Fallout New Vegas RP: Enjoy Your Stay
Roleplay throughout the Mojave Wasteland and New Vegas. Takes place during the game, before the Second Battle for Hoover Dam.
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The New Vegas RP is now officially open! Sorry if my introductory post is a little long, I'd just like to set the scene.

The sun rose over the Mojave Wasteland, baking the desert below relentlessly. Few creatures roamed the wastes at this hour, instead seeking shelter from the sun's powerful rays. The flora of the desert, practically unchanged by the nuclear apocalypse that ravaged the planet centuries before, clung to the dry earth, root systems digging deep for sources of water far below.

To the south, a long train of shapes crept along under the ravaging sun. A caravan of brahmin-pulled wagons, packed high with munitions crates, stretched over the horizon. Black-armored soldiers and military robots flanked the sides of the convoy, a deterrent to any would-be raiders who might set their sights on the precious cargo. The mercenaries symbol, a bird's grasping claw, was emblazoned in white on their chest pieces and the sides of their crates.

Talon Company had come to the Mojave Wasteland.


At high noon the caravan halted, mercenaries eagerly stepping under the shade of covered wagons to escape the blazing sun. Mess officers handed out ration tins filled with stew to the hungry men and women, officers gathering to converse under the shade of the lead wagon. After a few minutes the sergeants returned to their squads, selecting members for a scouting party. Hastily finishing their meals, the scouts checked their weapons and set off to the north, grumbling all the while.


A dark skinned mercenary, wearing a black beret and sunglasses, walked along the the length of the caravan. Soldiers paused in their banter to nod in his general direction as he passed, the Talon Company equivalent of a salute. The mercenary returned the gesture and continued on his way. Talons might not be rank-and-file soldiers, but they were good in a fight, and loyal to the company. He stopped in front of a wagon at the middle of the train and rapped on its wooden side with his knuckle.

"Dawson." he spoke.

There was no reply from inside.

"Dawson." he said, this time louder, knocking on the wood with more force.

Something moved inside the wagon, followed by a loud bumping sound and a loud curse. A mercenary wearing a black trenchcoat emerged from the wagon, rubbing a spot on his forehead.

"Shit that stings." the man said, poking the rapidly-rising bump. "What's up, Darius?"

Darius crossed his arms and snorted. "You've been sleeping since Baja, Dawson. Thought you should start pulling your weight around here, you know?"

Dawson reached back into the wagon and withdrew a wide-brimmed black hat, placing it on his head tentatively.

"That's cuz we haven't run into any trouble since Baja." He said groggily. "I had to fight our way out of that battle between those Caesar's Legion guys and those NCR Elite Rangers. Those are some bad dudes...wouldn't mind tangling with those guys again."

"Well we're officially in the Mojave now." Darius said. "We just sent out a team of scouts north to a town called Nipton. Apparently the Legion cleared the whole place out for us. Should be the perfect place for us to set up shop."

Dawson sat back down in the wagon and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

"Yeah, well let me know when we get there."


The Talon scouts returned within the hours with news of Nipton. It was as they had heard; the Legion had raided the town, massacring the entire population. Charred corpses were still stacked on smouldering stacks of tires, and a row of crucified victims lined the main avenue. They had found a crippled man named Boxcars holed up in the town General Store, who recounted the story of the town. Apparently Nipton had been a cesspool of scum and vice, rife with gambling and prostitution. Legionnaires had made a deal with a group of Powder Gangers, escaped NCR convicts, to ambush some off-duty NCR soldiers. When the trap was sprung, however, the Legionnaires had showed their true colors, rounding up everyone in the town and systematically killed them. The only ones that survived were those taken as slaves, Boxcars, and another lucky ganger released unharmed.

And so the Talon convoy entered the town of Nipton, beginning the arduous process of converting the city into a Talon Company base. The piles of bodies were hauled from the town and dumped unceremoniously out in the Wasteland.Teams of men fortified the scrap metal walls that encircled the town, building guard posts and ramparts. A mortar pit was dug in the trailer park adjacent to the town, along with an observation post tall enough to gaze out over the surrounding wasteland. Squads of mercs cleared the houses and town hall, setting up the Command Center, Barracks, and Mess Hall. Within two weeks, the ghost town of Nipton was transformed into a defensible fortress, Talon Company's new base of operations in the Mojave Wasteland.


Darius sat in his new office, formerly the office of the old mayor of Nipton. The Talon Company officer had gone through the old terminal logs, recounting the town's downfall. They had given him a good laugh before he had wiped the hard drive and made the computer his own. The town of Nipton (or Fort Nipton, as it was now called) was now officially a Talon Company base. Engineers had installed a radio dish on the town hall's roof, broadcasting Talon Company's signal all over the wastes. The message was simple: Talon Company is now open for business in Nipton. We'll do any job, long as the price is right.

Someone knocked on the door. Darius looked up from the report he was reading as Dawson entered, setting himself down in the chair opposite his and propping his feet up on the desk.

"You wanted to see me, Darius?" The merc asked, pouring himself a shot from the bottle of scotch on Darius' desk.

"Yeah." The officer said, turning away from the terminal. "We've already started getting job offers. It's small time stuff; rival gang issues, caravan guards...shit like that. We won't be making it big until we get some big contracts, and that won't happen till we get our name known. So I've set up a little meeting on the Strip, a casino called Gomorrah. There'll be some representatives from a couple of the NCR's big merchant houses...we're talking about big caps here."

Dawson nodded and downed his shot, pouring himself another.

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You're going to the Strip." Darius said flatly.

Dawson gagged mid-drink and set into a fit of coughing.

"You want me to negotiate contracts?" He asked incredulously. "God Darius, I'm a killer, not a businessman."

"You're not talking to the clients." Darius spoke. "I am. You're going as an example of Talon Company, the best of what we have to offer. There are going to be independent mercs there too. If leaving you in charge of recruitment."

Dawson was silent for a few moments, his brow crinkled in thought. "Yeah I guess I can do that. Can I bring Sparky?"

Darius sighed and nodded. "Yeah, you can bring him."

The mercenary cheered and clapped his hands together. "Yay, I'll go tell him the news!"

"Yeah, you go do that. We set out tomorrow morning. Be ready."

But Dawson was already gone, practically skipping out the door and whistling to himself.

11/18/2010 . Edited 11/25/2010 #1

The steel plant was not yet operational.

Christiano stared at the boiling furnace of the New Vegas steel plant, sitting in the chair formerly owned by some dead man from before the war. The smoke did not effect him, he was used to the noxious fumes of the furnace. What did affect him, was the anger that came with the realization it would be a while before he could get it online.

He placed down his cigarette and the ancient ashtray, taking a deep breath through his bandana and silently cursing himself and the facility.

He desperately needed someone who could reporgram the old computer to start making the damn steel plates into something other than, well, steel plates. The facility itself was automated, but it needed a human to operate the casts. Unfortunately, it needed someone to get into the terminal, and Christiano was horrible at computers. Sighing, he reluctantly got up from his chair, and opened the door out of the steel factory. He locked the door behind him, having found the key in an old desk in the facility.

He was going to the Strip, for some work. He was running low on caps and supplies, and the Strip had both. There he could have a good time, and with his passport, he could pass the guards unmolested. Besides, he may be recruited by those Talons, the new mercenery group in the wasteland.

Sure, he didn't care either way, but organized mercenaries are better than indpendents, and maybe if he managed to nudge himself into the higher echelons of power, he could twist them for his own use.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he shook his head. He was dreaming too big. For now, all he wanted was a job and a good time.

11/25/2010 #2
Dajun - Shinespark

"And stay out!" A short, wasted looking man flew from the front doors of the Atomic Wrangler, his journey in the air ended abruptly as his head hit the concrete. All in all, it was probably a good thing that he was pumped full of meds and sweating whiskey, he won't be complaining about the pain until the following morning. The doors slammed shut again as the bouncer half sighed and half chuckled. Inside, the casino quickly returned to its normal pace and commotion; slots were pulled, money was lost and hookers were banged, it was what gave the Wrangler such... character.

"Damn son," James Garret laughed, the guy who fancied himself a businessman sat smug behind the counter, counting the caps in the register, whilst his sister, Francine, tisked at his lack of work before going back to her own counting. "I ought to have you juggling sledgehammers as an act, start to attract some REAL customers, ya know."

The bouncer, Adrian, replied the laughter sarcastically, "Careful, James. You give me such a heavy job, I won't be held responsible if the hammers start flying in your general direction." He took a seat opposite, taking a swig of scotch as he did so. Though you wouldn't have guessed it from his appearance, Adrian doesn't usually drink alcohol; based on what he saw around the strip and Freeside, getting so much crap into your blood is never a good thing. Instead, he only ever 'indulge' himself as a message, as in a 'don't fuck around with me' type of way. The Garret twins have learned long ago not to give too much lip when they see him like this.

"Ok, tough guy, ok," The business man poured the handful of caps back into the register and locked it tight before bringing out a small piece of worn paper, its surface half scorched by the Mojave sun. "Let's talk something serious though. You seen this yet?"

Adrian straightened up and took the paper, upon which scrolled some barely visible writing, something about 'a new party in town'. On the back of the paper was a set of coordinates, which without a proper map made little sense, but Adrian could see that it corresponded to somewhere in the south of the wasteland. "What's this supposed to be?"

"That was the last thing we heard from our traders," James crossed his arms, that smug face of his looked surprisingly grim, "a little farewell, if you like."

"What happened, they got hit?" Adrian put down the paper, having heard of caravan raids going as far back as Calafornia itself, "Raiders, Powder Gangers, Legion...?"

"Oh they weren't attacked," Fracine interupted, which seemed to annoy her brother somewhat, "They delivered the note themselves, shortly before they gave us terms for ending their contract."

"They abandonned us, Lawson," James spat, his hands fiddled uncontrollably, "Those guys worked for us for ten years, ten years! And then what, a bunch of wishy washy useless degenerates set up a pathetic little social club they call a company, and all of a sudden the bastards jump ship?! What happened to loyalty and respect?!"

At this, Francine slammed her hands on the counter, something that caused everyone in the casino to stop for a brief moment as she put a calm yet threatening hand on her brother's shoulder. "James," She forced a smile and spoke through gritted teeth, "Shut up and let me handle this." James Garret nodded a couple of times, his anger replaced with tension. With the 'man' of the house quiet, Fracine turned to Adrian. "Now then darling, you can see why we might not appreciate such a... disruption to our business, don't you?"

Adrian shrugged, the petty afairs of the Garret twins never used to bother him much, "All I'm seeing is you two panicking about something you have no clue about."

"Quite," Fracine handed him a pair of photos, the first of which Adrian immediately recognised as Nipton, or what was left of it, "You are familiar with this place, correct?"

"The backside of the backside of the world? Sure."

"Well..." Fracine directed his attention to the second photograph, "Two weeks, that's all it took them. Two weeks."

Adrian examined the photo closely, suddenly noting the guard towers, the spot lights, and what appeared to be some heavy ordinance knocking about. "Whoa... that doesn't look like much of a social club to me. What are they?"

"We don't know... yet." Fracine took a small pouch from beneath the counter, a sight Adrian have become familiar with; the Garrets meant business. "That's why we want you to find out. There's a meeting taking place at Gomorrah, apparently our new 'friends' were the ones who called it. I want you to be our representatives, find out whatever you can about them."

Adrian nodded, he was hoping that he wouldn't be told to 'waste' anybody, since that wouldn't be easy in a casino owned by House. "And once we have the info, then what?"

"Oh you'll see... you'll see..."

11/25/2010 #3

Christiano sighed as the sun beamed down on his hat, explosing his brown duster and making it easilt noticeable. He pulled out his twin magnums, and continued moving up the old ruins of Vegas. He usually took the road beside McCarren, despite the frequent annoying whispers and stares he would get from the NCR.

The NCR annoyed him greatly. They were more like the government that made the world what it is in the first place, rather than being a saviour for all mankind.

Then again, I expected as much.

He reached the Southern Freeside gate, his duster blowing a bit in the wind. The buildings shielded Vegas against the dust storms of the Mojave quite well. He entered the slum of the Strip, passing many shady character and kings. Of course, they knew who he was, and they would not try to fight a heavily armed and skilled mercenery. If they did, well, Christiano might have been able to scavenge something from them. He approached the side of the slum nearest to the Strip, stepping through the makeshift scrap gate. Continuing along, he stopped at the intersection between the Kings, and the street holding the Silver rush and the Wrangler. It was a busy time of day, and the real action in the Strip didn't start until the sun went down. For now, he would stay along the corner, waiting for an employer, any sign of the so called Talons, or anything else that might alert him.

He pulled out his Zippo lighter and cigarette, leaning against the wall and waiting for a telltale sign of someone needing someone dead.

11/25/2010 #4

Dawson and Darius left Fort Nipton at sunrise the next morning. They were joined by several Talons, elite mercenaries from Darius' old squad back in DC, and a battered sentry bot. Dawson slid on his pack and stepped over to the droid, putting his arm over the machine's bulky shoulders.

"Golly gee I'm excited." Dawson cried. "It's almost like we're back in the Capital Wasteland again."

He gave the sentry bot a quick hug. "'Cept you, Sparky...you're new. But that's okay, I'll introduce you. That's Peterson, that's Nicolai, that's Dempsey..."

Dawson introduced the rest of the men, who shook their heads solemnly. They were used to his antics, and had learned it was better just to let the crazed merc do what he wanted. When the introductions were finished, Sparky emitted a soft chime from his speaker-grille.

"Names saved. Greetings, I am Dawson's Absolutely Very Best Friend Ever, Sparky." the robot droned.

Darius sighed and stepped forward. "Alright, now that we got that out of the way, let's head out. We're supposed to be at the Strip by nightfall." The Talon commander pulled a map from his pack and unfolded it, tracing the proposed route with his finger.

"We'll follow the rails until we get to the outskirts of the city. Then we skirt around McCarran to the east, and enter Freeside. Representatives from the Gomorrah will meet us at the Strip's gate."

"Hey Darius?" one merc asked. "Isn't I-15 supposed to be overrun with Deathclaws and shit?"

Darius nodded. "Yeah, but that's what they're for." He hiked a thumb back towards Dawson and Sparky, who were practicing their secret handshake.


The Talon party set out, following the rails north through the mountains. They passed several outposts of Powder Gangers, and eventually their base at the NCR Correctional Facility. The former convicts let them pass unmolested, their leader had negoiated a truce with Talon Company agents the week before.

After passing the NCRCF, they rails followed alongside the road, nearing the settlement of Sloan and the nearby quarry. A group of miners emerged and warned them of Deathclaws inhabiting the roads ahead, but the party continued on, unslinging their weapons and moving with increased caution.

They were on the downward slope of the road when a pair of Deathclaws, young ones by their size, charged them from the rocks to the west.

Sparky blared a warning from his speakers, the minigun in his right arm whining as it spooled up to fire. A torrent of rounds blazed from its barrels, sawing one of the monsters in half in a fountain of gore. The sentry bot moved to fire on the second, but the young deathclaw was already pouncing on Dawson, it's scissorlike claws slicing downward.

Dawson smiled and stepped past the deathclaw's talons, grabbing the beast by the neck with his left arm and slamming in into the dirt. Before the startled creature could react, the mercenary brough his right arm down, a hidden blade flashing from its sheath on his forearm. The blade pierced the young deathclaw's eyebal and entered the brain, killing it instantly.

Dusting himself off and rising from the body, Dawson cleaned his wristblade and flicked his wrist, the blade returning into his sleeve. He walked over to Sparky tapped the bot's mingun affectionately.

"Great job Sparky, that was a nice one!"

"Acknowledged." the robot replied.

"We just need to work on your technique." Dawson said. "You need to take more pleasure in your killing. It's like you're a robot or something..."

Darius and the others watched the exchange in awed silence. The entire exchange had lasted less than thirty seconds.

"Alright," Darius spoke up, continuing down the slope. "we should get going. It's only a matter of time till the big ones show...." His words were interupted by an ear-splitting roar. Three adult deathclaws appeared at the top of the slope, bounding towards them.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" One of the mercs cried. The Talons sprinted full-out down the slope, trying to put as much distance between the monsters and them as they could. Dawson hopped on Sparky's back, firing his service rifle one-handed as the sentry bot powered down the road at full reverse, guns blazing.


The Talons were out of breath by the time they reached the outskirts of Las Vegas. They had run at full sprint all the way down the slope, the trio of deathclaws hot on their heels. The monsters were almost on them when shots had rung out from the NCR base at Camp McCarran, downing the monsters with precise shots to the head. Darius and the others had yelled their thanks to the sharpshooters as the circled the airport, while Dawson sulked.

"I coulda taken 'em all by myself..." he had assured them.

The rest of their journey to the Strip was uneventful. Following the high walls of scrap that surrounded the city, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon when they entered Freeside's East gate. Freeside was a slum, ruins inhabited by tribals who had disagreed with Mr. House's autocratic rule and NCR refugees. The group of Talons passed chem addicts, drunkards, and street thugs, the latter sizing them up as potential targets. Darius locked eyes with the thugs and shifted the assault rifle on his shoulder. The message was clear, cross us and die.

Passing through a rusty gate into another part of town, the group neared the gate to the Strip. The gate was several meters tall, flanked by massive robots with tv monitors for faces. The bright lights of the Strip shined behind the gate, the massive shapes of the casinos looming over Freeside like giants.

Darius stepped forward, spying two men, loitering near the gate. Both men too well-dressed to be Freeside residents, clad in tan pinstripe suits and matching fedoras. Under the suits he could make out the bulky shapes of poorly-concelaed weapons.

"I assume you two are from the Omertas?" he asked. One of the men nodded and uncrossed his arms.

"Talon Company?" the man inquired.

"Darius Banks." Darius extended his hand. The Omerta representative shook and turned to the massive gate behind them. He walked over to one of the robots and exchanged a few words. The robot retreated to the gate and emitted a blurt of machine code, and the gate began to open with a screech. The Omerta and his collegue started forward, motioning for the Talons to follow. Darius and the others stepped into the Strip, their jaws dropping in awe of the scene around them.

The Strip was absolutely filled with people. Gamblers made their circuits from casino to casion, following the rumors of hotter tables and large jackpots. Off-duty NCR soldiers staggered drunkedly through the streets under the harsh eyes of MPs. Scantily clad women danced everywhere, some advertising their "wares" to passersby. The casinos were bright palaces of light, music and the sound of people emanating from their walls. The sun had already disappeared under the horizon, but on the Strip it was light as day.

Darius, Dawson, and the others were overwhelmed by the scene. They had never seen anything like it before in the bombed-out Capital Region, or in the thousands of miles of Wasteland they had travelled through on their way to the Mojave. Here, it seemed like the bombs had never fallen.

The two Omertas watched their guests, amusement written on their faces.

"Welcome to the Strip." one of the them said. "If you think this is something, wait till you see the Gomarrah."

11/25/2010 . Edited 11/25/2010 #5

Christiano noticed a group of heavily armed men passing by Freeside, with a few robots with them. They did not seem to affiliated with any known group or faction. Nodding to himself, he began to subtly follow them, walking more slowly than them. They reached the gate and dissapeared past it as the gate closed behind them. Christiano sighed, as he pulled out his passport, flashing it at the securitron. The Securitron responded with a robotic acception, and the gate opened. Christiano had to squint for a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the lights and sounds of the Strip. He stopped, and looked around. At the meoment, his only viable option was Gommorah. The Tops was not his type, and the Ultra-luxe, was, well, strange.

He walked, getting soem stares from the NCR MPs, who kept a close watch on everything going on. He passed by a few hookers being cheered on by some drunk troopers. Shaking his head, Christiano sighed and opened the door to the casino. Almost immediately, he was approached by a guard. Nodding, he placed both his magnums on the table, and placed a wrench on the table, as well.

He looked around the Casino, but the Talons, as they were called, were not there. He shook his head. Punctuality was something mercenaries should always have. With a feeling of impatience growing inside of him, he sat down at one of the tables, and waited for them. Eventually, he could perhaps twist them around his finger, if they were skilled. It would certainly be helpful for him to further his goals, and the amount of caps he could collect could be enormous.

He waited, sitting, at the table, his body feeling the comfort of a cozy seat. However, his mind was scanning for any danger, Omerta or not. He would not have his future tools assassinated.

11/25/2010 #6

There was a brief spray of fire-golden sparks as Logan retracted the thick blades of his combat claw from the inert form of the securitron, the hydraulic metal talons snapping back into the body of the mechanical gauntlet. Leaving the slain robot behind, pausing only to strip some useful ammunition from its gun arm, Logan slipped into the stygian darkness of the sewers beneath the New Vegas Strip.

The shadows swallowed him whole as the renegade in the Black Armour of the NCR Rangers ghosted through the gloom, his handgun drawn and levelled at the corridor in front of him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and his pace quickened; he made out brief flickers of movement, small rats probably, and the occasional piece of garbage drifting on the current of rank, fetid water. Logan was thankful for the rebreather unit on his helm, sparing him the worst of the stench, although the smell of decay still reached his nose. Whether it was from the actual rotting matter of the sewers or the corrupt parody of civilisation above, he could not say for sure.

New Vegas Strip. Gomorrah.

The words flickered across his mind without bidding. His gloved hand gripping the pistol tightly, Logan reminded himself of why he was here. A mission; he would never have come to the Strip otherwise.

Armour of darkness. A white eagle's talon. Find-

A hideous mass of rotting flesh launched itself screeching at him, and Logan instinctively twisted aside, registering the sight of a feral ghoul in tattered, filth-stained rags. Probably a resident of the Strip doomed to a death by slow mutation by the cruel gangs and crime lords of the casinos. Without hesitation, Logan fired three shots into the ghoul's back as it stumbled past, the muzzle flare so bright in the darkness it left ghostly after-images in his vision. Jacketed hollow-point rounds ripped into the ghoul's decaying body, blowing out its chest in a flurry of tainted gore. A keening wail served as its death cry before it fell into the rank waters, where it slowly floated away, as pathetic in death as it was in life.

The tell-tale patter of footsteps alerted Logan to danger behind him, and he pivoted on one foot, his wrist-talons punching out in a vicious snap-crack! Another feral ghoul met its end as the steel blades impaled its head through each of its eyes, and before it had quite finished thrashing in its death throes, Logan had already ripped the blades free and slammed the dying ghoul against the wall, where it slumped to the floor in a lifeless heap.

New Vegas Strip. Gomorrah. Armour of darkness. A white eagle's talon.

The distraction cleared, Logan moved deeper through the sewer system, mentally tracking his route from memorized blueprints of the network. He was not here to hunt feral ghouls. He was here for another reason, another purpose. There was greater quarry than irradiated once-men.

Find the gunmen. Kill the leader.

His steel-grey eyes hardened like shards of flint behind the tinted visors of his helmet. Adrenaline slowly began to flood his mind, slowing his breathing and drawing his mind into focus. Here he was, in the heart of darkness and corruption, poised to rip out a canker of blight upon humanity. He was a ghost in the shadows, a grim, avenging angel of death. Retribution in his right hand, and judgment in his left. Evil must be hunted. Evil must be punished. He whispered the words under his breath, just to steel his spirit for the bloodshed that would commence before the day's end.

Find Talon Company. They are mercenaries, armoured in black and bearing the emblem of a white talon. Their leader is Darius Banks.

Find him.

Kill him.

11/25/2010 #7
Dajun - Shinespark

Inside Gomorrah, Adrian waited patiently at the bar, trying all he could to ignore the various 'distractions' that presented themselves to him. This is the sort of place he usually avoided; a den of sex, drugs, booze and then more sex. It wasn't his style. In fact, the only reason he would ever spend a long period of time in any of the casinos in the Strip was for more professional pursuits such as this. Unfortunately, the way the Garrets felt like doing business meant that more often than not, the only casino Adrian ever get assigned to was this one. By now, the bouncers have already recognised him as a regular, if not reluctant customer. They also knew that the practice of confiscating weapons was arbitary for this man, considering how his most deadly weapons were his fists. That and anything he can get his hands on, including, one time, beer bottles.

By now, the bar tender have given up convincing him to have another drink or to indulge himself with the sea of girls around him, which gave Adrian a slight surprise when the man opened his mouth again. "Heads up, buddy," The bartender gestured to the main entrance, "Looks like your party's here."

11/26/2010 #8

Darius stepped out of Nero's office, grinning from ear to ear. He had just negotiated terms with the Omertas establishing Talon Company as their partners in New Vegas. The Talons would run guns, booze, and chems for the Gomorrah, as well as perform any "unsightly" tasks the Omertas might need done. The Talon command was pleased with himself, if tonight went well, they would be rolling in caps by the month's end.

He stepped over to the couches where the rest of the Talons were lounging. Several of the men had their hands full with Gomorrah "merchandise", and Dawson was in the middle of an animated conversation with a very attractive looking blonde in a duct-tape outfit.

"I'm good miss, but you know who'd really like a dance? My friend over there loves hookers." He said, gesturing towards Sparky, who was silently waiting in the corner.

Darius shook his head and walked over to the railing overlooking the casino floor. It was packed with gamblers, drunken wastelanders jostling for position at the card tables and slot machines. Groups of tough-looking mercenaries milled about by the bar, while several important-looking figures sat at the side tables, surrounded by bodyguards. The Talon commander cleared his voice loudly and yelled over the crowd for silence. The din below stopped abruptly, all eyes falling upon him.

"Welcome to the Gomorrah! I am Darius Banks of the Talon Company mercenaries. Our group is new to the Mojave, but our organization covers the entire Eastern seaboard, as well as the Tejas area. Our reputation as a powerful and feared organization comes from one simple fact; we perform any job, do matter how dirty or dangerous. As long as the price is right, our mercenaries with run guns, booze, and chems, hunt bounties, and destroy entire townships. Our deals our one-hundred percent confidential, meaning that no matter how dirty the jobs, your hands will remain spotless. So whenever you need someone removed from the picture, or need to beat out the competition, you can always turn to your friendly neighborhood Talon Company!"

The floor below erupted in applause. Darius beamed and took a short bow.

"Now our humble hosts the Omertas have cleared out the Brimstone for us to use as a conference room for tonight, so if you wish to talk to me please meet me there shortly. If you think you have what it takes to run with us, my associate Mr. Phillips will also be waiting. Now please enjoy your stay at the Gomorrah!"


Dawson stood with his arms crossed in front of a crowd of independent mercenaries. The Talon had to admit, the guys in front of him looked tough, even without their weapons. But looks were only one facet of the merc field. Dawson had faced several thugs in his day who thought they were hot shit. None of those guys were alive now.

"So, you guys think you have what it takes to be Talons?" he asked. The men nodded, several voicing their enthusiasm.

"You guys prepared to kill innocents?" Dawson raised an eyebrow. "Men, women, and the kiddies too?" He was greeted by more nods.

"Supermutants, deathclaws, and whatever other mutated shit that prowls this desert?" Fewer nods this time, but no one stepped away.

Dawson's mouth creaked open in a wide smile.

"Good to know. You guys get whatever gear you need and meet us out here tomorrow morning. We'll be headed back to Nipton on the Long 15, so that'll be a good way to weed out the pussies."

11/26/2010 #9
Dajun - Shinespark

As Adrian waited in line to speak with the Talon company mercs, he couldn't help but secretly laugh at their little 'speech'. Who the hell do these guys think they are? You don't just suddenly announce how apparently great and powerful your company is right in front of the entire Gommorah. That's like painting a huge bull's eye on your face and daring anyone to take a shot at it. The Garrets were right, these guys must have come from somewhere outside of the Majove, hell somewhere outside of the West Coast altogether by the look of things. Don't they know who the big players are around here? NCR, Legion, Khans, hell even the Powder Gangers would find that little outburst just a little bit insulting, and word spreads fast in the Strip. But of course, Adrian had little doubt that these guys could handle themselves, and besides, with the right leadership, they might even win some big friends here and there. That is assuming they have as much brains as they did guns, of which Adrian seriously doubted the moment he saw they're meanest looking merc attempting to have meanningful conversations with a sentry bot.

Nonetheless, he had a job to do, and for the first time in a while since working for the Garrets, Adrian was actually interested in his little chore. "Darius Banks, I presume?" He greeted the leader of the group as soon as the crowds began to disperse.

11/27/2010 #10

(I'm here! Finally.)

Arrogant fools.

That was the first thing that came to Mingo's mind when he heard the speech of the new band of mercenaries that had just arrived in the area only a few weeks ago. Who were these guys kidding? Sure they looked tough, but tough wouldn't mean shit against the Legion. Just for that, the Legion probably have them stripped naked when they crucified them.

"Well, these idiots certainly have panache." The female ranger that stood next to him said.

Jesse Grimes. A recent introduction to the Rangers, but nevertheless, she had what it took. Olin saw that, as did the chief when her application came through. Olin, despite a rather cautious approach to prospects, he was actually glad she stood next to him. She had earned the nickname 'Diploma' as she was a hell of a lot smarter than most of the rangers at camp Golf. She knew her way around energy weapons, locks, and computers.

Another thing he didn't mind was the fact that he also managed to smuggle their handguns and bladed weapons in. So if any of these idiots decided to be a little rowdy to either the gamblers, or the girls, the two Rangers would have something to say about that.

One thing had Olin on edge however; the guy actually talking to the Sentry Bot. "He's pretty dangerous." Mingo said as he took up a seat near the bar, but at an angle so as to keep an eye on the influx of mercs in the Brimestone. "How can you tell?" Jesse asked. "It's his eyes." Olin said as he took a swig from a Sunsetsassparilla. (Whew those are hard to say!) "Not much different than mine. Only his looks less...controlled." Mingo said.

His anger to the Legion for what they did to him as a child had never died. He had to go through years of implants, surgeory, and therapy in order to use just his hands again.

"Well, I'm going to see what kind of a man this guy is." Mingo said, and gave Jesse a look. The look she knew all-too-well. Giving a curt nod, she swivled around, and with her duster hiding her left hand, clicked the safety off her plasma pistol.

Olin stepped over and as he leaned against the wall, only feet against the Sentry bot and Talon mercenary, lit up a large cohiba cigar. "You smoke?" He asked, shaking the match out, and offering the mercenary one.

(That's you Alpha.)

11/27/2010 #11

Christiano sighed, seeing from the corner of his eye the mercs. He shook his head at their speech, anger raising. They obviously had no idea about the Legion, or the NCR. He watched the independent Mercs, looking around them. Two had bounties on their heads. They would die later. For now, he was going to confront this new group, head-on. They had some good equipment, and their combat armour was quite good, but that wouldn't help them agains what shit they were facing here. Caesar would tie them to a cross as soon as they left the Strip.

Who the fuck do they think they are? They come in here, thinking they are all that, claim all this bullshit about killing innocents, which was off-limits for Christiano, and then don't even mention the Legion, or the NCR? This washed up band of idiots are going to get killed sooner than you can say 'idiots'.

Christiano got up, pushing his way through the eager band of independents. Many moved fearfully out of the way, knowing his reputation. He managed to get to the front, and he pulled out a chair at a table. He cleared his throat, dusting himself off and staring off the group. Finally, he spoke.

"So, you are the group we have been hearing about. Quite interesting to see an outside group establish itself in the Wasteland. However, first, before you do anything, in order to assure that I, and perhaps the others, will get fair terms, we must talk about a few matters." Christiano said, in his slightly Hispanic accent.

"First, you need to remember, there is a delicate balance of power here. Super mutants? I don't where the hell you came from, but they keep to the mountains here. Deathclaws? Stay out of caves and quarries, and you should be fine. What we do have, is the NCR, The Vegas Strip, and the Legion. You are walking on thin ice, now, walking in here. We'll need some sort of proof that you can suurvive for more than a few months before being pulverized by both of them. Killing carvans and innocents is one way of attracting both groups' attention. Not a good idea."

Christiano said, interested to what the newcomers would say. Many Mercs either nodded or stayed silent, waiting to see what happened. Christiano stared intently up at them, to see if their faces were ones of understanding, or temperment. If it was the latter, they were doomed. Sadist mercs did not last long in the Mojave, especially not in Nipton, the buffer between the two powers.

11/27/2010 . Edited 11/27/2010 #12

With a soft grunt, Logan pulled himself with a little effort onto the top of Ultra-Luxe's rooftop. Having evaded the guards of the casino's owners, the White Glove Society, the renegade had slipped through their luxurious, decadent rooms until he had finally gotten close enough to the roof to exit from one of the room windows and climb up along the building's outer surface. Fortunately, the structure was so tall that nobody would have cared to look.

It was more effort than he was expecting, but not more than he was used to. He had pulled off more elaborate kills before, hits that had taken weeks of planning and careful execution. This one was relatively easier; since Gomorrah was heavily-guarded, with no way for Logan to eliminate his mark without risking capture, he needed to find a suitable sniping position within the Strip. Of all the tall buildings, Lucky 38 was the home of New Vegas' secretive master, Mr House, and was swarming with securitrons. The Top would have been better, but it was shorter, so didn't give him a good view of Gomorrah's several exits. Ultra-Luxe was the next best option, and though it was a pain to reach, Logan's current vantage point gave him an excellent view of the entire Strip, and he was confident that nobody would be able to spot him from up here. With that in mind, he began the routine work of settling in.

After making sure that the roof doors were locked, Logan unslung his main assassination weapon, a powerful, rugged anti-materiel rifle, from his back, resting it against the railing and propping up its attached bipod stand. A swift weapons check told Logan that it was in good order, with no broken or mis-aligned parts. The sights were zero-ed for long-range, and he flicked off the safeties. His gloved hand closed on the bolt and gave it a firm pull, loading a single .50 calibre round into the chamber with a deep metallic clack!. He then went back to the door and made doubly-sure that it would remain shut, jamming its lock and hinges with pieces of scrap metal leftover from the building's construction work scattered on the roof. He returned to the rifle, and checked his watch; he had no real idea of when Talon Company would leave Gomorrah, so he nestled into a sniper's crouch behind his weapon and looked down the weapon's scope. The streets outside the stripclub filled his vision with off-duty mercs and shameless prostitutes cavorting with passers-by. The sight sickened him, but he reminded himself of why he was here.

"Darius Banks." He whispered under his breath. "Where are you?"

Logan's world slipped into a reality of quiet, disciplined focus as the hunter waited for his prey. Talon Company could spend any number of hours within Gamorrah conducting its illicit affairs, but Logan was patient, as he was with every assassination he carried out. Darius Banks could take all the time in the world, but no matter when he chose to leave, Logan would be right there waiting for him.

Okay Alpha, Logan's waiting for the moment Darius exits Gomorrah. He'll take the shot as soon as he has it, and I can assure you he's pretty damned good, but I'll leave it to you whether the shot is lethal or merely maiming. I'll also leave it to you whether Dawson spots Logan's muzzle flare.

11/28/2010 . Edited 11/28/2010 #13

As soon as Darius stepped into the Brimstone he was besieged by people. Yelling voices battered his ears, some angry, some desperate, others firm and businesslike. The Talon Company officer raised his hands and pushed the crowd back.

"Easy, easy." he said. "One at a time."

The first representative was from the Crimson Caravan, an elderly old woman named Alice McLafferty. After a few minutes of discussion, the two came to an agreement; the Crimson Caravan would deliver regular shipments of food to Fort Nipton, and the Talons would spare men to guard high risk caravans. McLafferty also commissioned several darkner operations against rival caravans, particularly those that ran in the southern parts of the Mojave.

Next was a man named Alexander from the Gun Runners. At first he had been sarcastic and condescending, but Darius had common ground with the man on the subject of weapons. After a few moments of debating the pros and cons of different assault rifles, Darius had presented the Gun Runner a crate of Chinese assault rifles, which were rare this far west. In a bout of uncharacteristic glee, Alexander had fallen upon the weapons and cut a deal to sell arms to Talon Company at reduced prices.

Darius had just finished talking to Alexander when a dark-skinned woman, her head completely bald, stepped forward, flanked by two guards in black combat armor. The Talon raised an eyebrow and admired the woman's figure, as well as the plasma defender on her hip.

"Gloria Van Graff, proprietor of the Silver Rush." she announced, extending her hand.

"Darius Banks, commander of Talon Company in the Mojave." he replied. Instead of shaking her hand, Darius bent down and kissed it. "I love an attractive woman who knows her way around energy weapons."

Gloria let out a giggle, pulling her hand away from his. "And I love a man in black armor..." she purred.

Darius rose and signaled to his men, who brought over another crate and laid it between them.

"We at Talon Company enjoy energy weapons more than the average wastelander." Darius began, unclasping the latches of the crate. "However, the laser rifles we brought from DC have fallen into disrepair, and our gunsmiths don't have much experience in repairing them."

The Van Graff listened silently, stroking her chin.

"So you want to upgrade your hardware? We can do that. It won't be cheap, though..."

Darius smiled and unclasped the final latch. "Well the caps won't be an issue. But I'd also like to offer you this, to sweeten the deal." He opened the crate, revealing a large silver launcher. Darius withdrew the weapon from the case and flipped a switch, electricity playing within the sealed tube at the back of the gun.

"Let me present to you the Tesla Cannon!" He announced. "A high-powered energy cannon developed by the Eastern Brotherhood of Steel. This baby can knock a Vertibird from the sky with one shot."

Gloria's eyes brightened as Darius handed her the device. "This is absolutely wonderful!" she cried. "I think this calls for a discount in your order."

"I hoped it would." Darius said, smiling. He took the weapon back and returned it to the case, which was picked up by Gloria's guards.

"Thank you for your business." The Van Graff said as she turned to leave. "Feel free to stop by the Silver Rush anytime. I'd love to see you."

Darius watched Gloria's ample behind as she left, smirking to himself. His view was interrupted as two men stepped forward to talk to him. Both of them glared at the other and then turned to face the Talon.

"I represent the Bear." the one on the right said.

"And I the Bull." the other added.

The Talon officer smiled as the two envoys tried to watch him and each other at the same time. One could practically taste the hostility in the air.

"Please gentlemen, please." he said, stepping between the pair. "I know what you wish to discuss, but the Brimstone is too public a place for such talks. I will be happy to meet with both of you back at my office in Fort Nipton, confidentially of course."

The men nodded and turned to leave, but not before giving each other one last death-glare. Their spot was almost immediately filled by a rather irate-looking hispanic man in a cowboy's duster.

"So, you are the group we have been hearing about. Quite interesting to see an outside group establish itself in the Wasteland. However, first, before you do anything, in order to assure that I, and perhaps the others, will get fair terms, we must talk about a few matters. First, you need to remember, there is a delicate balance of power here. Super mutants? I don't where the hell you came from, but they keep to the mountains here. Deathclaws? Stay out of caves and quarries, and you should be fine. What we do have, is the NCR, The Vegas Strip, and the Legion. You are walking on thin ice, now, walking in here. We'll need some sort of proof that you can suurvive for more than a few months before being pulverized by both of them. Killing carvans and innocents is one way of attracting both groups' attention. Not a good idea."

Darius listened to the man speak, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Don't worry, we Talons can take care of ourselves...we thrive on this kind of situation, you see. The Capital Wasteland wasn't much different from this place a decade ago; just replace the NCR and the Legion with the BOS and everyone's pals the Enclave. Sure the sides are bigger, but they're just as stretched here. Everyone in this place needs all the help they can get, and the big factions will do anything to get the upper hand over the other. If that means they have to deal with scoundrels like us...well beggars can't be choosers."

The Talon placed his hand on the man's shoulder and pointed to the retreating envoys. "See those two? NCR and Legion, respectively. I've been here for two weeks and the big guys are already lining up jobs for us." Darius slapped the man's back and started for the door.

"If you ever want in on the franchise 'fore it gets big, you can always find me at Fort Nipton." he called back.

He almost ran into another man, recognizing him as a bouncer from the Atomic Wrangler.

"Sorry about this man, but I've got to head out. If you want to talk, it'll have to be on the move. Boys! Dawson! Let's roll!"


Dawson turned to the man in the grey duster and flashed a crooked smile.

"Sorry bud, I don't touch the stuff. That stuff kills ya, and if you died before I had a chance to kill you then that just wouldn't be fair, would it?"

The man stared at him wide-eyed, lit cigar hanging from his gaping mouth. Dawson's face lit up at the newcomer's expression, and the merc grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down savagely.

"Names Dawson, Dawson Phillips. Say, you're one of those Rangers, ain't cha? I heard you guys are pretty skilled, kinda like how the Regulators were back in DC. I hope you're better than that, cause I've killed my fair share of Regulators...you probably have no idea what a Regulator is, though, do ya?"

Before the ranger could reply to Dawson's barrage of words, Darius' clear voice cut through the room.

"Dang, sorry buddy." he said turning away from the man. "Got to run. Talk to you later. Come one Sparky!"

The Talon and his sentry bot left the stunned ranger and followed behind Darius and the others who were already heading for the door. Dawson had just stepped outside when he spied a flash of light up on the roof of the Ultra-Luxe, the nice-looking casino across the way, followed by a whoosh. Suddenly Darius was knocked to the ground, his left arm disappearing to the shoulder in a cloud of red mist and meat. The sound of the shot hit them a split second after he hit the ground.

Hurrying to his side, a look of horror crossed Dawson's face as he examined his friend. Darius was bleeding profusely from his stump and his skin had gone pale. He was eerily silent, shock having already set in from such massive trauma.

The other Talons and some Omerta thugs joined him, and soon and crowd of drunken gamblers and NCR troopers had also gathered.

"Quick," Dawson cried, his attitude sobering. "we need to get him to a doctor!"

"There's the Followers base at the Old Mormon Fort." One Omerta said. "But I don't think they can deal with this sort of shit."

"What about the New Vegas Medical Clinic?" Another asked.

"Nah, it's not open this late..." the first answered. Dawson stood and grabbed the Omerta by the collar.

"Go make them open it." he said, voice low and dangerous. "Darius is my friend. If he dies, I'll kill all of you." The man paled and nodded, shivering.

"Peterson, take Sparky and some men and get Darius to the clinic fast. Everyone else with me."

"Where are we going?" Dempsey asked.

Dawson glared at the Talon with narrow, cold eyes.

"The Ultra-Luxe. Whoever shot Darius was up on the Ultra-Luxe."

11/28/2010 . Edited 11/28/2010 #14

Christiano waited for the Man's answer. Interestingly, as if to shoot down his argument, several envoys from different groups had arrived. There was the Caravan, The Gun runners, the Van graffs(which had exchanged some angry glances with the gun runners as they were leaving), and of course, from both the NCR and the Legion. Christiano then got his turn as the man approached him.

The Talon placed his hand on Christiano's shoulder and pointed to the retreating envoys. "See those two? NCR and Legion, respectively. I've been here for two weeks and the big guys are already lining up jobs for us." Darius slapped the man's back and started for the door.

"If you ever want in on the franchise 'fore it gets big, you can always find me at Fort Nipton." he called back.

Christiano nodded, but shook his head as he watched him leave. He sighed, pulling up a chair with a few other Mercs at a table, and opened up a bottle of beer he had taken. He took off his bandana, guzzling down the alcoholic beverage, before staring up at the other men. they were weathered, experienced men, like him. He had known them, and met them a few times, but he had not exchanged much conversation. He placed down his bottle, and cleared his throat.

"Well, we seem to be in an interesting position." Christiano said so only the men in the near vicinity would hear. Once they had all looked up and acknowledged him, he continued.

"I'm not at all trusting of them. They are upstarts, although they obviously have enough numbers and men to get the major factions' notice. For now, I trust none of you are contemplating joining?" The group nodded, and Christiano began talking again.

"Well, we have to do something. A merc group popping into the Mojave means competition. We've had a monopoly on the bounties here, and I'm not going to let some little chickenshits come in and stop our business. So, I'd say, our best bet is organizing ourselves. Not in a official group, but we need to have loose ties. Independents can't survive with an Organization in town. I propose that we meet in New Vegas steel, south of the Strip. Fiends won't attack us, I'm on Motor-runner's good list." He scanned the Mercs' faces. Many were doubtful, or reluctant.

"I understand many of you don't want to change from your independant lifestyles. Neither did the BoS. now they're dead." Christiano said, reminding them. The Mercs nodded, collected their things, and the large group began walking out the door. A smaller group of the green mercs were following Darius and the Talons.

Poor fools. They're going to get pulled down with the Talons.

11/28/2010 . Edited 11/28/2010 #15

The shot had gone awry, probably due to a crosswind that Logan had not expected, and it had taken the Talon commander through the shoulder. His left arm was gone entirely, and from where Logan was looking, the blood loss was substantial. Darius Banks was not long for this world. But what alarmed him was the icy-cold look in the eyes of the mercenary with the hat and coat.

He had been spotted.

He contemplated taking another shot to scatter the pursuers, then thought better of it. No point giving them a real lead on his position. So, with as much grace as he could muster, Logan slung his anti-materiel rifle across his back, dashed towards the opposite railing, locked a small grapnel to the metal bar and threw himself off.

The wind rushed past his falling body as he descended, the grapnel's rope attached firmly to the buckle on his belt. It wasn't long enough for him to get all the way down to the ground floor, but he was able to make it halfway down before the cord jerked forcibly short, and his momentum swung him through the window of a suite. He tucked his arms and legs in, and felt the impact of the glass pane, shattering it into a blizzard of glass shards. He heard a man and a woman scream in surprise, an armoured assassin crashing through the window during the heights of their lovemaking, but Logan simply ignored them and barged his way through the room doors, entering the corridors of Ultra-Luxe. A security guard wearing a white mask demanded him to stop, but Logan drew his SMG and put a well-aimed burst through the man's chest, shredding his ribcage and the internal organs it contained.

Logan cursed as more guards started to come his way. He had no time for petty distractions; he had to get away before the Talons closed in on the casino. He drew a smoke grenade from his belt clip and flung it down the stairwell, where it released a thick, billowing cloud of obscuring fog. Guards shouted in consternation as their sight was filled with the smoke of the canister, and Logan simply dashed right past them, knocking a guard down as he ran. There was not a moment to lose.

11/28/2010 #16

Dawson pounded toward the Ultra-Luxe, followed closely by Nicolai, Dempsey, and three other Talons. He watched as a figure leapt off the casino's roof by rope, crashing through a suite window halfway to the ground level.

Chasing down a mysterious man with a crack shot and perfect escape plan...any other day Dawson would be giggling like a school girl, giddy for the chance to match blades with such a worthy foe. Had it been another person, even another Talon, he would be having the time of his life.

But not today.

Darius had been hurt. Darius had almost been killed. And so Dawson's eyes were filled with a cold, murderous hate instead of their usual mischievous glimmer.

Because Darius was his friend.

Dawson and the five other Talons burst into the lobby of the Ultra-Luxe, startling the casino's proper patrons. A White-Glove retainer stepped forward, hands raised.

"Excuse me sirs, you'll have to turn in your weapo-"

One of the Talons slammed the butt of his rifle into the man's head, almost crushing his skull.

"Spread out." Dawson growled. "Find him."


Dawson sprinted up the stairs to the suite levels, gripping his rifle tightly in his hands. He passed dozens of people in various stages of inebriation, who looked at him with wide eyes. The merc searched through the rooms, kicking down doors in search of the assassin.

Stepping back into the hallway, Dawson was greeted by two White-Glove guards. The two men blinked at him confusedly, eyes darting from their clubs and the assault rifle in his hands.

"Where's the intruder?" he asked.

One of the retainers moved in to attack. Dawson shot him in the face. Turning to the other guard, he repeated the question in a low voice.

Gunfire and shouting erupted behind him. Forgetting the guard, the Talon quickly turned and sprinted back downstairs. Dawson entered the lobby, along with the other Talons, just as Nicolai staggered from the opposite stairwell. He clutched his chest, the breastplate of his combat armor pitted with multiple impacts.

The merc pointed to a limping figure moving through the crowd towards the doors.

"Over there! I winged him!"

Despite the crowd, the Talons raised the rifles and opened fire. People screamed as rounds tore into the crowd, muzzle flashes illuminating the horrific scene. Bodies crumpled to the ground as they were stuck by multiple bullets. Dawson swore he saw the assailant stagger as a bullet slammed into his back, but the assassin slipped out of the doors.

Dawson cursed and surveyed the scene before him. Dozens of bloodied, broken bodies were laid out before them. Usually such a sight would make him practically giddy, but not now.

The assassin had escaped.

"Let's get out of here." Dawson said coldly. Stepping around the bodies for the doors.

11/28/2010 #17

Hellfire and damnation. Logan swore silently as the shot clipped his shoulder, and he turned back firing a burst of 10mm at the Talon that fired at him. He slammed his way through the screaming crowd of people, praying desperately that his fire would not claim innocent lives; clearly, with their ill-aimed rifle bursts chasing him wildly, the mercenaries of Talon Company had no such compulsion.

Another round smacked into his back, but Logan felt the round stopped by the revered Black Armour of the NCR's Rangers. He managed to get through the doors, dropping a pair of smoke canisters as he ran, adding to the confusion. Soon, the incoming fire slackened, and he was reasonably sure that the Talon Company mercs had given up the chase. But that didn't mean that Logan could afford to be sloppy, and not cover his tracks.

He slipped out onto the Strip, dashing as fast as he could away from the Ultra-Luxe. A patrol of securitrons rumbled by, evidently interested in the scene developing there, not caring about any found on the streets itself. Following them were groups of infantry from the various factions of the Mojave, from large swathes of Legion troops to NCR patrolmen. Logan altered his path slightly, moving over to one of the more fresh-looking Ranger patrols. One of them, a young man of twenty or more, gave Logan a typical salute.

"We heard about the commotion at the Ultra-Luxe, sir. Orders?" The young Ranger asked. Logan gave a brief sigh of relief. Evidently this new Ranger did not know who he was, and mistook the skull on his helm for simply custom-markings. Many NCR personnel tended to treat anyone in the Black Armour with a great deal of reverence, and so that occasionally gave Logan a bit of unofficial authority over more distant NCR units. He pointed a gauntleted finger towards the casino, where crowds of people were gathering and dispersing in equal measure.

"An independent mercenary group known as Talon Company opened fire on civilians inside the casino." Logan told the Ranger. "Black combat armour and good-quality small-arms. They are highly dangerous, so apprehend them with extreme caution. Work with the securitrons if neccessary."

"Merc bastards." The young Ranger hissed. "And what about you, sir?"

"I've got bigger fish to fry, trooper. This is your chance to earn these trappings." Logan replied, tapping the combat armour he wore, watching the naive zeal flashing across the Ranger's eyes. "Go make the Republic proud, soldier."

"Yes, sir!" The Ranger nodded smartly, and motioned for his fellow patrolmates to follow. They racked assault carbines and started running towards the Ultra-Luxe, spurred on by their eagerness for action. Logan turned and made for the secondary sewers, where Talon Company would not have the mind to follow him. Logan felt no remorse for ordering those Rangers to distract Talon Company; they would die fighting an evil enemy, and there was nothing wrong with that. By the time the whole furious conflict would have drawn to its conclusion, Logan would already be in the darkness of the Strip's more obscure areas, waiting for his chance to finish the job. There were only a few places in the Strip that had the medical facilities to treat a wound like a dismembered arm, so when night fell and the Talons gave up trying to chase him, Logan would resume his hunt for Darius Banks.

He would either kill him again, or confirm that the initial shot was lethal. Either way, Logan was determined to see Darius' corpse by the time he left New Vegas.

11/29/2010 #18
Dajun - Shinespark

Adrian watched as Darius Banks talked to the other representatives despite introducing himself first, evidently, a representative of the Atomic Wrangler wasn't worth wasting time on. Figures. Adrian shook it off as he joined a bunch of other mercs, silently listening to Banks greeting each and every faction. To his surprise, more people were actually taking these guys seriously than he first suspected; the Van graffs actually signed a deal with them on the spot? And both NCR and Legion sent representatives as well. Note how they were representatives, not hitmen. But just as Adrian thought he would get his chance to speak, the group departed from the casino, leaving him to wonder if he should follow.

"Great, what am I gonna tell the Garrets?" He sighed as he listened in on some of the mercs talking about making their own organisation and laughed out loud at the notion. "You're serious, aren't you?" He addressed to the man who made the suggestion in the first place, "You think a dozen or so guys armed with varmint rifles and 9mms can pose a decent threat to mercs with assault rifles, sentry bots AND energy weapons, now that they've signed up with the Van Graffs?"

Before the other guys could retaliate, however, a loud crack of a gunshot brought them all to sharp alert. Abruptly, people began to scream and Omerta thugs rushed to the main entrance, weapons drawn. Not sure what to make of the situation, Adrian crept silently towards the doors, not drawing much attention to himself. Though the shot itself startled him slightly, he wasn't really surprised. In fact, it only reinforced what he already knew: you don't come to the Mojave and play King of the Mountain without getting shot. And sure enough, the victim turned out to be none other than Banks, the smug little moron. What did surprise Adrian, however, was the way the other Talons reacted. Instead demanding to find the authorities, they charged straight into the Ultra-lux with their weapons fully drawn. Within seconds, gunfire erupted and Adrian could only watch in dismay.

"Mother fuckers..." He muttered, unable to grasp at just how brave/stupid these guys were, "first they make a insulting speech and now they're ripping apart a casino on the Strip?! House is gonna rip their fucking heads off..."

Adrian was talking to Christiano before the assasination attempt btw.

11/29/2010 #19

"You're serious, aren't you?" He addressed to Christiano who made the suggestion in the first place, "You think a dozen or so guys armed with varmint rifles and 9mms can pose a decent threat to mercs with assault rifles, sentry bots AND energy weapons, now that they've signed up with the Van Graffs?"

Chrisiano sighed, looking at the man who had made the outburst, and speaking.

"We'll have a working factory, and all of us have ample stockpiles of weapons of all shapes and sizes. You'd think a Ranger would know that experienced Mercenaries have huge weapons stockpile-" However, a gunshot interrupted him. The Twenty-five other men, some of them clued in before and were not present at the conversation now, got up, and began running out of the casino. They overwhelmed the guardsman, who was almost trampled as they grabbed their weapons and got out of the casino. They watched as the Talons ran into the Ultra-luxe, as another group of them ran out of the strip.

Christiano raised his eyebrow, but nodded. Now, it was time to go back to New Vegas Steel. The Mr. Steels had already begun constructing the new Metal barricade around the area in and around it, with the plates of steel made during the 204 years of automation. Now, all they needed was customers, and casts of weapons. The NCR and Legion would both probably ask; they were lacking in barricades. In exchange, the NCR would allow Squatters into the area to make food and farm in the perimeter. All this was being organized over word of mouth, as the mercs would had originally been clued in sent runners throughout the Mojave to take the news to important envoys, but only them. The Talons were a danger, and many groups could not resist mercenary protection and cheap barricades. Hell, most of the scrap metal in the Mojave had already been used for the Fort and various other walls.

The group ignored the chaos on the strip, slipping away quietly through the gate and into Freeside. The Talons had attracted the majority of the attention to themselves, and it was the evening, so no one would noticed if New Vegas Steel suddenly began blowing smoke through its smokestacks again.

11/29/2010 #20

That Talon merc had left Olin dumbfounded. The arrogance would make a man puke.

Logan, if you heard that, you'd probably shoot him in the mouth.

Olin grinned as he went down memory lane. It was because of one Elite Ranger he owed everything to. Namely his life. That ranger and his team rescued a 12 year old boy, and took him nearly twenty miles to the Vegas Clinic, for whom they knew nothing about. When he heard that he had deserted and gone native, Olin supported him even more, as did Hanlon and all the other verteran rangers from scouts to the Elites. Even though the NCR regulars ordered them to find him and bring him to trial, not one would. Rangers never turned on their own.

A loud gunshot broke the memory and Talons began rushing out of the building.

Shooting a glance to Jesse, he motioned for her to follow with a single cock of his head and both Rangers casually strolled out, collecting Mingo's M14 sniper rifle, and Jesse's composite Crossbow and Laser RCW.

Olin nearly laughed when he saw who had taken the hit; Darius Banks, leader of the arrogant fools who thought they could handle the dangers of the Mojave, was now being carried away by several of his men, his left arm now on the ground in a pool of blood. Even more humorous was that the same arrogant mercenary who threatened to kill him, Dawson came back from the Ultra-Luxe, looking frustrated.

"Well, I'm really impressed. So far since you idiots arrived, you have no combat experience fighting the Legion or the Powder Gangers, your leader's nickname is now stumpy, you fail to catch the guy, and to add a cherry on top, I'm pretty sure you've lost not only most of your recruits and contracts, but by tomarrow morning our local DJ, Mr. Vegas will tell the whole wasteland about this." Olin said, to Phillips, Jesse behind him laughing, along with several NCR personel. And even if these pricks had any ideas on retaliating, the ideas were squashed by the large pressence of both MP's and Securitrons. Plus Mingo was much faster on the draw than these idiots.

"You mutts make mercenaries look like a pathetic joke." Mingo said, seeing the anger growing on the Talon's faces. "Seeing as how the house just raised the ante out of your favor, it might be a better idea for you to fold." He said and motioned for Jesse to follow him out of the strip.


As the pair continued to laugh about the Talon's humiliation, Mingo suddenly caught a scene between a Ranger recruit and an Elite. He laughed as he saw the insignia on the back of the duster the elite wore.

Once the ranger and his squad quickly departed, Olin began applauding loudly enough for the Elite to hear him.

"I see you still have influence over the young, Logan." He said a wide grin on his face. "How are you old friend?" He asked holding out his hand.

(It's not hard to figure out it's you Marine.)

11/29/2010 #21
Dajun - Shinespark

Adrian watched the two rangers mock the Talons in dismay, not sure who's the bigger idiot here. Sure, the Talons were foolish in their intro to the rest of the Mojave, but the way that merc just stormed the Ultra-lux without any doubt or care in the world about the consequences made Adrian nervous. Here's a bunch of guys who's armed to the teeth and they're prepared to do whatever they wanted, there's a difference between idiots with guns and desperados who don't give a shit who they piss off. The problem is, Adrian's starting to feel like it's the latter; if this is true then there's only one way this can end, either they get what they want or they get wiped out. There won't be a middle ground, not anymore.

"Word of advice, buddy," He approached one of the Rangers, who was still laughing, "That big merc you're laughing at looks like he wants to strangle something, and he's staring at YOU."

11/29/2010 #22

Christiano and his group had left the Strip quietly. Now, they split up. The vast majority would go to the new Vegas Steel factory to oversee the constructions, while him and his good friend Jeremy would talk to the Kings to get their squatters sent over.

They passed through the streets quietly, the sound of the Kings' music in the air. Some thugs were stalking locals in the street corners, and the usual campfires were lit. Freeside was quite poor, made up mostly of people too poor to get into the Strip. There were the Kings however, who Christiano liked quite a bit. He was good friends with Pacer, the King's right hand man.

They entered the School of Impersonation, getting a few friendly gestures from the various Kings there. Christiano approahced the door leading to the King, and was approached by Pacer.

"Hey. No one is allowed to see the King without a payment of 100 caps." Pacer said seriously. Christiano sighed, and cleared his throat.

"Come on Pacer, not now." He said quite tiredly.

"Oh come on, just having a little fun, Christiano. You can come in. Hey, uh, you can come too, alright?" Pacer said grinning to Christiano, before turning to Jeremy and releuctantly letting him in.

He walked to The King, who turned and noticed, before gesturing the chair.

"Well hey there Christiano, been a long time. Pacer tells me you wanted to ask me somethin'." The King asked him in his strange Elvislike accent. Christiano nodded, sitting down in the old chair, his various tools and guns making a rattle as he relaxed.

"Yes, We are starting a new organization south of here, at Vegas Steel. Don't have a name for it yet, but we need some people to come work for us, start the farms up. We'll use the western cistern to water the plants. I heard you've been having a problem with the NCR squatters recently. I'll give you a deal. You give us the squatters that you can, and we'll help you repair your old water system, maybe even build a new pipeline from your pump to the School. A little cherry on top, if you please." Christiano said in his usual, Hispanic voice, with some charisma added in to make a 'yes' martini.

The King nodded, and was quite happy. He shook Christiano's hand, and they left as soon as possible. The Kings were secure as their allies. For now, that was all they needed. As soon as they get Casts of ammo and rifles, they would start making deals with the Van graffs and gun runners. The Talons were tough, but Christiano had something they did not have: A Pre-war book outlining some sort of belief known as 'Communism' which would turn any faction that used it into a industrial powerhouse. Of course, the New Vegas Steel was already going to solve that, but Christiano had bigger plans. He was hoping to push the Fiends out next, and grab all of South Vegas for himself. Well, not for himself. He was only proprietor. Jeremy was much better as a leader, as Christiano was more of a gunner.

11/29/2010 #23

Logan started slightly as he noted the approach of two individuals, one another Ranger, the other a freelance merc. Worse, the Ranger had recognized him, and it took Logan a moment to place the younger Ranger's face.

"Olin?" Logan whispered. Olin was a younger Ranger whom Logan had known during the time he still served as an Elite Ranger of the NCR. But what Olin no longer knew was that the man Logan once was had died a long time ago, leaving a grim wraith of vengeance behind in his mortal shell. But still...

It was good to see a friendly face. At least for now. But he had to get away.

"Still breathing, Olin. But if those Talons catch up, not for much longer." Logan chuckled softly, giving the younger man a light punch on the shoulder. "Don't underestimate them. I've tracked their movements all over Mojave, and heard reports from the DC region. They're formidable.

"Listen, I've still got a mission here, and it involves putting Darius Banks out of this mortal coil. Do you know where they're taking him to be treated? I don't like leaving my jobs unfinished."

11/29/2010 #24

Seeing the quickly-growing crowd outside the Ultra-Luxe's door, Dawson and the other Talons ducked out a one of the casino's side entrances. The group crept through the back alley until they had put enough distance from the Luxe, then stepped out onto the Strip near the Lucky 38 and the Gomorrah.

The front of the Ultra-Luxe was a chaotic scene. Anxious gamblers and White-Glove members hurried from the casino, while a combined force of securitrons, NCR troopers, and legionnaires stormed inside. Already bodies were beginning to be brought out, piled on the Ultra-Luxe's steps.

As they made their escape, the Talons felt no remorse for the innocents they slaughtered, only disappointment for letting Darius' attacker escape.

Dawson heard a voice calling out to him, turning to find the ranger he had spoken to earlier deriding him. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth, but kept walking. They had no time to get into petty fights; they had to get out of the Strip, and fast.

Make sure you survive, ranger, so I can take the pleasure to kill you later.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied a figure in a black trenchcoat and armor, speaking to the young ranger. Dawson made a mental note and picked up his pace.

So they know each other. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone...literally.


The Talons left the Strip in a hurry, shooting straight through Freeside and passing into the Northern Mojave by the East Gate. They found the New Vegas Medical Clinic past the Crimson Caravan's head office. It was a large, red-brick building surrounded by dilapidated houses, it's sign scrawled in faded white chalk.

Dawson and the others burst into the clinic, startling the Omertas and Talons that waiting in the foyer inside.

"Where is he? How is he?" Dawson blurted. One of the Talons pointed a finger to a set of double doors leading further into the building. Bursting through the doors, he rushed down the hall, finding Darius laid out in the first room. A young woman in a doctor's coat was bent over the commander's body, checking the bandages around the remains of his left arm.

The doctor turned at Dawson's entrance, smiling weakly.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Usanagi." she said. "You a friend of Darius'?"

Dawson nodded. "How is he, doc?"

Usanagi sighed and looked over to the Darius' prone figure. The Talon commander was terribly pale, his bandages soaked through with blood. But his chest continued to rise and fall, which meant he was still alive.

"I had to amputate the rest of his left arm, but I managed to stop the bleeding. He's lost a lot of blood, but I've got him on super stimpack-drips. Darius won't be going anywhere soon, but as long as he stays here he'll live."

Dawson embraced the doctor in a almost-suffocating hug, startling the poor woman.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you thank you!" He cried. "Don't worry about the caps, we'll pay whatever the price. You've done Talon Company a good turn...we won't forget it."

Usanagi pushed Dawson away, chuckling to herself.

"Alright alright. Feel free to stay as long as you want."

11/29/2010 #25

(Marine, when you reply to this, both my characters are Rangers.)

Mingo sighed when he heard this. Logan was asking for him to aid in an unjustified kill by NCR standards. Sure the Talons were assholes, but so far, nothing had been done against the NCR.

But Logan was his friend, even if he didn't admit it.

"You know, I can't get officially involved in this private matter. The chief asked us to observe them and report back." Olin began, and it was clear that wasn't the answer that Ghost was looking for.

"But I'm sure someone of your tracking skills won't have any trouble tailing them to The Vegas Clinic." Olin said.

Jesse who had heard stories about Logan Steele and his team of Ghosts, had come to admire them. "Yeah, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrw, Banks was found dead due to Morphine overdosing. From what Doc Usanagi told me once, they have trouble with that all the time."

Olin then saw that same Talon bastard staring at them. It was obvious that he couldn't hear anything, but that didn't mean he couldn't be suspecious.

"Hey. If you do find them, try to keep the causalties down to a minimum. The clinic guards are Followers of the Apocalypse. Can you do me this favor?" Olin asked before patting the Ranger on the shoulder and both Diploma and Mingo walked passed him.

"Oh, and if you need a place to recharge or rearm, there's a little police station south of Bonnie Springs. You'll find us there." Olin said without breaking his stride.

It was then somebody screamed in the dark, and as Jesse turned the source, a Fiend, obviously extremely tweaked on Psycho or a similar substance came hurtling out of the darkness, a hatchet in his hand.

Without hesitation, Jesse raised the crossbow in her hands, and there was a sharp thunk! and a quick whoosh as the bolt impaled the Fiend, and actually pinned him to a street lamp. "I hate when they do that." She said as she went over and ripped the bolt out of the Fiend's corpse.

"Watch your ass, Logan." Olin said as Jesse quickly rejoined him, and the pair disappeared into the dark, heading south east.


As the had left Freeside, and now were in southern Vegas, Olin decided to make a quick stop, not only to try to barter some spare food, but he also had orders.

Their destination was the Vegas Steel mill. Olin had a topic he needed to discuss with the 'owner' of the plant.

12/1/2010 #26

Christiano and Jeremy had finally reached the Factory after a long walk. The Mr. Steel gate guard greeted them, allowing them inside. In the permimeter, several mercenaries were checking a few squatters and wanderers for explosives, or anything dangerous. The rest would arrive later. The higher up mercenaries gathered as Christiano greeted them, and they entered the small building. Inside, was a small area set aside, with an old table salvaged and some chairs, so they could sit down. Christiano and Jeremy sat at opposite ends of the table, with the mercenaries sitting down the side. Christiano cleared his throat, and placed a book on the table Behind them was an old soviet flag, with an anvil and a hammer sewn in where the hammer and sickle should have been.

"Hello, fellow mecenaries. We are here today, not only to put an end to the tyranny of the outside forces of the Legion, the fiends, and the Talon company, but we are also here to form a society. Many years ago, I worked for the NCR, as an engineer. However, I saw their disdain for industrial progress when it was needed most disgusting, so I left them. I am now a mercenary, but I am something else. A year ago, I found a book in the plant that changed my life forever. It talked about the concept of a workers' paradise, called Communism. I feel that in this day and age, we must grasp the ideals of this book in order to survive as a society. So, in order for thsi to be fulfilled, I give you the Forge." He said, pointing at the makeshift flag.

"We will not reveal ourselves yet to the world; the danger is too great. We will masquerade as a small mercenary organization taht allows people to work on their land, for a price. The populas will not be clued in; rather, they will be pushed into the lifestyle until it becomes second nature." Christiano finished, and the mercenaries all nodded, getting up. Jeremy would be the diplomat, while Christiano was the Chairman, or ruler, of the small faction. They had manufacturing power, and the steel plates were being morphed into pipeline tubes, capable of bringing water from the West pump station. The Mr. Steels were strong enough for anything but a full scale invasion, and the squatters would trained as a local militia. Life was good. Christiano went outside, climbing onto the strong reinforced steel wall. He looked at the landscape of South Vegas, in all its glory. First, Souh Vegas, then the Sasparilla bottling factory, then the Samson rock crushing plant, and so on.

He saw some figures in the distance, but ignored them, assuming they were caravans.

12/1/2010 #27

Olin glanced up at the Vegas Steel mill, once this was a center for an industry that made the former United States dominate the industry.

If those idiots up in Shady Sands pulled their heads out of their asses, and started making fair deals, it might actually happen again.

It was as he approached did he see a lone figure standing on the metal walls that had been errected in it's defense.

Let's see if I remember Hanlon's orders. Find a guy named Christiano Santiago, and try to get him to deal weapons for the Rangers. If not establish relations.

Convinced that sounded right, he nodded to himself and Mingo then stopped just short of the wall, glancing up at the figure.

"This the place where I can find Christiano Santiago?" He asked looking up at the figure, while Jesse kept her eyes looking in every direction for any sign of trouble.

"I'm Ranger Mingo, and this is Ranger Grimes. We'd like to have a word with him. If we can't at the very least have a place to stay for the night." Mingo said up, not realizing that the man he was talking to was in fact the same man he was ordered to find.

12/1/2010 #28

Christiano looked down from the walls, noticing the figures he had seen in the distance. When they asked him where to find Christiano, he chuckled a bit. He hopped off the wall, landing on the ground with a thud. He then introduced himself.

"Hello. Well, I am Christiano. A bit difficult to tell from the bandana and the hat. Anyways, I would be happy to allow you in."

He said, as he pressed a button, opening the gate. Inside, were makeshift hovels, being built by the many handed Mr. Steels while others helped set up small farms on the other side of the perimeter. Christiano opened a door to the inside of the steel plant, where the small meeting hall was, as well as the plant itself. The flag was in the back, with some mattresses placed in a neat order on the side of the room. Many filing cabinets and the like had been filled out, so it was much more clear than before.

Christiano sat down the table, gesturing for them to sit down as well.

"So, what brings you to my plant?" Christiano inquired of the rangers, while Mr. steels floated back and forth, carrying steel.

12/1/2010 #29

As she looked around, Jesse was pretty impressed at the set up with the robots in the the plant carrying steel and mercenaries going to and fro.

"Well, first off I just want to let you know that you won't have to worry about NCR bounty hunters coming after you. Yes I know you worked for the Republic some time ago. That debt's been buried by bigger priorities." Olin began after glancing around himself.

"This brings me to the next topic. Chief Hanlon of the NCR Rangers wanted me to ask you if your new industry can be used to help the Rangers out. For a cost that is." Olin said, adding the last bit quickly. And when I say Rangers, I mean them. Piss on what those guys at McCarran think. We need weapons and ammo in surplus for a reasonable price."

12/1/2010 #30
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