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"Opportunities multiply, as they are seized."- Redacted Source.
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The reclamation of Vault 113 marked as a beneficial turning point in Vault 115's fortunes.
Immediately after cleansing the vault of the remains, a second outpost was set up, and Stern focused his efforts on fortifying both Outposts One and Two in the following months. Then, he began a systematic purge of the redneck infestation in the Carlon City ruins. This task proved to be an easy goal to achieve, however, as the infestation showed signs of diminishing rather than growing worse.
Left with no means of increasing their numbers, and facing the superior weapons of the military, the mutants were completely wiped out by year's end.
In the years following the cleansing of Carlon, the inhabitants of Vault 115 turned their attentions to self-improvement.
By then, the effects of the nuclear fallout seemed to dissipate, allowing more of the vault-dweller population to emerge and settle on the surface. Using the industrial bones scavenged from building corpses, the people began rebuilding their vision of the Old World. Progress was slow, but steady. Within the next 20 years, what started as a small settlement soon after became a thriving city.
A sturdy wall of steel and concrete surrounded the compound of Vault 115, which acted as a bulwark in any event of an invasion. Buildings of brick, stone and wood filled those in between, offering better comfort as shelters as opposed to the cold confines of the Vault.
And what stood out the most was the giant dome of reinforced steel and glass that covered the city. The dome, a marvel of technology based on pre-existing works of scientists in the past, was the brain-child of the brightest minds in Vault 115. A symbolic womb built to nourish and protect the remnants of the Old World, the dome featured a controlled interior climate and stretched from Vault 115 up to Outpost One, ranging from 20-30 kilometers in diameter. A geodesic dome based on a geodesic polyhedron. The triangular elements of the dome were structurally rigid and distributed the structural stress throughout the structure, making the geodesic dome able to withstand very heavy loads for its size.
The interior climate, with the help of the only Garden of Eden Creation Kit in the Vault, produced fields of lush green and much needed golden fields of corn, wheat and rice. Farms and orchards, vineyards and processing plants provided many job opportunities for the vault-dwellers and most of the civilian population flocked to these production centers to embrace a new life of farming.
A great amount of resource had to be expended as a result of the project, but the yields were well worth the cost. In the harsh and often hellish conditions of the Texan Wasteland, the city became a veritable Eden, an oasis in the desert.
Hence, it was named Elysion, an offshoot term for the Greek mythological paradise of the afterlife.
The next generations of vault-dwellers begat their own progeny, adhering to the strict guidelines imposed by the Breeding Program, and their numbers swelled. Anticipating the population boom that resulted from their expansion into the surface, the leaders of the new world made preparations for a slow advance into the Wasteland.
As they did so, however, they never anticipated that word of the rise of Elysion would spread across the Wasteland before they could even set foot outside of their territory. Before long, wastelander travelers hailing from all parts of the Wasteland flocked to the outskirts of the city. They, like the denizens of Vault 115, emerged to find a grotesquely marred landscape. Many perished in the attempt of colonizing the Wasteland, falling to disease, infighting or simply swept away by the Wasteland itself. Most had the sincere desire of seeking refuge under the domed city walls, others hoped to establish a long-term trading relationship.
There were some elements, however, who had less benevolent intentions.
After repelling several raider attacks on the city, it became clear, rather quickly, that the new world order they had established needed to institute new laws regarding newcomers. Enforcing them was not entirely a problem, as the military acted as both Elysion's fighting arm and its law-enforcement organization.
Witnessing the need for a more impressionable regime, Colonel Roman Stern formulated a new ideology for the survivors of Vault 115.
It took him years to create it, replacing the tarnished Stars and Stripes with new symbols, new ranks, and new ideas to replace the ones scorched in nuclear fire. They would provide meaning for people before they became lost in the depths of despair after losing their friends, family, their entire world. Although some under his command, particularly Lt. Col. Keene, were skeptical of his plans, Stern believed that the way forward lay in new traditions and a new mythology, free of the burden of the past.
He adopted the title of High Marshal, named Howard Keene Lord Commander of the new order's military, and never looked back.
Thus, the Dominion was born.
By 2101, utilizing the strengths of their genetically-modified hybrid soldiers and the unmatched power of their armored divisions, this new government held total control of Middle Texas, extending their circle of protection beyond the walls of Elysion. Under the flag of the Dominion, civilization slowly returned to the Wasteland.
Pockets of settlers started building communities in the land, that soon took root and sprouted into small settlements. One of these was Carlon City.
Due to the Dominion's strict standards for acceptance of new citizens, and the traffic of denied petitioners, Carlon became the largest population center in Dominion territory. Next to Elysion, it became the main trading hub of Middle Texas. Few had the luxury of entering the gates of Elysion, but the warm embrace of Carlon proved to be enough of an alternative that no wanderer could easily be deterred.
Caravan trains, overcrowded stalls and noisy market districts were what came to one's mind at the mention of its name.
Food, livestock, weapons- except for military grade ones- and miscellaneous items. All goods were available for purchase of vend at Carlon's market, with the strict exception of slavestock. Slavery was a serious crime in Dominion lands, a capital offense that stood right next to murder, rape, terrorism and treason, and was punishable by death.
The Dominion liked to make a spectacle of the sentences too, as seen through their incessant use of public hangings.
High Marshal Stern appointed his second, Howard Keene, as City Overseer. Keene, already possessing the esteemed position of Lord Commander, juggled both roles with the aid of his small council of representatives. Under his supervision, Carlon remained firmly under Dominion control and continued to contribute to the order's economy throughout the years.
Another day, another sweltering morning, another 24 hours of opportunity for the avid vendor or customer.
Carlon City was abuzz once more with activity. The caravan line, which halted in its tracks at the city market's closing hours, had made camps along the highway in the night. Named the Gypsy Mile, the highway became somewhat an extension of the city market. The hundreds of merchants or travelers who've found their way into the city outskirts, but arrived late, made do by pitching tents along the old road. Soon, a few quick-stop establishments were erected to take advantage of the traffic.
Here, what couldn't be bought or sold in the city could be found in the Gypsy Mile. It was, all but in name, the Dominion black market.
As much as the Dominion would like to extend its jurisdiction over the Mile, the true organization that ran the shady businesses there was the House of Commerce. The name implied a well structured merchant's guild, which came close to their true nature but never on the exact footing. The House was just one of the faces of organized crime; dealing in black market goods, bootlegging, gunrunning and prostitution.
It was exceedingly difficult for the Dominion to keep the House in check, much less wipe them out, as the organization proved to be quite secretive with its leaders' identities. Every merchant from the best peddler to the lowest hustler, the House pulled their strings. Newcomers hailing from distant areas of neighboring commonwealths were quickly inducted. And none of them knew whose mind controlled the elusive inner circle of the House of Commerce.
Still, the City Overseer never saw this war against crime as a lost cause, and wages it alongside the city's peacekeepers in hopes of providing some semblance of order to the Mile.
Today, Carlon opened its gates to allow the caravans to pass and allow the cityfolk to peruse their wares, and the caravan line moved forward with the pace of a snail.
Hope made her way through the crowds lining up for processing. The gate guard had the responsibility of documenting and keeping tabs on who goes where, with newcomers suffering the much longer process of initiation. The procedure was created to ensure that the system had eyes on everyone, and that it would know each person that came through better than the stranger that stood next to him or her. Sometimes, someone would slip through the cracks and conduct business on the downlow, but never for long.
Once you're caught doing business in Carlon without getting tagged first, you'll be sent off to work in the mines as a forced laborer.
Fortunately for Hope, she had all the identification she needed that would get her through the checkpoint.
"Hold up there, ma'am." The guard stopped her as she attempted to enter the opposite lane, away from where the long caravan processing line was. Overhearing him stopping the woman, the guard's sentry bot entourage closed in their targeting parameters on Hope. Should she prove problematic, their guns would make short work of her. "This lane's for authorized personnel only."
"Then that won't be a problem then, because I'm authorized." Hope replied confidently, holding out her left hand and pulling her sleeve back to reveal the barcode tattooed on her wrist.
The guard recognized the distinctive tattoo pattern of a citizen of Elysion, and pursed his lips. Her appearance, with all those road leathers and a duster coat wrapped around them, it fooled him into thinking she was just another waster. He fished out a scanning gun and hovered it over her extended wrist. Once her credentials checked out, he welcomed her in. "Enjoy your stay in Carlon City, Ms. Weiss."
"Thank you, officer."
Hope entered the city, heading straight for the one place she was bound to find what she was looking for, the Oasis. Just thinking about setting foot in that den of iniquity made her mouth feel sour. The Oasis, as the name implied, was a paradise for the more degenerate parts of society. A notable establishment featuring a small casino, a pub, a courtyard with a large pool and some rooms to rent for the night.
It was also known for its whores.
Not the dirt cheap, chem-addicted whores who'd deal themselves with just about anything for a quick buck or high. The Oasis prided itself on having the finest selections, right up from the best booze and down to the most succulent specimens of the human race, and at an affordable price too. Wasters desperate to forget the troubles of the Wasteland frequented the establishment, throwing whatever money they had to spend even one night with the best drug society had to offer.
Places like the Oasis had the appeal that Elysion couldn't have, which was something its citizens preferred. That didn't mean, however, that everyone in Elysion shared the same opinion. Many, of the younger or more reckless lot, found their way into Carlon.
Like, for instance, Hope's troublesome younger brother Dex.
Hope's family emerged from Vault 115 with all the benefits brought on by her father and mother's hard work, offering a slightly better-than-the-norm life. Unlike his older sister, who realized her potential for contributing to the Dominion early on, Dex chose the path of self-gratification in spite of his apparent talents. Hope would've preferred to stay clear of Carlon, if it wasn't for her desire to try one last time to pull him out of the gutter he was miring himself in.
Just one last try. That was all she would do, then leave him to sin in peace if she failed.
Dex opened his eyes, blinking them rapidly in an attempt to moisten up the dry feeling in their lids.
The white noise of the giant fan beside him made him look about in confusion, as his memory of the events of the past night remained far from reach at the moment. The sun was up, and the noise of the outside world came streaming through the open sliding doors of the balcony. The man sat up, rubbed the back of his head, and looked down in curiosity as he felt the weight of someone's arm slide off his chest.
The corners of his lips stretched into a proud grin.
Eros lay in a tangled mess beside him, having exhausted herself catering to his every whim. The woman stirred in her sleep and groaned, still feeling the effects of the stiff drink she'd shared with Dex the night before. Feeling generous, the man got up and closed the sliding doors to let Eros make her slow journey to wakefulness without the blaring noise of the city to hammer against her delicate ears.
"Mmm..." He rumbled as he slipped behind her to nuzzle her smooth, fragrant neck.
"Your night's over..." Eros said softly, reminding Dex he still hadn't paid her for her services.
"Oh really? Charging me now, are you?" Dex muttered as he kissed his way down her back. He liked the way Eros had kept herself, fit and well-toned, with not a single scar or tattoo to mar her perfect body. "Funny, with the way I had you screaming last night, I think I should be the one charging you."
Eros folded her arms to rest her head on and turned her face so she could glance back at him. She smiled, ever the opportunistic one in the business, capitalized on what Dex had to offer. "A girl's gotta eat, sweetie. Unless you plan on buying me breakfast?"
"Maybe I will." By then, Dex had traveled down the valley of her spine to the curve of her ass. He gave the fleshy mounds a good squeeze, "Damn, what I would give to own this ass forever."
"Tell you what..." Eros twisted around to lay on her back, making an offer she'd never once made to anyone else. Dex was the notable exception, especially since he was a citizen of Elysion. As much as she'd like to see him as nothing more than a ticket to the good life, he proved to be something a little bit more than that. "Keep giving me nights like those, and maybe one day you will."
Eros sure knew how to make a man happy. "Oh baby, you mean it?"
"You've been good to me, sweetie." She said as he crawled on top of her, "I can be good to you."
"I'm definitely buying you that breakfast." Dex went down on her, "Just let me have mine first."
Two hours later, Dex emerged from the room, all sated and geared up for the day. He left behind a golden coin, a Dominion credit chip worth 500 credits, to complement Eros on her excellent services. Eros thanked him for the tip with a farewell kiss and saw him out the door, "Come back soon now, sweetie."
The mercenary made sure he hadn't left anything behind, then descended the stairs to get a bite from the restaurant next door. He felt like treating himself to a hearty breakfast, having earned a surprising amount of money following his successful streak from bounty hunting.
It would be a quick grab of his favorite meal, then disappear into the streets. Dex knew he had made some enemies, as many fellow mercenaries felt he was hogging all the bounties to himself. He'd avoid the other mercs, if he could help it. Competition was fierce, with some mercs winding up killing one another just to get a chance on the hunt. Dex was one of the more experienced bounty hunters in Carlon, reliable in a pinch but often reckless when out of a job. Most clients came to him to point Dex to jobs requiring a veteran's hand, and this usually put him at odds with less fortunate mercenaries.
In Carlon, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried to rattle his cage, which was why he always kept his weapon close.
"Was she worth the money?"
The smile from his face faded as he heard the disapproving tone in her voice. There she was, all dusty from traveling through the sandy roads of the Mile. And yet, she reeked of Elysion. There was that certain dignified air she had about her that no amount of dust from the desert could humble, "Yeah, she was. What the hell do you want?"
The Weiss siblings made quite the sight standing in the Oasis lobby. Both had inherited their mother's eye-catching red hair, with Hope gaining all the right genes as she looked like her mother's splitting image. Tall, athletic, with a red super-stacked bob haircut to complement her fine figure. Even Dex thought, to his amusement, that given an Oasis working-girl's attire she could pass as one of the high-class whores of the establishment.
Not that he would avail of her services, of course.
"Well hello to you too, little brother." Hope greeted, ignoring the spiteful look Dex was giving her. "I see that trying to find you in an agreeable mood's a lost cause, but I'll make do with what I've got. Might we discuss this somewhere else?"
"As it so happens, I'm just on my way to breakfast." Dex replied, letting her walk with him but staying a meter apart. He brought her to the Chop Shop, a noisy two-story building stuffed with the scents of spice, cooking oil, body odor and grease. The kind of restaurant people like his sister were loathed to visit, if they could help it. He knew she found it uncomfortable to hang around the dregs of society, which was precisely why he humored her for the day. "You have until after I finish my meal."
He ordered two-pound roasted brahmin steaks, complete with scrambled eggs and a beer. Not the healthiest meal on earth, but it was heaven to him. "Talk fast, because I eat fast."
It was Hope's turn to scowl, as she fidgeted in the torn, bug-infested seat. "Fine, I hope you're enjoying this while it lasts, for I shall be brief."
"Mmm, good." Dex talked through a mouthful of meat. "The steak I mean."
"I'm part of an expeditionary team heading south, and we're a man short. I want you to join us on our run." Hope stopped to swat at a fly buzzing so dangerously close to her face, "I'm willing to pay you a substantial sum for your services."
Dex wasn't one to take his sister seriously, "Oh, how generous of you. I was half expecting you to come down here and appeal to our familial ties. What changed?"
"I know your love for money above any desire in this world." Hope said with a disdainful grimace, "Second only to the waster whores you so grace with your company."
Dex ignored the derogatory term so ruthlessly placed on the fine women of the Oasis, "Come now, don't judge them so easily as you judge me. Give the Oasis a night, they'd broaden your perspective."
"I'm sure they will, for the ones who have shred their last strand of decency." Hope realized they'd been sidetracked and immediately returned to the purpose of her visit, "5000 credits, take it or leave it."
Dex whistled, "Whoa."
"With an additional hazard pay of 1000."
Now, Dex was curious. "With an offer like that, who can refuse? Makes one wonder though, how is it that you've come to me out of all the mercenaries here in Carlon? As much as I'd appreciate your generosity of coming to me first, you should know there are many others in the business who'd be interested in working for you for less, and offer up better skills."
"And this, I know very well." Hope declared, "I came to you first because I'm offering you one last chance to rise above this filthy life you've made for yourself, and actually do something useful for a change."
She got up to leave, "I need only one man, one man to fill the slot. Should you choose to take me up on our offer, our convoy leaves from Elysion at 0500 tomorrow. Enjoy your meal, Dexter." With that said, the woman disappeared from the Chop Shop.
And Dex hadn't even gotten halfway through his breakfast.
The slot won't be filled by anyone else but him, he knew she was counting on his greed to press him to go. And yet, Dex still wasn't sure. He had his reasons for hesitating, one of them being Eros. "6000 credits sure is a lot of money." He stabbed his fork into another piece of brahmin, "But maybe I'll let her stew on it until the last minute."
"Dex, you son of a bitch!"
The mercenary groaned as a group of armored thugs jostled their way through the crowd of patrons to get to his table. "And I was just having the best morning ever."
"It can be a short morning if you show up to work on the hunt again." Carver snarled as he plopped down on the same spot where Hope used to be, just opposite from where he sat with only the table to keep them from going at each other. "I warned you about the Skinner job, I told you to back off. That bounty was mine!"
"Then you should've moved faster." Dex said, one hand on his pistol as he kept the raging mercenary talking. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out here, Carver. The slow get left behind."
Carver hadn't really thought this meeting through, and Dex could sense it. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth between him and the table. In one fluid motion, both he and Dex had their guns trained on one another. His friends, Diamondback and Slither, backed him up.
Showdowns like these were commonplace in Carlon, and the patrons simply moved away to continue their business out of range. Usually, nobody let off any shots. The small exception ending up with the whole party getting shipped off to some far away mine, or sentenced to hang.
"Still slow on the draw, Carver." Dex remarked.
"Still walking solo, Dex." Carver grinned, showing his yellow teeth. "Bad habit like that'll get you killed one day."
Suddenly, the familiar sight of obsidian black in the corners of their eyes caused the mercenaries to hide their weapons and put up a façade of a friendly negotiation. Rumbling through the street was a Dominion Peacekeeper patrol. One IFV with six peacekeeper patrolmen, and they were walking up close to the restaurant.
Everything they wore or rode was painted black, with the exception of the Judges, who wore grey specially customized combat armor. These law-enforcement agents acted as both jury and executioner, which allowed them to dispense relatively quick sentences to crimes on the streets. They were held in strict compliance with a code of conduct that prevented them from abusing their authority, a measure implemented by the High Marshal to keep the justice system from going corrupt.
Judges were feared and respected by the populace, and loathed by the criminal underground. They were, as High Marshal Stern liked to say, the defining line between order and chaos.
So there they sat, eyes locked on one another, as the patrol stopped to check on the Chop Shop. Apparently, the patrons there weren't the only ones looking for a quick meal.
"You've taken a liking to that whore in the Oasis, Dex."
That line of thought made every muscle in his body tense, and the merc narrowed his eyes as Carver continued to threaten him. When Dex didn't answer, Carver drew his switchblade and opened it with a faint click. "Maybe we'll pay her a visit tonight, see if she and Smiler would get along nice."
Dex got up slowly without breaking eye contact. "Careful there, Carver. Don't make this personal."
"You made it personal when you kept hogging all the good jobs to yourself, you greedy little shit." Carver spat.
"You wanna know what I had to do to get that much money on the Skinner job?" Dex asked.
"The fuck should I care?"
Dex ignored him, "Client gave me a bonus for cutting off the slaver's face. Make a move on my girl, Carver, and I'll wear yours like a fucking mask."
He left the thugs where they stood, with Carver reconsidering his options. He liked his face where it was, and preferred to keep it that way.
"You really gonna let that one slide, boss?" Slither asked.
"Course not, that guy's a dead man." Carver replied.
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