A/N: well, I'm grounded from XBL for the week, so I guess I can make many people happy and make a new chapter of this; Brandon, if your reading this:
The bike-saw lives.
Chapter 6: exploring the wastes
Hammer lazily crawled out of bed, and thoughtfully scratched his nuts; it was a morning tradition that was as philosophical as it was vital to waking up. He reached for his TAC-BOY on his table next to him and flipped to the messages section, and quickly looked over them; 2 were from the brotherhood, another from haggard; he put his armor on and stuck the computer to his wrist as he headed out the door, or at least tried to get his 2 pronged metal replacement to grab the round knob.
After he opened the door, he checked back over his shoulder and saw TJ now moving around, and starting to follow him; he looked at the messages he got, starting with the one from haggard:
Those steel boys told me I could send you messages through my terminal; if you get this, it means I will pay you the caps for stopping those dogs. I'll hit you up if you have free time to help us.
He closed the message and scrolled over the other ones; they were just re-caps of the other 2 briefings, so he ignored them. He headed out of the hotel, his M-60 and 10-MM pistol in hand; he still was morning the loss of his jackhammer. He put a note in the back of his head to maybe swing by the place his old house was, and maybe see if his old station he was based at still existed. As he leaned against a poll out front, sandy ran up and said "hey frank! How's that new hand feeling?"
He looked up thoughtfully for a moment, then said "I wouldn't know…it's a little sore, but the hand is metal, so I can't tell…on that note, how did you get this thing to even connect with my body?" before she could answer, TJ moved forward and said "with all due respect, I suggested we hook up those metal pieces to your bone, so they did…please don't hate because I'm just that good."
He shook his head and said "I'm a tad bit pissed that you guys did that…TJ, you stay here in town for now, and make sure we got rid of those dogs for good, I'm going out in the desert to explore and locate that strange radio signal in the desert…got it?" TJ saluted and hovered off with sandy as he fired up the motor.
He wanted to forget everything that was happening so far; he still had a tough time believing he survived a nuclear war in a block of ice…he had no friends, no living family, and no U.S army.
He had no idea which was worse.
He past a few groups of raiders, running anyone stupid enough to be in his way over; on occasion, he would stop to kill of a wounded raider not out of compassion, but because it was funny as shit to decapitate them.
He checked his map, and matched it to be a quick ride to his old home in mesquite; he wanted to see if anything was left of his past life.
After what seemed like hours, he rolled into what was left of his hometown's ruined square, and took a look at the old place. Many buildings were knocked down, an M-48 husk was in the center of the area, the historic plaque marking the spot where Sam bass robbed a train was bent in a strange shape…the entire area was in ruins; but it didn't matter, in his eyes and mind it was the place where he beat up nerds when he was just a little bastard. He shed a tear as he fondly remembered slamming little denarius brown's face into the concrete, or slamming Jake Johnson's dick in the bank's revolving door.
Good times, indeed.
He hid his ATV behind a small used car store as he walked to the old mesquite high school; this was where he was first noticed by the army recruiter, after he ambushed him and hung him by his feet from the bleachers. He saw graffiti adorning the side of the building and frowned; the fucking raiders were most likely having orgies fueled by whiskey and jet in pools of wastelander blood….he hated that damn school, but it deserved better than that.
He opened the door to the hall, avoiding 6 frag mines placed on the ground in the shape of a crude penus as he headed down the old dusty halls; he hid behind a desk as a door down the hall slammed open, and a piss-drunk raider staggered out, and flopped to the ground. Hammer fixed the suppressor on his sidearm, then promptly walked up to the raider and said "it's against school rules for you to live" and put 2 bullets into him, and looted his dead body.
He headed down the halls, and heard a large amount of girls moaning in a room nearby; he knew who and what where behind those doors; he just needed a how to end their lives in a "tragic" way. He checked a room not far away labeled "supplies" and grabbed a tank of propane, a Zippo lighter on the table, and a shredded "playdude" magazine on the ground; he walked over to a workbench and began duct taping the shit together, hoping that duct tape wouldn't fail him now.
After about 2 minutes, he held up the most dangerous weapon he ever conceived. He would call "pro-pain thrower"; it used the Zippo lighter and the porn magazine to keep the fire going while he caught some beeches on fire with it…today was a good day.
He walked up to the door, and readied the thrower; he then kicked the door down, pausing only for a second to see the shocked looks on the raiders doing the gang-bang, then caught them on fire, watching them die in extreme agony.
He kicked one of the bodies over, put some sunglasses on and said "is it just me….or is it hot in here?"
He had a slight smile as he walked out of the room, discarding the now-empty weapon in the ground; he stepped out of that hall and headed to another section of the school, hoping he could see if anyone else dare stand in his way.
He soon found himself in the auto-repair hall and quickly dispatched the sleeping raiders; as soon as he was sure it was clear, he began building a weapon he always dreamed of:
The bike-saw.*
He took the back of a bike, a lawn-mower engine, and several other devices he couldn't name, and after a few minutes of godly genius, it was done. He fired up the motor, and began laughing evilly as the saw blade spin; he hoped he could test it soon, and he ran out the room, and back to the school, weapon primed.
He sprinted into the library, and saw a raider drinking beer; in what seemed like seconds, the raider was bits and pieces on the ground, and hammer was covered in more blood than the human body contained.
(hours later…)
Hammer left the school with the saw strapped over his back; slaughtering 100 raiders with a homemade power tool was more fun than catching fish in a pool a napalm. He walked back to his ATV and headed off to his next location; his childhood home.
Surprisingly, his old house was still in decent shape; just before the great war broke out, he knew his parents still lived there…maybe he could find something to remember the past, and wash all this crusted blood off.
He walked in, and saw it was eerily like it was years ago; he saw on the table next to the door a family picture; it was the whole family crashing a women's rights parade with automatic shotguns; he felt nostalgia and tears go on as he remembered that day…it was the first time in history a whole family AND their Mr. handy get thrown in jail.
Good times….
He put the picture in his pocket, and went to his dad's closet, to see if the old heirloom was still where it was; on his way to the room, he past a few boxes of 9-mm ammo, .357 ammo, and a S&W 500 magnum with 2 boxes of ammo.
He opened his parent rooms, and was slightly disturbed; it looked like nothing had changed, and it felt like they would walk in at any time and ask what the hell he was doing in there.
It was a strange feeling.
He went to his dad's closet, and reached for the item on the top shelf; his dad's old double-barrel shotgun offensively named sambo sweeper; it was a custom-built 16-gauge shotgun that fired custom-made shells that were almost 7 inches long. He grabbed all the shells he saw, as well as the ammo-making kit and stuck them in his backpack.
He then walked to his old room he used in college; his parents didn't give 2 shits what he did, so the room was his even when he was 30 years old. He reached up on the wall and pulled down the battlefront 3: limited edition poster off the wall, his old conferate flag, and picked up his xobx 036 and all it's games out, as well as the portable holo-tv up and put those in his armored backpack as well. He laid down on his bed, and started playing music out of his TAC-BOY, reminiscing about days long gone; about everything he lost, and how everyone in the wastes who hated him would pay for it.
He was going to decrease the population very fast.
A/N: well, hammer tells some back story (word?) and makes some new toys to kill people with…review plz.
Also, to any black people reading, sorry if the new double-barrel shotgun's name offends you; it was one of my friends idea's.
Legal shit nobody gives a shit about: bike-saw, p-diddy's protection, sambo sweeper, flip-flop, big-box, Franklin Leal Hammer, TJ, and a few others all belong to me, except the bike-saw is a joint effort between 3derp of ganji news radio, Zerfyyx, and myself; yes, the bike-saw is my fucking LIFE.
Fallout, and all that shit belongs to Bethesda, and whoever else….