The American Radio Company, GNN's greatest rival before the war. A.R.C went silent, after the bombs fell for what most assumed would be forever. However, its fate was challenged, the station was resurrected by a Wanderer with little direction in life.
With a microphone, a signal and a box of working records, Maxwell Flower made it his mission to provide the people of the wasteland with one of the crucial things that separate the existing from the living.
Entertainment.
"Maxy Flower here, and you are listening to the wireless wonder wizardry of Atomic Radio Central! That's Aj aR Cea if you want to be swift about it!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, ghouls and ghoulettes... Before I play this next piece I want to let you know I've got a vacant job application for you. What is this dazzling new career opportunity you ask? Well... Regular listeners i.e., most of you will have noticed I've been mixing up things by trying to provide news breaks. Sadly, most people that live in my neighborhood are either dead or don't care, or both!"
"So, basically: I'm looking for dashing 'Reporters' that could bring me news from all over! Of course you will be compensated for your troubles and perhaps... Even some air-time? Hah... I'll figure that one out when we get to it. For now, just consider it. Atomic Radio Central is located on the southern side of Hell's Kitchen. South-West of Broadway & Timesquare. The city's "pleasure palace" district, to put it mildly."
"Now. Time for some music!"
The Prisoner found himself regaining consciousness and his eyelids involuntarily slid back and revealed the place of his salvation to him. He was lay on an old mattress, which had been spread out over a rustic bed frame, surrounded by chiffon walls.
It was at that moment that he realized that he was in a tent, he could see several stands that were littered in apparatus and several pieces of electronic equipment kicking about and saw that he was in some sort of medical center. It looked pretty insubstantial, though he was somewhat impressed that the surgical equipment didn't look like they're just been extracted from someone's anus.
He slowly sat himself up and brought his hand up to his head, noticing that his cap had gone missing, he looked up to see that it was on a small stool by his bed, prompting him to reach up and take it as he quickly adjusted it.
He silently cursed as he felt the jagged edges of the lenses, it seemed that his right goggle lense had broken, something that he should probably see about getting fixed...
As he slowly got up and made his way over to the front flap of the tent, he found himself being obstructed by the stern unforgiving eye of his rescuer, who stood before him, with her arms folded as she stared him down.
"Going somewhere?" She asked, her voice radiating accusation as if he was trying to skip out on paying a bill.
"Not anymore..." The Prisoner wheezed, his throat felt like someone had shoved a nail bat down it and washed it down with some Quantum. He got a better look at the woman, who's image slowly formed amidst the blinding white in the background.
"Good, if you could take a seat, we can get started."
The Prisoner was somewhat confused by this but did as he was told anyway, he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't curious as to what they had in store for him.
The woman pulled up a nearby folding chair and took a seat on it, slowly raising a clipboard, that had previously hung by her waist.
"I'm sorry, you were unconscious, when we brought you in, your name isn't on the chart."
The Prisoner remained silent, staring her down for a minute before eventually complying.
"Hamilton, Tom Hamilton..."
"Alright then, what do we have here? High levels of radiation, damage to your neck and several fractures... That'll cost you three hundred bottle caps." She informed him, lowering her clipboard and looking up as she expected payment.
Hamilton didn't even flinch, his eyes were just fixed on the Doctor as he questioned her sanity. He clearly didn't have that kind of money on him...
"If you expected payment for a service that I didn't even ask for? Then you're going to be horribly disappointed, you should've just left me to die out there."
The woman looked disappointed by this response but didn't let it show too much, she kept her composure and showed that she must deal with hostile patients a lot.
"Well, unfortunately, your hypothetical death won't cover the medical bills that were used to keep you alive."
"That's just tough shit I guess, I don't have any money or anything worth 300 caps on my person."
"That isn't true, though we prefer not to repossess goods from our patience, we'd rather come to some sort of arrangement." The Doctor explained, her voice didn't seem to change...
Hamilton remained silent, this may benefit him, it may not, he could always agree to do whatever they want of him and simply not do it.
"It's simple really, you seem far more experienced than the rest of our people, so we were hoping that you could retrieve enough supplies from the nearby ruins to cover your bill. If you come back with three hundred caps worth? We can repair your equipment for free."
Hamilton nodded, this did sound pretty good and he'd rather not piss off another community, for now at least. He wasn't in the best of shape; his neck was heavily bruised and rope burned and he wasn't exactly at his full strength. The local area was probably littered with useful crap and he could probably conjure up 300 Caps worth of loot stood on his head. He'd also be able to map the area and maybe pocket a few things for himself...
"Okay... I'll take a look around and try to find whatever I can, I'm not making any promises though." He agreed, somewhat reluctantly as he rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he did so as he slowly stepped towards the tent flap, the Doctor quickly grabbed hold of his arm, getting the Wastelander's attention.
"Thank you, I don't even get that much out of most... Head on over to our quartermaster at the end of the row, he'll have your weapons and any other equipment that we took from you." The Doctor replied, her gratification seemed to seep through her otherwise harsh tone, this got little more than a nod of recognition from her patient before he slowly stepped out of the front door.
The Doctor found herself biting her tongue as a question burned inside her throat, she quickly looked up and turned to Hamilton as he stepped out the door.
"Wait."
Tom sighed and hung his head, not wanting to show his irritation just yet...
"What?"
The Doctor quickly ran a hand through her hair and thought on it for a moment before turning to Hamilton and giving him her full attention.
"Sorry, this isn't something I'd normally ask but... When they found you, my people said that you had been hung on a makeshift dock. Do you know why?"
The question hung in the air for a few moments as Hamilton considered his options; her Hippocratic oath insisted that she helped him no matter what, assuming that she took one of course.
"Yes." He replied, his bitterness shone through the gruffness of his voice, a side effect of having his larynx crushed less than twenty-four hours ago.
"Was it... An execution?" She probed, making Hamilton wriggle on the spot, like a child being grilled for being caught in the act. He didn't give a shit about the small-town justice of a population that mostly consisted of rabid dog fuckers anyway. Still, if she wanted to know...
"Yes, for murder."
There was a long silence as the woman processed this answer, trying to work her patient out as he stood there in silence, his gaze glaring off to the side.
"Did you do it?"
"Yes."
"You seem to admit your guilt pretty quickly..." She commented, making a note of it on her chart, Hamilton didn't give two shits if she wanted to play dress up and pretend that things were the way that they used to be.
The truth was that it wasn't and that this world was the only world that they had...
"Not as quickly as you pass your judgements..." He grumbled, walking away from the tent, he had to get away from it.
He wandered down the approach as he passed two or three disaster relief tents, most likely stolen from an outpost or perhaps this was the outpost, either way, it didn't seem to matter.
Outside of the tent were several houses, each was home to two or three residents, most of which had children or infants running about or resting on their knees as they sat around and talked. It was rare that Hamilton had seen places with civilians, outside of DC but it was a point of fascination for him, it showed that this place was doing well at least.
At the end of the street stood two large wooden barricades on each side, both of which were patrolled by armed men with guns. It appeared to be the case that this one street had been sectioned off and turned into a residential area. A clever tactic, if Hamilton could be honest as the place was near impenetrable.
The Wastelander stopped as he reached the final tent and stepped inside of the armory, hoping to retrieve his gun and machete before stepping back out on the road...
"...And he never walked again. Hahaha... Oh that sure was rich."
Maxwell cleared his throat
"Aaand for those that have just tuned in. This is A.R.C. the radiostation of the Empire wasteland."
"Remember guys and gals of "post-apocalyptia". I'm still looking for fresh faced reporters, interested in making this town a better place? or just interested in making some good honest bottlecaps? Just hop on down to the ACR building in southern Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan and we'll discuss it further!"
"Now, back some nice music from the late Dean Martin, Houston."
"Unit L-1725, come in." C-301's 'voice' crackled to life in L-1725's 'ear'.
"Ready to copy." It confirmed into it's wired-in radio.
"Is T-800's position confirmed? Over."
"Negative. it appears to have intiated stealth systems. Over."
"Copy. Activate targeting system and proceed. Out."
L-1725 raised its M16 and pressed forward, ready for any encounter. It's partner, L-3582, covered it as it sped down the hall. Both were Liberty Series androids, built for an advanced extra-personal combat. However, unlike their gigantic Capital Wasteland counterpart, these were only 5'10" tall, and lacked many of Prime's higher functions.
"No sight of target. T-800 is not in the vicinity." 1725 informed 3582, and lowered its rifle, pointing the barrel towards the ground.
"Affirmative. Will fall back and detonate charges. Will inform units L-1555 and L-2712."
Just as L-3582 turned away, the wall across from 1725's casual position ripped apart as T-800 launched itself through it. 1725 programming responded accordingly- it brought it's rifle up, already primed and ready to fire. But T-800 caught the barrel halfway there, and bent it to the side, rendering the weapon useless.
"Target sighted." L-1725 announced in monotone before T-800 punched its fist through the machine's head. 3582 spun around and raised its rifle to fire, but T-800 had already yanked L-1725's .45 clean for its holster, and fire off three shots from waist height. All bullets hit 3582 in the "stomach," dead on, causing the machine to stumble back. T-800 yanked it's fist free and shoved L-1725 back, before casually lifting the pistol to eye level and emptying the clip into 3582's head. Despite the difficulty the shot would pose to a regular man, not a bullet missed.
Once that robot too fell 'dead,' T-800 dropped the empty gun and marched off, leaving C-301 calmly speaking into the dead android's transceiver
"1725, report. 1725, report. 1725..."
Before the war, the city council had made efforts to make Queens more appealing by setting up small public parks and cookie-cutter googie-style stripmalls for the average Joe and Jane. And it worked... For the brief time it lasted. Now most of the mall street was a scorched wasteland like the rest of the world. A rusty chain from a swing gently swayed back and forth in the wind, making a faint squeaking noise. It appeared quite deserted. Which was odd. Mostly these places were crawling with raiders or that sort of ilk.
Hamilton quickly drew his Colt 1911 from the back of his pants, quickly checking how much ammo he had in it.
Eight shots... That was more than enough to clear a supermarket, he just had to make every shot count, which wasn't so difficult for him.
The Wastelander cautiously approached the first shop, which appeared to be some sort of launderette or dry cleaners. It didn't seem to be very big and was merely a waiting area and a counter, with a cash register on it.
Perhaps there was some pre-war money inside, despite the fact that it was just paper now, it was still worth 10 caps per wad. Not something to be sneezed at...
He cautiously approached the counter, getting ready to shoot at anything that jumped out at him.
The diagonally domino tiled laundry service building seemed empty. The glass from the shop's display window had been blown to the inside and was shattered all over.
A putrid smell became clear.
Hamilton registered the smell, what was it? Rotting? Burning? Cooked flesh? They all smelled so similar now...
Maybe it was feces, that seemed just as likely...
He placed both hands on his gun before kicking the door open, raising his gun as he revealed the back room...
A skeleton lay on the ground, in tattered clothes, and a huge shard of glass sticking out the back of his skull.
Guess someone didn't "Duck N' Cover"...
Hamilton wasn't really repulsed by skeletons, at least they weren't horrific and didn't smell, though few things were able to disgust him these days.
He slowly approached the back of the room, where three dry cleaning machines dwelled, only one of them was in one piece but had long since gone rustic. The rest had broken doors and a smashed panel.
The Wastelander examined the most damaged dry-cleaning machine and wondered what had done this, it looked like someone had taken a sledge hammer to it. Maybe the raiders stripped it for parts? Though it was more logical to assume that the dumb fuckers thought that it was a vending machine...
Either way, there was little that would interest Hamilton in here and he slowly turned around and began to leave, hopefully there was a supermarket up ahead or something...
The stripmall still seemed as desolate since he arrived.
Some dust whirled by in a small ground level whirlwind along with some plastic bags, shuffling along.
Hamilton didn't let such subtle changes spook him; he was aware of what was around him but he didn't let it affect his behavior.
He slowly wandered down the sidewalk, keeping his finger firmly around the trigger of his pistol as he slowly approached some sort of Supermarket. He looked up and saw a '+' sign, that revealed it to be a chemist, which seemed to join onto a Supermarket. Both of them seemed to be a part of the same chain...
He knelt down in front of the window and peered inside, looking for any sign of his gracious hosts...
Hamilton was wise to Raider acts, that much was certain. But it seemed these Raiders weren't green either. Knowing full well that they had the upper hand as long as they stayed inside, like a dragon guarding its treasure.
Hamilton slowly drew his gun and looked for a good way to change the odds, there wasn't much that he could do at this point, other than break the corner of one of the windows with the butt of his gun, staying behind the brick wall to shield himself from gunfire.
The Raiders hiding inside the drugstore decided this would be the perfect time to taunt their new plaything. After some feedback and tuning the intercom system around the stripmall started booming a pukey muzak piece.
"aaaarrrroooooo, come little doggy, come out to play! arr- arr arrrooooo, hahahaaha"
a foul voice sounded from the roofs behind him. All around him actually, quick footsteps, faint chuckles and sounds other worrying sounds.
He was being surrounded.
Great... Dog fuckers, just what I needed...
Hamilton sighed, slowly stepping away and slipping into the alleyway between the clinic and the firework store next door.
This place reminded him of home, it was just missing the giant with the ice cream...
T-800 moved on from the, north, into One Tree.
He was safer out of the city or away from populated places. That's where the Commonwealth liked to operate. As for One Tree, his ever-active targeting system would pick out any enemies that came his way.
Morgan tinkered in her workshop, humming along to the tunes of the ARC station. She stuck out her tongue and narrowed her eyes, fiddling with a complicated looking set of wires.
He wants visitors? Pff, idiot. That's like screaming out for Raiders to come shut you down. 'Why, I'm surprised they haven't alre-
BOOM!
Morgan sighed and rolled her eyes, seemed like another group of dullards had figured their way out to her location south of Fort Morris. To be honest, it really wasn't that hard to work out. She was a couple miles North of the River and slap bang in the middle.
Another explosion rocked her ear drums, causing Morgan to abandon her work to look out her cracked window. Several raiders were surrounding her and cautiously stepping forwards.
Never mind War. It's the people that never change... She thought to herself, glancing over to her supply cache with another sigh.
Running low on materials, might just move to the park at this rate...
Several more explosions were soon followed by sharp screams and the thudding of an arm hitting her window.
"Great..." She muttered in a husky voice, sore from lack of use.
"Now I have to clean as well..."
T-800 perked up at the noise. Calculations were made in split seconds, program routines were running, and his targeting system scanned the environment, taking readings.
Explosions were bad, they concluded, and Rook, ever the daring infiltrator and investigator, set off in that direction.
Morgan tugged open the door of her workshop with a grunt and peered up at the window with a husky sigh.
Gonna take all day to get rid of this crap...
Rook advanced, up a hill. He checked to make sure both his lever-shotgun was loaded with shells and firmly in the holster, but unsnapped, and that his pistol was loaded and firmly snapped into it's holster. He wasn't worried about getting the first draw. He was faster than any human and more accurate too. Ballistic rounds did very little damage to him, nor did lasers, or explosives. He weakness lay in plasma and EMP/EMCs. The latter damaged his titanium alloy, and the former was debilitating.
Rook stepped into view, eying Morgan and her workshop. He noticed she was unarmed, and deemed her a nonhostile.
Morgan heard the footsteps turned to eye Rook up from a distance. She waved to it before folding her arms and tilting her head.
Maybe this one is smart enough to not get blown up?