Okay, so it's not the day I advertised, but I've been really busy with scholarships and Eagle projects and homework and frankly, if you've ever been through Senior year on your way to college, you know exactly what I'm going through. Anyway, here's Brad and Boone!

Paladins Brad and Boone Thompson were pounding through the wastes looking for something to kill, their Power Armor the only sound in the quiet of the wasteland north of DC. Brad had shouldered his Gatling Laser for the more maneuverable Laser Rifle, which had been modified for better efficiency, burst-fire, and accuracy by his brother. As Knights, they were the lone survivors of a failed expedition to DC that had cost the Brotherhood fourteen Knights and four Paladins. Upon their return, having faced Deathclaws, Yao Guais, Raiders, leftover Super Mutants, and low batteries on their Power Armor, they were given the rank of Paladin and a permanent assignment: keep the wasteland free of trash.

Basically, what their dad had loved doing the most.

Clint Thompson hadn't been a diplomat. At heart, he was a ranger who loved helping people and gutting animals. His definition of "animals" back in the Mojave had included Legionnaires, Fiends, Jackals, Vipers, and other assorted wildlife native to Nevada and California. Although he hadn't always been there for his sons, a fact which he frequently regretted, during his time with them he was able to share his love for the hunt.

And hunting is what Thompsons do best.

Boone had modified his helmet to allow him to hear much better while canceling out sounds like the chink chink chink of Power Armor, while Brad tapped into his brother's ear pieces. Somewhere near a pre-war Power Plant, they heard voices.

"Hark, the Herald Angel sings," said Boone.

"Glory to the new-born King," agreed Brad. The lyrics to the pre-war song were their code for "I hear something," and "I hear it too," just in case the bad guys ever monitored radio. Most did.

Brad clipped his rifle to the left side of the pack on his back and unhooked the large Gatling Gun. Boone's Green Scream, his full-auto double-barrel Plasma Rifle, was already in his hands.

Boone used another feature he had built into his helmet to scan the plant. "Epsilon Tango, Code Delta. Position Epsilon." {Eight targets, guns but no lasers, plasma, explosives, or Power Armor. They're not patrolling or standing guard or paying too much attention.}

"Alpha or Omega?" {Kill first or ask questions first?}

"Omega." {Let's check before we splatter their brains.}

Keeping their guns at passive ready, or held across the body pointing away from the targets, the two Paladins advanced towards the strange group of people. When they came into visual range, Boone realized something: they weren't humans (not in the conventional sense, anyway). They were ghouls in ragged pre-war Combat Armor, Reinforced with R91 Assault Rifles, Combat Shotguns, and even two sniper rifles. When they saw the two humans, they stood, grabbing their rifles and pointing them at Brad and Boone. The only reason they survived that was because they didn't fire.

"Identify yourself!" one called in his raspy voice.

"I'm Boone, and this is Brad. Lower your weapons, we're not here to hurt you."

"Oh yeah? And why should I believe you, smoothskin? We've been shot at and run-off by every town in the United States for almost 250 years. We can barely find a place to sleep at night that won't get us killed. We haven't found a single man that can even look us in the eyes without crying 'zombie!' I'm finding it hard to believe that you can be any different."

"Well for starters, you're not dead yet," said Boone.

The ghoul appeared to consider this. "True."

"And because we haven't yelled 'zombie,'" added Brad. "Look, I can't begin to unravel 250 years of history between you and normal humans, but are we acting like the other smoothskins you're encountered?"

"Wait, you mean you're not going to try to kill us?" asked one of the others.

"No, we're not," replied Boone. "We're looking for something to kill, but it's not you or any other non-feral ghoul."

At this, first one ghoul and then the others lowered their weapons. Then the first one who talked, apparently the leader, walked towards the Brotherhood soldiers. "Well, I suppose a more civilized introduction is called for after that." The ghoul straightened up and saluted, a crisp military salute. "Sergeant Jonathan Andrews, formerly US Army Special Forces, based in Sitka, Alaska at the time of the Great War." He gestured to the others. "These are my men, all first-class fighters, trained by the best and hardened by the wastes." He turned back to the brothers. "I apologize for drawing weapons on you earlier."

"No, we understand," said Brad. "We'd do the same thing in your position."

Boone nodded in confirmation. "Actually, there are a few ghouls and even Super Mutants serving in our ranks. They're not an uncommon sight around the Citadel."

"Citadel?" asked Sergeant Andrews.

"Yeah, you might remember it as the Pentagon."

A look of shock crossed the ghoul's face. "W-what? The Pentagon fell?!"

Brad cocked his head. "Dude, how long have you been out of it? It fell 250 years ago."

"No, that can't be. We just heard in Los Angeles that the United States was being restored in DC. The Pentagon was the seat of American military power. What happened?"

"The happenings you're talking about happened fifty years ago. The Enclave tried to restore the United States government, but they were stopped by one man."

"One man stopped the United States… that's impossible! The United States was the most powerful country in the world."

Boone laughed. "Yeah, the operative word being 'was.' Actually, the Enclave turned into more of a genocidal campaign against Wastelanders because they thought that only 'pure' humans were really worthy of citizenship."

"That's not the America I remember."

Boone shook his head. "No, probably not. I hear about it all the time, how old America had a Constitution, Bill of Rights, democracy, all that, but the Enclave wasn't interested in that. They just wanted to rule everyone. Anyone who got in their way was killed."

The old American ghoul slumped his shoulders at the news, but then he straightened up with a quizzical look in his eyes. "Wait a minute, if the United States is gone, then who are you?"

Boone looked at his brother, silently asking if his brother knew what Andrews meant. Brad shrugged and shook his head. Boone looked back at Andrews. "What do you mean?"

"I know Power Armor when I see it. I saw it when it first came out in the war, and I'm seeing it on you now. I know you can't just pick it up and wear it. Who taught you?"

"Well," Boone said, "the Brotherhood of Steel, our faction, was originally a US Army Power Armor detachment at Fort Mariposa in California. Over the years, we've migrated out here and developed new kinds of Power Armor."

"And how are you different from the Enclave?"

Boone answered. "The Brotherhood was founded just before the bombs dropped. It was discovered that the American government had been experimenting on prisoners of war, turning them into horrible monsters, so you might say that about two hundred and fifty Power Armor troops quit the Army for reasons of conscience. They sent an official letter to the government pulling Fort Mariposa out of the United States and everything. The government might have responded had the bombs not dropped the next day.

"Fort Mariposa was a military research base, so it was shielded from radiation and other nasty side-effects of the bombing. After the bombing stopped, the Brotherhood, as they called themselves, traveled to a bunker in the hills with their wives and children, using their Power Armor and other protective gear to shield themselves from the radiation. After some disputes with the NCR about how to use technology and what kind of technology should be collected, they left California and traveled to the Mojave Wasteland near where New Vegas used to be, where our dad encountered them.

"Our dad recruited them into joining the NCR in pushing Caesar's Legion out of New Vegas before assisting them in ridding the Mojave of the NCR as well, and after that one of their members joined him in ridding the Wasteland of raiders, slavers, and generally anyone who made a habit of mischief. After a few years, someone set off a nuke in the middle of New Vegas and destroyed everything. That's when our dad, the Western Brotherhood, and a few others left the Mojave to join the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood over here in the Capitol that had been sent over about fifty years prior. Originally, the East Coast Chapter had just wanted to grab technology and go home, but they decided to stay and help the local people with their Super Mutant problem. That is exactly why we're different from them. We help, not conquer."

The ghoulified soldier looked thoughtful, but before he could speak, they heard someone yell "Kill the zombies and cook the cans!" They turned to see a group of about fifteen Enclave Hellfire troopers.

Enclave?! They're alive?! thought Boone as he pulled the Green Scream to his shoulder. "I'll cook your genocidal ass! Suck my plasma cannon!" Boone depressed the trigger, and a torrent of plasma splashed against the first trooper, melting through his armor and leaving gaping black holes in his chest…

… except it didn't. The deadly blasts just splashed against his chest, leaving no marks whatsoever. The trooper laughed. "Hahahaha! You call that a Plasma Rifle? This is a Plasma Rifle!" When he pulled his trigger, an electric blue (Wait, blue?! It's supposed to be green!) blast appeared and flew almost faster than the eye could see, melting Boone's helmet and incinerating his brains before exiting out the back…

… except it didn't. "W-wait, what!?" stammered the trooper. "Y-you're shielded too?!"

"I see now why your kind wasn't exactly known for brains. Of course I'm shielded, it's standard-issue you moron."

Upon hearing this, the Hellfire trooper lowered his super-powered Plasma Rifle in shock. "It would seem as though we've arrived at an impasse," said Brad. "It's obvious our weapons can't hurt you, and it's equally obvious that your weapons can't hurt us."

"We can still kill the shufflers! Let's do it!" One of the other troopers raised his rifle to obliterate Andrews, but then Boone stepped in the way.

"You know, until about five minutes ago these ghouls idolized you. This man is Sergeant Jonathan Andrews, formerly of the US Army Special Forces. And I doubt that he likes being called 'shuffler.'"

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Better question: what are you going to do about it?"

"I'll give you 'shuffler'!" Andrews raised his rifle, but Brad pushed it down.

"Hey, we hate these guys more than you man, but there's nothing either of us can do about it right now, and we're not about to start wasting ammo on things we can't kill."

Boone nodded in agreement, then turned to the Hellfire troopers. "So, how about you? Call it a draw and save some ammo?"

"Not on your life," said the one who had been so intent on shooting Andrews. He pulled a Super Sledge off his back.

T-53a Power Armor can take a lot of beatings from ranged weapons, but one hit from a Super Sledge can dent it. Two can crack it. Three is a knock-out hit. "Oh shit, this guy is serious." Boone dropped his rifle and pressed his wrists together. Reinforced electrified Chinese Officer Swords shot out like twin switchblades. All I need is one good shot at a limb and I can EMP that punk. But before they could start, the Enclave leader said something.

"Trooper, hold up. Hey Brotherhood, can those swords penetrate our Power Armor?"

"Actually they're designed to cripple it, and they were effective against the last Hellfire armor we had access to."

"In that case, I'll make you a deal. We're both civilized soldiers, aren't we? Since we can't shoot our way through this, we'll decide the winner in a one-on-one melee battle to the death. Hothead's our best so I'll let him do our fighting, and since you're the one who accepted his challenge you do the fighting for yourselves and the ghouls. If you win, we leave, taking only his body. If we win, we take you prisoner."

"How is that fair?" shouted Brad.

"It's fair because we out-number you. We could just over-power you in a melee battle and take you all prisoner, but I'm in the mood for a fair fight."

"I accept," said Boone. "Draw the square."

The Enclave troopers started laughing. "What's so funny?" asked Brad.

"I said I was in the mood for a fair fight, not a wrestling match!" answered their leader when he could catch a breath. "This fight will be hunter-killer."

"What's hunter-killer?" asked Boone.

"Hunter-killer is a game we play to keep our stalking skills up to par. First, we need a building with multiple stories. In the training version, the objective is for the soldier on the higher level to sneak past the soldier coming up and reach the front door without being seen. In the version that you're about to play, the soldier at the bottom needs to hunt the soldier at the top, while the soldier at the top needs to kill the soldier at the bottom first. Hunter-killer, see? The winner needs to cut off the other's head and bring it out for verification to prove that he didn't cheat."

Sergeant Andrews looked horrified. "I thought you said you were civilized. That's barbaric!"

The Enclave trooper chucked. "That's real rich coming from you, corpse."

Boone held him back. "Are there any other rules?"

The trooper nodded. "Yep. Both soldiers' load-outs need to be checked and approved by both sides and the building needs to be scoured for additional weapons and ammunition. Also, the soldier at the top is the only one who can know how the building is laid-out, since he's the one being hunted."

"What weapons can I bring?"

"Usually we allow anything unless it's an explosive, but for this round we'll only allow melee weapons." He chuckled. "Wouldn't be much good bringing anything else in, anyway, since all armors are allowed. I will need to make sure that you aren't packing any hidden guns in those gauntlets of yours, and if you are I'll need you to unload them. I'll expect no less of you."

Boone nodded. "Very well, I agree to your conditions. Shall we choose this old power plant here?"

"Not enough levels. We need something bigger." He cast his eyes over the landscape. "Look almost directly north-west of here. Do you see that office tower?" Boone looked, and sure enough he did see a three-story office tower just sitting in the middle of the wastes.

"I see it."

"We'll go there. No offense, but I'll need you to take your helmets off for this. I don't want you calling for help."

"No offense to you, but we don't trust you either," said Boone. "As soon as we take our helmets off you'll just shoot us."

"I suppose it wouldn't help if I gave you my word?"

"Not really."

"Well, then how are we going to do this?"

"Simple," said Brad. "You take your helmets off too and walk in front of us."

"What, so you can shoot us?"

"No, because one of your men with his helmets on and a raised plasma pistol would be behind us. If they shoot us, the rest of you die, but if we shoot you, we'll die."

"A giant game of chicken. I like it. I do reserve the right to keep my weapon in my hands."

"That's fine. If we can really trust you, we don't need to worry about it."

"And the ghouls?"

"Let 'em go, they're not part of this fight."

"I made them part of this fight."

Brad sighed. "Andrews?"

"We'll go since we don't have much of a choice, but we're not putting our weapons down."

Boone turned back to the trooper. "They'll walk with us, pistols only." Andrews started to protest, but Boone held up a hand to stop him. "It's the best we can do. We'll take good care of your rifles, I promise."

"Fine."

The ghouls handed their guns to the Brotherhood soldiers and pulled out their side arms. The Enclave officer, who turned out to be a Hispanic Captain, started walking, obviously nervous but somewhat assured by the presence of the trooper in full armor. Following him were the brothers Brad and Boone and eight ghouls, all with their weapons pointed at the backs of the Enclave troopers' heads. Following them was the insurance for everyone, one Enclave soldier in full gear with a plasma pistol pointed at the back of Brad's head, but not daring to shoot because Boone had his Green Scream pointed at the back of his CO's head.

In this manner they made their way for about a mile before reaching the office building, at which time it was with great relief that everyone re-armed themselves.

"Before we begin, I'm just wondering: how did you survive the extermination?"

"About fifty of us were stationed in a bunker far to the north of DC keeping an eye on New York. When we heard about the main unit, a detachment headed back to see if we could give some assistance, but all they managed to do was grab some armor and weapons off dead troopers and hurry back before they could be seen. Since then we've been re-building our numbers and investing heavily into research, trying to get an unbeatable technological edge on you. We thought it would be the shields, but I guess you also have them. It's a good thing that's not all we looked into."

"What else were you looking into?"

"I don't mind telling you how we survived, but anything beyond that is classified. Now, let's get started with that sweep. I'll send in one of my men and you," he indicated Brad, "to do the sweep. We only find out who's going to be on top right before we start."

"Very well." Brad left to clear the building with one of the Enclave soldiers. They returned about five minutes later carrying two large crates apiece.

"Sir, we found these in the lobby along with several others. We think someone's using this place as a depot."

"Recently, too," added Brad. He set his crates down and pointed at one. "That's the symbol of the Gun Runners. They only started marking their crates a few weeks ago."

"Hold on, I'm friends with a lot of the Gun Runners, and I heard that they've been having some thefts lately," said Boone. "This is probably where the thieves leave their stash."

"Well, they're out of commission now." The captain was silent for a few seconds, then spoke up. "Change of plans. Winner also takes the weapons."

"Deal," said Boone.

The Brad and the Enclave soldier spent several minutes hauling the crates out. Eventually, the stack numbered twenty-seven crates of weapons, armor, and ammunition. "So, who's starting a war?" asked the captain.

"No idea. We've never had anyone want to start anything lately, and this is all pretty serious stuff. Disintegrator rifles, plasma grenades, Power Armor… they knew where to hit, all right," said Boone.

"Well, they're done hitting for now. The sweep's done, Sir," said the Enclave trooper.

The captain nodded. "Then let the games begin."

Okay, so I finally got a review and I'm up to five followers. That's officially one more than "Searching for an Identity" ever got, so I must be doing something right. Thanks to "Guest" for a review and nice compliment. Now if only you could get me some ideas about how the two worlds should meet...