeniously named, has claimed their eighth caravan this week. Their bounty has been raised to one-twenty caps a head, with nine heads in all. And their leader, who calls himself Stab, has four fifty on his head. That Is all for now Sin'Nati. Don't die on me," he told the listeners in parting, placing his mic on the table and stepping away from the staring eyes. Avoiding the questing gazes, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground-floor button. Time to see his father off.