War. War never changes.
On October 23rd, 2077, the Great War began and ended. It lasted only for two long hours, two hours of constant atomic bombardment. Nobody knew who shot first, the first nuclear warheads hit the US in the states of Pennsylvania and New York, and the destructive cascade continued, engulfing the entire planet in a fiery inferno. From that moment, Earth was forever transformed into a desolate wasteland, its very essence poisoned by radiation and plagued by relentless storms and acid rains.
Either in vaults deep underground or in makeshift refugees, the unfortunate souls who had survived the nuclear exchange emerged from their shelters and ventured forth into the remnants of a shattered world, bearing witness to the madness of their predecessors.
The remnants of human society soon plunged into chaos and anarchy. As if the dangers of irradiated lands and new breeds of dangerous mutated creatures weren't enough, raiders, slavers, murderers, and warlords took advantage of the instability and preyed on the weak. Violence and cruelty became the norm in the wasteland. And in this lawless world, survival was the only goal, and those who managed to do so did it by any means necessary.
Yet, amid the desolation and despair, flickers of hope persisted. Small pockets of civilization began to take root. Communities of merchants, farmers, and scavengers banded together, offering protection and trade to one another. From these humble origins, some factions flourished, accumulating wealth and power, ruling over vast territories.
But even amidst the newfound prosperity, the insatiable thirst for power and dominance remained. Factions clashed in bloody wars, driven by selfish desires and an insatiable lust for control, heedless of humanity's fragile state.
One such conflict emerged as a notable battle in the year 2281, an epic clash between the forces of the East and the West, set against the vast desert backdrop of the Mojave Wasteland. At the heart of this confrontation stood the great Hoover Dam, a towering monolith that held the precious waters of the Colorado River. Legends whispered of the dam's past, where it once harnessed the power to provide electricity to the entire southwestern United States before the ravages of the Great War.
On one side stood the New California Republic, a democratic government driven to rebuild the world in the image of the old-world democracies, flawed as they may have been. Opposing them was the fearsome Caesar's Legion, a brutal regime of 87 enslaved tribes all around the former states of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado. Inspired by the expansionist ideals of the Roman Empire, the Legion was determined to conquer and subjugate all who dared to cross their path.
The battle for Hoover Dam represented more than a struggle for resources; it embodied a clash of ideologies. For the NCR, the dam represented a symbol of their unmatched power, a way to provide clean water and electricity to the West Coast, solidifying their status as a formidable nation. Conversely, for Caesar's Legion, the dam held the strategic key to spreading their rule and influence across the Colorado River, a gateway to the vast reaches of the West Coast.
Thus, the two grand factions clashed, colliding like a charging bull against the claws of a ferocious bear. The battle raged on for days, each side fiercely determined, with neither gaining the upper hand. In the end, it was the intervention of the mysterious Courier that turned the tide of battle and sealed the fate of both the battle and the Mojave Wasteland.
Many legends were told of the mysterious stranger who mysteriously appeared in the humble town of Goodsprings. He set forth on a perilous journey through the treacherous wilderness of the Mojave, traversing the unforgiving stretches of Highway 95, all in pursuit of the man who had left them for dead.
As the Courier ventured deeper into the unforgiving desert, his path intersected with numerous locations, leaving an indelible mark upon the people and places they encountered. Many remembered him as a hero and a Messiah, while others saw him as the bane of humanity and Death incarnate.
Whether he was reportedly clearing off Deathclaws nests at Quarry Junction, purging the southwestern region of New Vegas from the scourge of the Fiends, or allegedly being behind the mysterious disappearance of the NCR soldiers at HELIOS One. The stranger remained a force to be reckoned with, etching his name into the annals of the Mojave Wasteland.
With motives as mysterious as his identity, the Courier disrupted the balance of power, he charged forward and assaulted the countless troops of Legionaries, aided only by a single Securitron. Though initially grateful for his help, the NCR soon found themselves at the mercy of their unpredictable ally. The stranger turned on them as quickly as he had turned on their enemies, leaving a trail of destruction as he made his way down Hoover Dam and toward his ultimate goal.
As the Legion forces retreated and the NCR relinquished their hold on the dam, both factions tasted the bitterness of failure. In their wake, Robert Edwin House, the eccentric CEO of RobCo Industries and ruler of New Vegas, swept in with his army of Securitrons, triumphantly claiming the monument as his own and eradicating any remnants of resistance.
Battered and scarred by the defeat, both the Legion and the NCR withdrew from the Mojave Desert. Leaving a few minor factions present in the wake of House's triumph, such as the Follower of the Apocalypse, the Enclave Remnants. As well as the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, who were spared by the Courier and concealed from Mr. House's watchful eye.
Caesar's Legion, once an ominous presence, mysteriously vanished from the region, leaving no trace behind. Meanwhile, NCR's President Kimbal resigned in the wake of the disastrous battle, and General Oliver, who was in charge of the ill-fated operation, inexplicably disappeared. Rumors circulated that he had taken his own life rather than face the consequences of his failure.
Amidst the chaos, the newly appointed vice-president struggled to address the mounting challenges within the NCR's territories. News of the Mojave defeat exacerbated tensions, plunging the faction into further disarray. The vice-president's incompetence in restoring order led to their swift impeachment and dismissal, leaving the presidency vacant.
The following presidential elections were a disaster, as no candidate was willing to run for the presidency. Worse, there was talk of some territories declaring independence and breaking away from the NCR. The 100-year-old republic was on the verge of collapsing into chaos.
But from the depths of uncertainty, a single individual arose, embodying a beacon of hope. With boundless charisma and leadership prowess, this remarkable figure rallied the fractured congress, instilling hope and confidence in the citizens of the NCR. Under their guidance, the nation embarked on a journey of rebirth, as their newly elected president, to steer them toward a brighter future.
With such a major crisis averted, the president's first decision was to initiate a peace treaty with the other factions of their past objective, the Mojave, including the NCR's most prominent rival, Robert Edwin House. To achieve this, they sought the aid of the only person capable of convincing such a stubborn man and the factions to come to the negotiating table—the Courier.
Initially reluctant, the Courier dismissed the NCR's offer, harboring little interest in engaging with an organization like the NCR. However, curiosity got the better of him when a personal invitation arrived, extending an opportunity to meet the president in person. Intrigued to meet the person who in that conglomerate of pitiful cowards, soulless bureaucratic monoliths, and obedient fools, had the balls to invite the Bear's most hated foe, the Courier eventually acquiesced and embarked on the journey to Shady Sands.
Surprisingly, the Courier found himself captivated by the president's eloquence and persuasive powers. He attentively listened as the president laid out their vision for reuniting the West Coast, instilling a newfound sense of unity and purpose. After careful consideration, the Courier agreed to undertake the task, setting forth to deliver the president's message throughout the Mojave.
Months passed, and the appointed day arrived. In the grandest of penthouses at the Tops, representatives from various factions assembled, including Mr. House, Elder McNamara of the Brotherhood of Steel, and even the ragtag crew of the Enclave Remnants led by Judah Kreger made a surprising appearance.
Tensions were high as Mr. House was surprised to see Elder McNamara alive. Were it not for the Courier's intervention, the man would have already set his Securitrons to kill, and this meeting would have ended in a massacre. The Brotherhood was neither keen on mingling with the 'Abomination' nor their former enemies, the NCR, and the Enclave.
Countless insults were exchanged, and hours of heated arguments ensued. Were it not for the commanding presence of the Courier and the persuasive powers of the president, the gathering would have dissolved into chaos and bloodshed. Reluctantly, after much deliberation, all parties reached a historic agreement.
Even Robert House, harboring suspicions and fearing the encroachment of the NCR upon his dominion, reluctantly set his signature upon the treaty. The prospect of peace and stability proved too enticing to pass up, especially with the promise of a revitalized New Vegas Strip, drawing the New California Republic's highest rollers back to its glamorous embrace.
With all factions on board, the peace treaty was formally signed, heralding a new era for the West Coast. The scene evoked memories of the signing of the American Declaration of Independence, five centuries earlier.
While it may have been more convenient, especially for the NCR, to absorb all the other factions under the New California Republic, they were advised not to push their luck. Instead, a new name emerged to represent their united front. Thus, on July 5th, 2282, the West Coast Coalition was born. This event occurred just one day after Independence Day, which created another day of celebration for the people of America—one day for the old world and one day for a new hope.
Though maintaining their independence and territories, the factions within the Coalition pledged to uphold the well-being of the entire collective, mirroring a federation of sovereign entities.
After years of chaos and anarchy, this marked the true spark of a rekindled civilization, a fresh beginning for America. With cooperation as their guiding light, the West Coast Coalition embarked on a journey toward a brighter future, leaving the ashes of the past behind.
And so, the curtain closed on a tale of war and turmoil, as a new chapter began—a chapter filled with hope, cooperation, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. The wasteland had witnessed the darkest depths of humanity, but now, amidst the ruins, a fragile civilization emerged, eager to rise from the ashes and forge a new path into the future.
~Gate: Thus the Wasteland Fought There and Beyond !~
Years passed after the peace treaty was signed, and the Mojave and the rest of the West Coast experienced a massive economic boom. With the reinstatement of the NCR Embassy in The Strip, it fostered slow but steady diplomatic relations between the NCR and New Vegas.
Meanwhile, the once fragmented Brotherhood of Steel, determined to reclaim its former glory, diligently worked to rebuild and reconnect with hidden and lost chapters.
The Enclave Remnants, despite starting with the laughably low number of five, managed to recruit and establish a moderate group of a new generation of soldiers. Instilled in the tactical prowess and patriotic old-world values that once shaped them into the ruthless paramilitary organization that once bought terror to the 'degenerate mutants' of the West Coast. They quickly became a major player in the wasteland despite their smaller size, dominating the airs with their fleet of Vertibirds and becoming an elite force, largely surpassing anything similar from their peers.
Other factions within the Coalition met similar growth and advancement. However, challenges and setbacks greeted this newfound union. Raiders and other threats continued to haunt the wasteland. Most recently, rumors circulated of Caesar's Legion making a resurgence south of the Mojave Wasteland. The Coalition stood on high alert, prepared to face their sworn enemy once again.
Amidst this backdrop, the Courier found himself called upon for aid. After the peace treaty was signed, returning to his old job at the Mojave Express felt inadequate after all he had been through, not to mention the garbage pay.
Despite his grand fame, topping even the biggest celebrities of New Hollywood and New Reno. The Courier preferred to stay out of the spotlights and lead a quiet, nomadic life. He wandered the newly opened borders, ostensibly to accomplish House's deeds, but it was mostly for his own ends, often popping up here and there, and taking on perilous jobs that others dared not touch.
As the Courier approached the entrance to the Coalition's camp, stationed a few miles from the Legion's alleged sightings, two NCR soldiers greeted him with a firm salute. "Good to see you here, sir!" one of them exclaimed, brimming with excitement. Meeting the renowned Courier was always an honor.
"Hello." the Courier replied with a nod, acknowledging their presence.
"The commanders are waiting for you in the main tent." the other soldier informed him, pointing towards a large tent situated in the center of the camp.
Expressing his gratitude with a nod, the Courier made his way towards the tent. Along the journey, he marveled at the diversity within the camp—NCR soldiers, Brotherhood of Steel knights, former Enclave members, and even reformed Raider gang members—all working side by side. It was amusing to think that not long ago, they were at each other's throats.
As he traversed the camp, the Courier was stopped by individuals who recognized him, extending their heartfelt thanks for his past assistance. He responded with a slight nod of appreciation or a simple "thank you." However, a few others regarded him with disapproval, their piercing stares or whispered comments betraying their dissent. The Courier paid little mind to them, even understanding some of their reactions as justified.
The Courier entered the tent, greeted by the sight of three men huddled around a large map spread across the center table. Two of them were familiar faces—Head Paladin Edgar Hardin and Enclave Remnants leader Judah Kreger. They warmly greeted him, and he reciprocated the gesture. Kreger, in particular, who appeared in much better shape than the last time the two have met, sporting a sharp officer's uniform and exuding the aura of a respected Enclave leader.
The third man, standing to the right, was a stranger to the Courier. Clad in a uniform reminiscent of General Oliver's attire, he exuded an air of confidence and youthfulness that the former spineless worm of an NCR general lacked. Turning towards the Courier, he announced himself in a commanding tone, "General Douglas Craig. It's a pleasure to finally meet the famous Courier of the Mojave." Extending his hand with a confident smile, he offered a handshake.
"Likewise, sir." the Courier replied, reciprocating the handshake with a nod. He had heard of General Craig—a seasoned leader with an impressive track record of victories. Craig was the obvious choice following Oliver's disappearance, though rumors of his brutal and controversial tactics had made a small spot on his reputation. Additionally, his alleged connections to the Brahmin Barons raised eyebrows in, providing him with an easy path to fame.
The Courier reserved judgment, choosing to gather more information before forming a definitive opinion. Nonetheless, an uneasy feeling lingered in his gut as he was in Craig's presence. Nevertheless, he maintained a polite and respectful demeanor as he approached the map.
Curiosity piqued, the Courier inquired, "So, what's the situation?" His gaze shifted to the map, absorbing its intricate details.
Head Paladin Hardin took the lead in responding, his hand strategically placed on the map. "We have received reports of possible Legion troops retreating to Searchlight Airport. They've remained stationary for a few days, but we've established a perimeter around in case they decide to advance."
"Possible? Is there any confirmation that this is the real Legion? Because we're pretty far from the Colorado River. And I think all this preparation is a bit excessive for some random assumptions." the Courier remarked skeptically. While it would be foolish to underestimate the threat of the Coalition's number one enemy, the hypothesis of a band of raiders with a similar fondness for makeshift Roman attire was still plausible.
"We have eyewitness accounts from a caravan that was attacked by a few dozen of these Legion soldiers. And let me remind you that a few years ago, the Legion managed to slip through NCR patrols and decimate Nipton, a town even farther away than our current position." the Paladin explained, furrowing his brow in confusion. "However, we have no idea how they could have circumvented our now vastly improved security measures across the Colorado River. Aerial reconnaissance also showed no suspicious movements in the region. It was as if they materialized out of thin air."
Listening intently, the Courier absorbed the information presented to him. "Have any reconnaissance missions been sent?" he inquired, eager to delve deeper into the situation.
The Brotherhood paladin shook his head. "Not yet. We are currently assembling a small group consisting of NCR Rangers and Brotherhood Knights for an initial investigation. The Enclave's Vertibirds will also provide aerial support."
"I can offer my assistance." the Courier offered. "I have firsthand experience dealing with the Legion, so I guess I can be pretty useful for a first expedition."
General Craig and the Head Paladin Hardin exchanged a glance before the general spoke, his voice tinged with caution. "Your help would be greatly appreciated, Courier. But I must warn you, if this turns out to be a trap, things could turn quite nasty."
The Courier shrugged nonchalantly. "Heh, just another Thursday for me."
And so, the men delved into an in-depth discussion regarding the potential threat and the Courier's plan of action.
[1035 hours, West from the Imperial Capital, Empire, Special Region]
Lord Leonard had always harbored a deep conviction that he was destined for greatness. Throughout his entire life, he had ceaselessly flaunted his opulence and sought favor from those in power, all in the hopes of ascending the ranks of the military. Yet, despite his relentless efforts, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was consistently held back, confined to menial tasks and insignificant duties while others reveled in the glory of the front lines.
When news of another mythical gate resurfaced on Alnus Hill, a spark of hope flickered within Leonard's heart. Perhaps this would be the opportunity he had been waiting for, a chance to finally prove himself and earn the recognition he so desperately desired. However, his optimism quickly waned as a second gate materialized elsewhere, diverting attention and resources away from his mission.
While the Empire and the three kingdoms rallied their forces to confront the foreign invaders at Alnus Hill, Leonard found himself relegated to a meager group of soldiers tasked with investigating the lesser-known gate.
Frustration surged through his veins as he sat inside his tent, exclaiming in exasperation, "You've got to be kidding me! I should now be winning battles that would bask me in glory and make my feet kissed by half the royal court! And here I am, running errands not even a mere knight should be given to!"
With a heavy sigh, Leonard begrudgingly resigned himself to his fate and the only thing he longed for was the return of the first expedition, so he could join the rest of the military in storming towards Alnus Hill.
Minutes passed before a disheveled young man clad in battered armor stumbled into the tent. His attire was in tatters, the fabric worn thin and coated in a layer of dust and sand, as if he had weathered a relentless sandstorm. As he entered, the dust dispersed, causing Leonard to cough before he greeted his visitor with a smile.
"Stanford, my dear son! It's good to see you again." the lord said, relieved to have his youngest son back from the expedition. Leonard rose from his seat and walked over to embrace the young man, but a disconcerting sensation gripped him the moment he held him.
"Pleased to see you too, Father." Stanford replied in a hoarse, raspy voice. He appeared frail and weakened, despite having been gone for only a few days. Leonard motioned for his son to sit beside him, observing as he gingerly removed his helmet. At that moment, horror washed over the lord, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"By the gods! What has happened to you?" he exclaimed.
Once a handsome and vibrant youth, Stanford now resembled a shadow of his former self, appearing even older than his father. His eyes were sunken and hollow, encircled by dark circles. Chapped and split lips sported dried blood at the corners. His once lustrous hair now clung to his forehead with sweat and dirt, a tangled mess. Stanford's skin had been ravaged by burns, leaving it dry and cracked, mottled with ominous black patches as though he had fallen victim to some obscure disease.
"Where do I even begin?" Stanford whispered, his voice strained and hoarse. "That gate, Father, it transported us straight into the depths of hell itself. As we approached the other side, the air grew thick and toxic, causing us to cough and wheeze. A peculiar metallic taste filled our mouths, making us dizzy. When we finally emerged on the other side, we found ourselves in a desolate, barren wasteland, with nothing but endless stretches of sand and rocks as far as the eye could see. With the scorching sun mercilessly cooking us alive…"
Horror-struck, Lord Leonard listened as his son recounted the harrowing events of their expedition. He struggled to comprehend the unimaginable realm they had unwittingly stumbled upon, things that were far beyond his comprehension.
"After passing through the Gate, we found ourselves on a stone path lined with decaying metal contraptions and towering ruins. But we were not alone. Giant scorpions, some towering as tall as men, were expecting us, launching relentless attacks from all directions. We barely managed to repel their onslaught, but many of our men perished. As night fell, we couldn't even close an eye, assailed by a horde of what appeared to be undead creatures glowing eerily in the darkness. Although less formidable than the scorpions, their sheer numbers resulted in the deaths of even more soldiers."
Stanford paused momentarily, gasping for breath as exhaustion and dehydration took their toll. He reached for a nearby bottle of wine and took a long sip, quenching his parched throat.
"We slowly set up camp and ventured further into the area. Eventually, we stumbled upon a strange city shrouded in a sickly green haze, the very source of the glowing undead. I dispatched two of my men to investigate, but they never returned. Consequently, we chose to steer clear of the city for the time being and continued onward. And, Father, you won't believe it, but we encountered a group of people—actual humans!"
Intrigued, Lord Leonard leaned forward. "Humans? Do you mean like us? In this desolate wasteland?" he questioned, his voice brimming with bewilderment. Stanford nodded solemnly. "But they were unlike any people I've ever seen. They wore peculiar attire and wielded bizarre staffs. And their conveyances, Father… they were unlike anything I could comprehend. They moved without horses or oxen, as if driven by some enigmatic force."
Confusion washed over Lord Leonard as he struggled to comprehend his son's account. "Vehicles that move without horses?" he muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "What kind of vehicles?"
"Metal carts, Father." Stanford replied, his eyes filled with wonder. "They moved at incredible speeds. When we approached the people, they swiftly departed in their vehicles. One of them even unleashed a lethal projectile from their strange staff, killing one of our men instantly."
"Stanford, my son…" The aging lord sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I must confess, your story defies all logic! I do not understand what you've witnessed out there. Giant scorpions, horseless metal contraptions, staffs capable of instant death… Are you certain you did not suffer a head injury or fall into some delirium?"
Stanford rose from his seat, a mix of indignation and despair etched across his face. How could his father not believe him? Or was it merely a refusal to accept the unimaginable? Slamming his palms down on the table, he exclaimed, "I wish I were hallucinating! I truly do, Father! But you must believe me! This place, this place, is a curse of unfathomable proportions! And we have merely scratched the surface. Who knows what abominations lurk within? We must seal this Gate without delay before something unspeakable crawls into our world-"
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by shrill screams and panicked cries erupting from outside. Hastily, they rushed out of the tent to witness a scene of utter chaos unfolding before them. "What in the name of all that is holy is transpiring?" the commander bellowed, his disbelief evident.
"My lord! My lord!" A soldier sprinted towards them, gasping for breath as he reached their vicinity. Leonard's gaze fixated on the soldier, urgency coloring his voice as he demanded, "What is the meaning of this? Speak!"
The soldier struggled to compose himself, his words tumbling out in a frenzy. "We've lost contact with the camp on the other side! Something… something abominable attacked them! And now, it's making its way toward us!"
Suddenly, an explosion erupted from the Gate, shrouding it in a thick fog. Leonard's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Gods above…" he whispered, his mouth agape. "All soldiers, hold your positions! Prepare to defend with all your might!" With a swift motion, his left arm waved orders while his right hand drew his trusty sword.
His son, fear etched across his face, huddled behind him. "I knew it! I knew they would come for us! What can we possibly do to defend ourselves against such terror?"
"Silence, you fool!" Leonard snapped back, his voice laced with frustration. "Man up and get ready to fight for once in your miserable life! I knew I could never be your father. That cowardly blood in your veins could never be mine!"
"W-What?" Stanford stammered, tears welling up in his eyes as the painful revelation hit him like a thunderclap. Droplets trickled down his cheeks, pooling at the bags beneath his sunken eyes.
All of a sudden, a resounding rumble emanated from the Gate, accompanied by the clanking of metals, the resonating thuds of footsteps, and eerie buzzing sounds. Dark humanoid figures began to materialize from the mist, their menacing presence casting long shadows upon the scene. Suddenly, their eyes appeared, some glowing with demonic hues of red, yellow, and blue—manifestations straight from the bowels of hell itself.