Prologue
It was cool again. They didn't know how it was possible, but it was. The air full of radiation and toxic fumes, was chilly, and made the expedition team cling tight to their clothes. The cold breezes moved the dust, it seriously affected their eyesight. But it didn't matter. The station was already visible.
Lucas, the expeditions senior medical advisor, was walking in the group with Brock, a computer engineer. They were a part of a great expedition formed in California by the leaders of the NCR. They numbered two hundred, comprised of the best minds the nucluar war devasted country had ever seen. Scientists, docters, engineers, and the like, with the best commandos and mercenaries to guard them. Now Lucas looked sadly at the group. They numbered at most fifty, many lost in the road, due to sickness, radiaton, desertion, but most of all, death. The road was long and full of terrors that plagued them. Mutants and ghouls, mindlessly attacking, raiders and bandits hoping for a profit, and desperate wastlanders forced to attack with the thought of selling their equipment to feed their families. All took their toll on the expedition. Lucas's predessasor himself was killed by a raider junkie, cut his throat while he slept, all for the meds they protected. Lucas was next best experienced so he was given the rank.
Their mission was impossible to a rational mans eye. In california people were given the idea that there was a a station of intact nucluer warheads, missiles that would be capable of destroying all the known mutant bases, ghoul lairs, and raider nests. The people would be immensly relived the stress that they would die by a bullet, would go away. Of course there would still be the threat of starvation, hydration, sickness, radiation, mutated animals and unknown evils that would not be destroyed by the weapons, but it would still be a victory, reinforcing the hope in the peoples hearts, once lost.
The expedition would complete it's goal. It was formed for bringing back this hope, by bringing something else, death. They would all find this station or go home ashamed, forced to look upon the peoples eyes they let down. So they trudged on, and it bought them here.
They were in Florida, a few miles away from the ruins of the old NASA facility, the John F. Kennedy Space Center. Appearently before the war, nuclear warheads were moved here. They failed to sent them for some reason. They had seen the complex from afar, and decided to make camp. Jester, the commander of the soldiers and the one chiefly in charge expediton, was patrolling around with heavily armed men. They were the best the NCR had to offer. Commandos trained from the early age, mostly orphans taken by the government, all of them extremely fit and muscled, thanks to extensive training and bio-engineering. They were all armed with powerful and expensive weaponry, if sold, could probably feed a wastlanders family for a decade. Military grade rifles and shotguns, grenade and missile launchers, advanced laser weaponry that could turn a man into dust, without it they would be even 5 people alive, let alone 50.
Everyone was on alert. There was a bad smell in the air, and Lucas had a sense something bad was going to happen. He was right when the first shot came and Brock's head blew off his shoulders.
They were being attacked. Jester was yelling orders at his men and shouting for the civilans to run and take cover. All around people were dying. The attackers wore power armor, probably The Brotherhood of Steel, curse them. Jester had already killed half a dozen, but they were hundreds of them. The forces of Jester was a measly 20. But if they were going out, then they would be going out with a bang. Grenades and missiles were flying, everywhere power armored men had their body parts blown apart. They were shot, sliced, stabed, but they never stopped. One of Jester's men died, then another, untill they were down to half a dozen. Jester himself embtied his magazines precisely on them, 15 men had their lives taken by his bullets. After he ran out his bullets he pulled out his enormous machete and proceded to some more killing, chopping of a paladins head clean off. Finally he fell, around him 20 men, dead or dying.
Lucas was trying to find survivors or wounded to help. But everyone was dead. He pulled his revovler but he was shot the moment it was out. He fell down dying. His final thoughts were those of how humanity was vicious and full of bloodlust. How we always find something to fight over, while just fulfilling our inner sadism to kill. He also thought if the afterlife would be warm. It probably will.