Penultiblog

Ziven of Nine and the Chest Pains of Doom.

2010-04-11T16:43:00.000-04:00

I posted this in the Chatty thread, but maybe some of you can get an amused chuckle from spending all last night thinking I was probably dying.

So what happened is as follows.

Tuesday: 5:30 AM.

Woke up on the couch. The Princess needs the bed to herself on worknights between my apnea and the whole get-up-at-5:30-AM thing. Another morning in lower middle class paradise. Except this time... This time, something was... different.

I got up, folded her blanket, slid her laptop table back in front of the couch, headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

All the while feeling dizzy. "No matter", I thought, or something rather like it approximating the mental noise of a cavewoman grunt and the stubborn streak all Ukrainians inherit from their Mongol progenitors.

Ice cold lemonade does wonders for the short journey up the stairs to void my waters in the pre-dawn stillness. Except, the shock of the cold liquid spread a sharp discomfort through my ribs. The thunder of a team of horses echoed through my aorta and into my sinus cavity. I could feel them racing through my pulse, up the neck, into my brain.

They were demonic beasts, with hooves of fire. I summoned the Engine Wind of my trusty stand fan, invoked the rain gods to send me moisture through my vaporizer, and activated the propeller of the vehicle of dreams before pulling the chain on said ceiling fan.

It was dark. I was hot. I hurt.

For the next two hours, I was pushed off a cliff over and over. But the fall started in my chest and impacted a foot above my head. It woke me up every few minutes. My temples had been taken over by minions of the machine god, their hammers and bellows sending pounding burning pain throughout my consciousness.

I could not feel my limbs.

I fought loose of the clinging, sweatsheen soaked wrappings and voided my waters, accompanied with a thunder of my own making. Emulating my idol Red Sonja, I banished the demons in a foul small of rotten eggs and darker things.

I do not remember going back to bed. But I awoke having slept.

I assumed, as is rational, that I perhaps suffered for my supper. an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Perhaps There was more of gravy than of grave about the vexing spectral tormentors that had lodged within my person, seeking to spread misery and malaise.

Oh, how wrong I would be.

The wet sheen returned as I threw off the covers the following morning to ascend the stairs. The quiet of the grave assured me that whatever unholy force had so infested my fevered sleep seemed gone.

And then Saturday. Oh, Saturday.

I awoke in the mood of one who is to be avoided at all costs. My temper hovered bladelike within my aura, ready to strike any who took its attention. I conquered that beast and restored harmony with my beloved partner through a shared breaking of the fast.

Let us pause for a moment, that it be shown for the ages and all whom come across this chronicle that my heart and soulmate of this past quarter century is unparalleled in the preparation of a Ham, Egg, and Cheese sandwich. Athena weeps in spite of its beauty, and, indeed, as any whom have had the great privilege of glimpsing her magnificent countenance, in spite of hers as well.

The day progressed, and indeed, I felt an illness unspecified gnawing at my heels as I went about my daily endeavours. "Perhaps", I assumed, "the spirits seeking my downfall have been tamed.. and in penance I shall sacrifice many tissues and drink of the elixir of NyQuil this eve."

I went to my slumber before my angelic partner, expecting her shortly after I rested with the promise of consummation of our affection in the quiet still hours when lovers make small soft sighs in the embracing darkness.

I was to be denied the carnal ecstasy of shared mammalian lust however.

Nary half an hour later, the demons returned. They were consumed with vengeance. My vision swam before me, my body akin to ice in the touching, my limbs leaden when they rested from fearsome quaking. I plead aloud to the gods of technology for my noble healer's words. She returned my call forthwith and sent me hence to the nearby temple of Asclepius.

Within, many priests and vestal virgins (virginity assumed, I had no recourse to test) did connect me to arcane machines that beeped and whirred and chittered and hummed in the secret languages that only those who wear the staff of snakes can know.

A great canon of light looked deep into my heart, and found me worthy.

They took my humors, and visited upon me the tender mercies of the hero Prince Valium. He showed me sights and wonders my own frail eyes cannot ever view when I am at my halest and heartiest.

At last, the dawn had come, birds frolicked beyond the mighty chamber in which they had placed me to the concern and fear of my beloved (for it was indeed the room wherein it would be easiest to allow women to put forth children in dire distress, or to perform miracles of bringing the dying to some measure of health) and my valiant knights in white and blue returned.

The Valkyrie informed me she had not chosen me to be numbered among the slain. Valhalla was to be denied me some little while yet.

I was released.. the mystery solved. I was in danger, yea sooth. But not mortal and immediate. Instead, the Demons had sabotaged the mechanism deep within my being that informs my person of the proper response to ambient air.

Home, then, after a victory sup at the tavern and mead hall of Denny. While not so glorious a repast as such my own adored Goodwife blesses us with, the aptly named Moons Over My Hammy was a warrior's feast in its own right.

And thus here I sit, knowing the demons will come. But knowing that my Shaman will soon prepare a poultice to end their siege for once and all.

--Z9 tl;dr: I thought I was having a heart attack or stroke, turns out my thyroid went wild. Valium is interesting, and somehow counteracted my greyblindness and astigmatism to let me see more (real life) colours than I knew existed and in 3D with no help from special lenses.

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 4)

2010-02-25T04:30:00.000-05:00

LET FREEDOM RING: PART 4

A pair of figures stood silhouetted against the deepening gloom of nightfall over the blasted crater of the National Mall. Scant yards away, the endless sounds of firefights between slavers and Supermutants for possession of the Lincoln Memorial echoed through the devastation.

Atomica muttered to her suit. “Magnify and enhance.” Her night vision kicked in, showing her that most of the bullets being slung back and forth were not intended to kill, only to suppress. The Slavers knew the Supermutants would act as an a living fence and unwilling watchdogs as they established their base of power. The Supermutants were intelligent enough to not want to damage the structure.

“Its like an armed truce.” Liberator was alternately eating an apple and applying fast-acting fabric dyes to modify his armour's appearance. “Almost done here.”

Atomica smiled. “If I'm estimating right, there's room for several dozen freed slaves to recuperate in the underground part of the memorial.”

Liberator stood, knowing the memorial's own high intensity powered lights rendered him invisible to the slavers and Supermutants alike in the now fully-dark night sky. “You ready to do this thing?”

Atomica paused to admire the change that had come over Hamlin. “You're doing your ancestor proud.”

Liberator pointed to the Memorial. “The Great Emancipator once said that a friend is one who has the same enemies as you have. In this case, however, I think even he would make an exception.”

Atomica nodded, and sized up the situation. “Care for a game of tag?”

Liberator smiled “Lincoln also said, 'If there is anything that a man can do well, I say let him do it.. Give him a chance.” The smile became a grin. “Or in this case, a woman. I hear tell, Miss Atomica, you deal with Supermutants very well.” He leapt off the rooftop, sprinting for the Memorial.

Atomica laughed as she bounded after him. “No head starts!” As the crested the battlements, her canon erupted in azure light, taking the head of a Supermutant Master clean off.

Liberator fired with nearly Superhuman speed, Slavers falling with each action of the lever. “That still only counts as one!”

Atomica detonated several grenade bouquets as Supermutant patrols rushed under then to close distance. Liberator called out above the machine gun fire. “Showoff!”

Liberator reached the center of the Memorial as Atomica dropped down from the roof. They stood reading the plaque on the great statue together. Liberator spoke first. “With malice toward none, with charity for all. Fitting words for a new beginning.” He gazed up at the statue. “That man once said: I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives. I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him.” Nodding solemnly, Liberator removed Lincoln's hat and placed it over his heart. “In your honor, Sir, I will again make this a proud place.”

A shot pierced the solemn silence. Blood erupted from Liberator's scalp as the bullet creased it. Had he not chosen to bow his head, it would have ended up exiting between his eyes. A voice dripping in sarcasm and disdain chuckled. “I believe the line here is “Sic Semper Tyrannus”.

Atomica whirled, finding herself face to face with Leroy Walker. Behind him, a score or more of fresh, heavily armed slavers leveled their weapons at her and the now-unconscious Hannibal Hamlin. Walker sneered. “I remember as a kid, stories of freaks in circus costumes. Mutants, cyborgs, experimental gizmos that never did anyone any good. Anarchy.” He visibly shook with rage. “It was Anarchy, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?! ANARCHY!!!”

Atomica sized up the odds. Her suit informed her that it would not withstand the assembled firepower of the Slaver army from Paradise Falls that had arrived to relieve the small party that had been holding it.

Walker calmed himself, miming pushing down from shoulder height on an invisible surface at chest height. As he squashed his rage, he took three deep breaths in his nose, blowing them out forcefully from his mouth. “Eulogy Jones brought order. Eulogy Jones returned the rule of law.”

He gestured out over the expanse of the Mall. “Democracy did this! When you let the people vote, this is what happens!” He ratcheted back the bolt on his rifle. “Superheroes? Really? Unsanctioned vigilantes spreading disorder? Not on my watch!”

Atomica quietly subvocalized the command to overload her weapon. If she was going to die here, it would be on her terms, striking a blow for freedom.

Walker cleared his throat. “Atomica. By the power invested in me by force of arms and the rule of Order, I sentence you to death. May the Governed heed the lesson of your ignoble end.”

Atomica's weapon chimed once. She moved. Leaping up, kicking off the statue of Abraham Lincoln, she felt the heat blistering her arm as her weapon fired wide spreads of lethal energy. For every Slaver that fell, three more returned fire.

WARNING. SUIT INTEGRITY FAILING.

Rolling into a ball as she landed, Atomica managed to find a moment's cover behind a pillar.

POWER DEPELETED. SHUTTING DOWN.

“Crap.”

The lights failed as the Slavers advanced. Atomica caught the glimpse of a shapely female form on the open skylight area. Framed by the moon, her shadow cast down onto the floor. The slavers changed focus.

Flash. A bright light from high powered ammo leaving its chamber caught an older woman, her face hidden in the shadows of a fedora.

Flash. Flowing trenchcoat, bare midriff.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Each bullet killed a Slaver.

When it was quiet, the mysterious stranger paused. The lights snapped back on. Atomica could see that her face was not obscured; in fact, she seemed to have none. On her chest, a silver lithium atom encircling a stylized roman numeral.

The faceless mask somehow conveyed a smile. A whisper carried on the breeze. “Allison.”

A heartbeat pause. ATOM-1 leapt up to the roof, and vanished into the night.

Groggily, Atomica crawled over to Hamlin. She found a stimpack in his jacket pocket. It did the trick. He sat up, rubbing his head and groaning. Atomica frowned. “This would be a good time to put those things up in a museum and go back to being Hannibal Hamlin. The world is violent enough without painting a target on yourself and asking for trouble.”

Putting his hat back on with grace and regal pride, Liberator stood, albeit a bit unsteadily. “Lets have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.” He reached down to help her up.

Atomica grasped his forearm as she did hers. “Alright then. Lets get this place fixed up. There's a lot of company coming.”

The two heroes began the earnest work of cleaning up the new Home of the Free.

Adventure Comics: Supergirl 2075 Background

2010-02-01T06:15:00.000-05:00

"Lois Lane, come stay with me tonight... I... Got a pocket full of..."

Sarah switched off the oldies station with a snort. Granadpa Jimmy didn't bag the brassiest brunette in Metropolis, she mused, but her sister was a different story. Grandma Lucy was a good enough catch, she thought. Another channel faded in.

"Superman never made any money... saving the world from Solomon Grundy...

Again, she pushed the Randomizer button. No, she thought, but Grandpa's best friend sure saved her dad from Doomsday. Clark Wayne Olsen, her dad, had been kidnapped by The Monster Doomsday... Somehow, in her head, and in her nightmares, it was always The Monster Doomsday, never just Doomsday or anything... The radio flared again, randomizing from the satellite radio system according to her known preferences.

"I am, I am, I am Superman... And I can do anything!"

He sure could. He had save her dad right before Brainiac, using the body of The Monster Doomsday, could make him into an even worse monster to live in. And he made sure The Monster Doomsday would never get out again. He was locked in a transporter loop on the moon for ever and ever. Or at least til the Event took them all away. And her daddy wasn't hurt. The music paused, and her car's voice reminded her she was almost at school. The music played again as she stopped at the light before her exit.

" ...doing everything I can ...holding on to what I am ...pretending I'm a Superman"

Sarah blinked and looked down, realizing what she had been hearing. She had been feeling odd all day, sort of jumpy and spacy and lightheaded, but this was definitely worth noticing. She asked the car, "Hey, radio, how many songs about Superman are playing right now?" The car told her in its pleasant voice that out of the 4,632 English language music channels currently broadcasting, 78 percent were playing songs about Superman.

"Whoah. Did I miss an anniversary or something?" In response, the radio switched to WGBS news.

"...man then placed the craft gently on the ground. He then flew away. Again, the Starship Constitution was saved by a flying man..."

Sarah started as the horns behind her blew. She jumped on the gas, and headed off to school.

The day passed quickly, in part because Sarah felt worse and worse as it went on. She had no idea what had been said in most of her classes. Oh well. It was all review at this point, anyway. Her head hurt, and something smelled funny. Kind of cinnamon and spice and fresh baked bread, but none of those.

She wasn't sure she could drive home, so she stopped by the desk and paid an overnight fee for her car. Sarah's eyes hurt, so she put on her sunglasses and headphones to relax until her stop. As soon as she turned it on, she heard Donovan reminding her from long before The Event that Superman and Green Lantern had nothing on him. She laughed. She would have to ask her father what he thought of the news. It had to be a hoax.

Sarah's laughter faded as a scream pierced the funkadelic melodies of an era long gone. Opening her eyes, she saw six men dressed in skull masks pulling guns. Feeling disconnected and woozy, she jumped up. "Hey.. leave them alone!" One of them moved to hit her, and she used her martial arts training to flip him. Big mistake. He fired.

The bullets... she could feel them. Her whole body tingled.. for miles.. and she could feel and hear and see everything for a moment. The bullets had to stop. She told them in a thought to slow down, chill out. They did. One tapped her radio. The train went silent. The music channel changed in her ears.

The swelling strains of John Williams' trubite suite to Superman played in her ears. The other thugs tried to shoot at her too, to equally futile effect. "Please... Can't we settle this..." One of them started to reach for a pregnant woman. Sarah moved through spacetime, leaving a humming "Whooosh!" and blurry afterimages in her wake.

"I did try to ask nicely." She dropped the man with a nerve strike, then turned and wiped up the others equally quickly.

The applause started slowly. People were using their phones and radios and Palmtops to take what would later prove to be grainy, somewhat distorted photos. Sarah had defused the situation in a lot less time than the overworked and understaffed transit police could have. The door opened as she smiled at the people she had saved. The old, overweight transit cop barely had time to blink as he stared at the thugs and at Sarah. I saw the whole thing on the monitor... What.. Who are you?"

The train stopped and the door opened. Realizing the dim train lighting and her glasses would prevent her from being identified, she smiled as she stepped to the door. Feeling the space around her, she rose into the air. With the ending strains of the Williams suite playing in her ears, she paused long enough to answer.

"Supergirl."

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #3 (Part 2)

2010-01-28T15:57:00.000-05:00

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX COUNTY VAMPIRES (Part 2)

One of these days, I might just figure out when Cherry managed to get to know all these folks who owed her a favour. This latest one was a ghoul drug dealer who called himself Murphy. I spent some smalltalk time with his boyfriend Barrett. Cherry and Murphy quickly got into chemical jargon way above my programming grade.

A couple hands of cards later, and Barrett and I parted company on good terms. I came out ahead of the deal by 4 caps, but there were no hard feelings. We made our way through the back room and down into the smelliest mirelurk-infested sewer I'd been in since.. well, since Rivet City. Cherry had taught me a thing or two about Lurks that even I hadn't already known. Not a one of them gave us any trouble.

We came up in a grim, dreary ruin of soulless, bleak urban blight. The 200 years since the war had done little to improve that description of the DC Metro system. Cherry pointed out mines and tripwires faster than my scanner could pick them up.

We eventually found the gate, and bribed the guard to let us in. He was cheap and disinterested. This made me even more nervous. People with guards put the muscle out front. People with doormen don't need guards. I checked the charge on my piece for reassurance.

They had a town down in the station. Looked like any other place you'll find pockets of plucky humanity surviving til they can take it back. Everyone was friendly, willing to trade, and had heard of us.

Their leader, Vance, was a piece of work. He looked like a movie poster from centuries ago, some film called Dusk or something. Leather jacket, hair like a British lycanthrope, and piercing eyes. Something was off about him. Cherry walked right up to him and crossed her arms. “Arefu.”

Vance smiled, and gave her a long steady once over. “Nice Hat. Cherry Heart, I presume.”

“Guilty. Which begs the question.”

Vance shook his head. “I give you my word, The Family is not responsible for the deaths of the Wests.” Cherry stared at him for a good long minute, Vance returned her gaze with infinite patience. At last she nodded. “So what did happen?”

Vance motioned her to the back door. “Ask Ian West.”

The interview was brief, and left Cherry visibly disturbed. So much so, she took off her hat midway. Ian was a bit unsettled by the change from gumshoe to Great Detective, which lead him to open up all the way.

In the end, she let him choose. He wrote a letter to take back to Lucy.

Cherlynn Hearth met with Vance, who effortlessly adapted to her change of persona, as if she had never acted differently.

“Well, Detective, what now? How will you resolve your great case?”

Hearth cupped her chin in her hand, resting her arm on her hand, hugged against her. She observed Vance, who had been joined by his wife Holly. After some moments of study, she spoke. “Ian thinks he is a Cannibal.. but you and I know better.”

Vance smiled. “Well done, detective, well done. We eat not the flesh, and live by the code of the myths we resemble.”

Hearth shook her head. “You and I...” she paused for emphasis, a sharper tone coming to her voice. “know better.”

Vance's expression changed to concern. “We're not ready to go public.”

Hearth nodded. “No, not quite yet. But you are ready to rejoin the world.”

Vance raised an eyebrow. “What do you propose?”

Hearth laid out a deal then, one that the folk of Arefu gladly accepted. The Reconciliation lead two groups, those who merely carried the hemoglophagia virus, and those who had manifested it. In return for blood packs, the Family provided protection. A wounded community began to heal, and perhaps a new subspecies of man had begun to take blossom.

I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which Hearth wrote in final answer to that with which the narrative begins. It ran thus:

Baker Street,
October 31st.

Re: Vampires

Sirs:
Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I have looked into the inquiry of your client, Ms. Lucy West, late of Arefu, and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation, I am, sirs,

Faithfully yours,
Cherlynn Hearth.

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #3 (Part 1)

2010-01-28T15:54:00.000-05:00

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX COUNTY VAMPIRES (Part 1)

Cherylnn Hearth stood on the balcony of our shared quarters in 221 B Baker Street, overlooking the central crater of Megaton. She read repeatedly and with care a note that had been delivered by the disreputable handyman Jericho.

“Something is afoot, Watson.”

I again grimaced slightly at her double pun on the name she chose to address me by. Son of Watt indeed. Hmph. Still, I looked up from maintaining my trusty custom bore plasma rifle, interest trumping annoyance. “Whatcha got there, then?”.

“Recently, strange reports from a settlement some small distance away have filtered in through my network of informants.” She spoke of course of the Baker Street Irregulars, of whom I shall make mention of in a future record. “And now, this.”

Handing me the note, I was surprised that the author had not approached her in person. Lucy West was a familiar sight in and about the town.

Moriarty's, Megaton
October 29, 2778

Ms. Hearth:

Our client, Ms. Lucy West, formerly of Arefu, has made some inquiry of us in a communication of even date concerning strange events surrounding her family in the same locale. As our firm specializes entirely upon the procurement and repair of weaponry the matter hardly comes within our perview, and we have therefore recommended we contact you on her behalf and entreat you to look into the matter. We have not fogotten your successful action in the case of Doctor Peterson.

Faithfully Yours,
Flak and Shrapnel
Rivet City

I remarked that it was indeed most peculiar. “Doctor Peterson?” I inquired.

“A man long dead.”, said Hearth in a reminiscent voice. “One who was responsible for what I shall only refer to as my encounter with the Giant Molerat of Vault 108, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” Hearth's eyes sparkled with the scent of adventure. “But, come, Watson! The Game's Afoot!” We set out for Arefu post haste.

- - - - -

The journey to the small, almost nonexistent settlement was uneventful, marred only by the usual raider scum who had long since learned to flee in the path of the Great Detective and her sidearm when they lacked numbers.

Arefu was so named by the ravages of time and the war. A ramshackle cluster of decaying buildings erected on the lone standing pylon of the ancient freeway system, the once-bold and vibrant sign declaring that one pass lanes carefully had shed its C and adverbial suffix.

“Do not flinch, Watson.” Hearth warned as we climbed the mist-shrouded on-ramp. “From what?” I asked moments before an explosion startled me. To my credit, I heeded and did not flinch. Hearth smirked. “This place is guarded.” She then shouted and waved. “AHOY! We mean you no harm!”

A grizzled elder of the settlement lowered his shotgun. “Sorry strangers. I thought you were The Family come to wreak more havoc! Best come on up before they catch you out!”

Hearth inquired quizzically of the man, who was named Evan King. “The Family? A raider gang, perhaps?” King shook his head, informing her of the strange gang of post-apocalyptic goths that had of late plagued their livestock “Left 'em drained of blood! Like them Alien Mutilations up north!” Hearth agreed to check on the settlement while King kept watch.

Most of the residents were reticent, some deluded, and others merely afraid. The presence of the Great Detective gave them some small hope, her fame having spread even here. I noted some of the very holotapes of her previous adventures that I had recorded amidst their meager entertainments. My brief flush of pride was cut short by Hearth's dismissal of her achievements in a faux modesty that I knew caused her even more of a swollen head.

Her elation at being lauded quickly turned to gave seriousness when we came upon the West residence. Within, the peculiar smell of rot overpowered the senses. The grim sight of two bodies lay in their final tortured repose. Hearth quickly noted that they had been disturbed, discovered they had been drained completely of blood by two puncture marks at the neck.. She did not need to point out the the graffiti that announced this to be the work of The Family, complete with familiar gothic symbology and font. “Hearth, surely you do not think?”.

She laughed brightly. “I surely do think! Constantly! I can scarce help it!” She suddenly grew thoughtful and pressed the memo button on her Pip-Boy. “Note to self: Based on dilated pupils, ruptured vessels in the nose, and yet his steady hand under its influence, the fee for this case will be payable in stock from Evan King's Still.”

I rolled my eyes. “But seriously, Hearth? Vampires?”

She smiled thinly. “In a world of radioactive ogres, atomic zombies, and post-apocalyptic Grendel's Mothers, some things perhaps must still remain impossible. However, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Hearth tuned her Pip-Boy to magnification and spectral analysis, focusing on a single partial bootprint in the gloom. “What do you make of this, Watson?”

My android nature allows me some advantages, now that I know what I am. I switched my optics through multiple settings. “Mud, Hearth.”

She smiled indulgently. “Notice anything?”

I scanned deeper. It appeared to be, in fact, mud. Still moist. “Recent.”

“Very good! But see here.. “ She showed me the spectrographic analysis. “Traces of perfluoropolyether oil. Most commonly found on railway axels.”

I nodded. “And there's a trainyard not too far from here.”

Hearth checked the ammo load on her weapon. “Come then, Watson.” She spun the barrel and snapped it home. With her other hand, Cherry Heart rolled her shady hat onto her forehead. “Lets go eliminate the impossible.”

Adventure Comics: Superwoman Background

2010-01-28T15:47:00.001-05:00

Family tradition can be a powerful force. Few people find it quite so powerful as Kristin Wells. Kristin, like all her line, had grown up in the comforting shade of the House of El. From their earliest beginnings, they had been friends, confidants, and occasionally sidekicks and companions to the Super-People. Kristin discovered to her delight that she had inherited her family's greatest gift during her fourteenth birthday party. Back in the time of the original Superman, Pete Ross and Lana Lang's infant son Clark had been kidnapped by Brainiac in Doomsday's body and subjected to the beginnings of a procedure to replicate a mindless Doomsday for his consciousness to inhabit. Superman managed to defeat Doomsday and rescue Clark with no ill effects. Or so it seemed.

What Superman did not realize was that the acclimatization process had not worn off completely, and small subspacial resonances occurred in Clark Ross's genes as Doomsday endlessly teleported between the four linked transport tubes on the Lunar Surface. These changes did nothing directly to him, and he grew to lead a normal life. He fell in love with Sarah Olsen (The daughter of James Bartholomew Olsen, Jr. and Lucy Lane, named after Olsen's mother), got married, and settled down. Kristin, a hundred centuries later, had inherited that metagene. When her "Aunt" Laurel Kent, a good long-time friend of the family, took her to see the Legion of Superheroes at the Worlds Fair in Metropolis for her Birthday weekend, the inevitable happened.

The All-Worlds Dome was taken over by the escaped consciousness of the Cyborg Superman. Converting it to a giant robot, he knocked the young Legion about with disdainful ease. Laurel hurried Kristin toward the exit, and told her to run. When Kristin turned to grab her aunt's hand, she saw Laurel running back. Following her, she watched Laurel disappear behind a display and Superwoman come out the other side. Stunned, Kristin failed to notice the Bad Thing about to happen. Several super-powers intersected, causing a freak explosion. Kristin felt a surge through her body, and leapt desperately to avoid the blast. She found herself airborne, moving away in an arc. Landing against a storage shed, a huge robotic foot nearly crushed her. Desperately pushing at the door, she tore it like paper. Inside was the Display Warehouse. Outside, Superwoman crashed to the ground, unconscious.

Kristin took a moment while the building next to the shed she was hiding in was demolished to consider her situation. Realizing she didn't have a second moment, she cast about desperately for something to help her. A colossal footstep spilled several containers. At her feet landed one with a familiar shield emblazoned on its lid. Willing to consider any alternative in her increasingly dwindling time, she tore it open. Within was mannequin costume kit The kit for the original Supergirl. Kristin sighed as her ancestral luck caught up with her, and donned the costume and wig. She strode out to see if Superwoman... If Laurel... was OK, and to try to not get killed distracting the Cyborg if she wasn't.

Uncertain how her powers worked, Kristin crept to the door and watched Superwoman, who was already stirring. She would be fine. A huge shadow fell over them, and Kristin reacted instinctively. She reached up and pushed with all her might and will. The Cyborg, surprisingly, toppled. In the time it took him to try to stand, the regrouped Legion joined the revived superwoman in tearing him apart and isolating his consciousness once more. As the Science Police took the computer module Brainiac 5 had trapped the Cyborg in away, Superwoman leaned over to Kristin and whispered, "I suppose there's only one way to get you to keep the Family Secret..." She stood back up and smiled. "Supergirl."

Kristin served as Supergirl for a very, very long time. She grew up, got her degree in History, and got a job teaching at Metropolis University. Superwoman had a son, and the new Superboy, Jordan Kent, treated Kristin like a big sister. As Laurel announced her intention to retire, it even looked as if for the first time in centuries, the new Superwoman would not be a Kent. To celebrate the occasion, Kristin applied for and received permission to travel back and observe the debut of the first Superwoman, whom she now knew had secretly been Karan Kent, Clark's sister from Krypton who had survived the destruction of Krypton's sole colony, Argo.

Kristin arrived at the right place at the right time, with a week's worth of identification and supplies so that she could observe Superwoman's presentation to the world before she left. Finding a place she knew was safe, she set her invisible Time Bubble to record the events. Superman and Doomsday appeared on schedule, fought on schedule, and then, at the appointed moment... Nothing happened. No Superwoman. Krisitn couldn't move. Any change could, in theory, erase her timeline. Her home. Everything and everyone she loved. As she stood paralyzed, before her eyes, Superman died.

Stunned, crying, scared, Kristin returned to the Time Bubble. She activated the recall, determined to ask Laurel and Jordan what could have gone wrong. The Time Bubble bounced off an impenetrable barrier in the timestream. Kristin noted the date before it spun out of control. It was the day Clark Ross and Sara Olsen's daughter had been born. She blacked out as the bubble crashed. When Kristin came to, she was in a dark place. The Time Bubble's Time Coil was melted into a rapidly dissolving liquid. She was trapped. Acting on her Temporal Historian's field training, she shunted all remaining power to the computer, and spread a worm that would establish a more permanent version of her identity here before deleting itself.

That done, she scanned the local records she could access until the power failed. There was no Superwoman, there was no Karan Kent, there wasn't even an Argo... Krypton had had no colonies. This was not her past. She believed that her future had been erased. She started to weep. She must have slept, for the early rays of sunshine were just beginning to peek through the warehouse windows as she awoke. The Time Bubble had just one functional system left. Kristin activated the Self-Destruct. The rush of air filling the space where it had been dislodged a small cardboard box from a palate. As it landed at her feet, she noted a familiar shield emblazoned on its lid. She picked it up and opened it. Halloween was a few weeks away. It was a cheap, illegal knock-off party costume. A redesign of Superman's costume, for a woman. Sighing at her family's luck, she put it on. Superwoman flew away into the rays of dawn.

Adventure Comics - Overview

2010-01-28T15:44:00.002-05:00

I've decided to post some writing I thought was not too bad from old MUSH characters. Chosing "Adventure Comics" as a title came from a thread on RPGnet about being able to write one comic, but having to use an existing title. Adventure Comics is not currently being published. The post ended up with me not putting out my idea, because of a "Play Nice" clause where other characters and shared universes could not be altered. I wanted to use Superwoman, Tomorrow Woman, and a variant Supergirl from different alternate futures. However, all three are currently in use. So instead, I'm using the banner here.

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 3)

2010-01-28T15:41:00.000-05:00

LET FREEDOM RING (Part 3)

The message was definitely getting out. Atomica's trip through Museum Station was uneventful, as the Raiders dwelling there had fled at her approach. A good thing, because Hannibal had insisted on accompanying her.

The two Supermutants outside the Museum itself were no particular trouble, as neither were armed with rockets. Hamlin was duly impressed. “By the Dawn's Early Light, girl! You shredded those brutes like tissue paper!”

Inside, Hannibal lead Atomica not to the historical exhibit as she had planned, but to the rear of the building. An exhibit based around Dante's Inferno. “Welcome to Underworld.”

Atomica gasped as she entered. A city of Ghouls, living peacefully in the remains of the old museum proper. She quickly spotted what she had learned were the usual types in any settlement. The cranky robot, the handyman, the town drunk, the slightly loopy merchant, they were all there. Just like in Megaton, Rivet City, and even Vault 101.

The inhabitants were largely unimpressed with her, superhero or not. She bought a full load of reserve energy cells and medchems to recharge the suit before tackling the haunted halls of the Lincoln Exhibit.

The memorial was surprisingly intact. She had been warned about the Ferals. The poor mindless once-human creatures were no particular threat, even when they attacked in force. The strange Glowing Ones were a bit tougher, but no more than a Supermutant. Hannibal continued to spout colourful bits of patriotica as they discovered more and more of Lincoln's actual preserved artifacts. She even managed to find his famous stovepipe hat.

The last piece, the one they came for, was in the center section. As Atomica and Hannibal entered, the lights were doused. From the darkness, the hissing of Ferals echoed about them. As Atomica brought up her PipBoy light, the hissing made words.

"Oncccccccce a maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan....” The guttural hiss startled her. Whipping about, she barely had time to see a hideous feral take a swing at her, knocking her off balance. Her attacker had a cunning spark of intelligence in its eyes. Its face was hideously deformed, with some kind of scarring and scaling evident. It wore the remains of a blue armoured suit with a stylized red cobra hood on its chest.

Atmoica rolled back with the impact as she went over, recovering from the blow into a leg-sweep up. The monster charged her, taking two blasts from her weapon without slowing down. She leapt over the stair railing into a clutch of ferals. She could handle them, but would have no time to drop them and save Hannibal. Unable to break from the creatures, she vowed the good man would be avenged, and his people lead to the liberated memorial.

Hannibal stepped in front of the poster, Lincoln's Repeater drawn. He was wearing the President's hat and greatcoat. The light over the poster of the Lincoln Memorial had somehow snapped back on, bathing the man in a halo of light. He placed his hand on the diary while the ghoul commander looked on in confusion and fear.

“Ten Score and Fifteen years ago, A great man brought forth upon a great nation a new era in the wake of the great Civil War, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. He stood against the forces of tyranny and opression, as do I, as did my ancestor Marvin F. Hinton when he held you back two hundred years ago.”

The commander hissed, recoiling.

“Yes, demon! Oppressor! I recognize your banner, I know who you are! And I will end your reign in the name of the Great Emancipator! And in the honor of my great-great-great-great grandfather! Here under Lincoln's Gaze, I call forth the spirit of his deed, and my heritage! You will die with my name on your lips! I am no longer merely Hannibal Hamlin! You may call me The Liberator! YO JOE!”

The Commander lunged. The Liberator fired the repeater, blasting him back into the darkness.

Atomica swore the light brightened around him as he stood waiting for the Commander to return. Dropping the last of her assailants, she bounded up the stairs. “Welcome to the club?”

The Liberator grinned. “I guess you're rubbing off on me, Atomica. Looks like we shall not perish from this earth after all. Lets go do some Liberating.”

Atomica smiled happily to herself as she followed the Wasteland's newest Superhero out into the Mall.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #4 (Part 2)

2010-01-02T21:07:00.000-05:00

The Siege of Canterbury Commons (Part 2)

A long night of sharing Clover with Alexandra and Beatrice (1) left the Barbarian restless and pacing. As the caravan guards and her wife slept, she walked the fortified wall along the turrets. There, atop the mesa where once the AntAgonizer had hidden in her dim foresaken lair that was now used to store food and supplies, Rachel encountered Machete.

The angry and sullen young woman had no traffic with womanflesh, rendering her immune to Rachel's charms. The first time the Barbarian tried to seduce the sharp-tongued girl, Machete called her six incredibly rude names, one of which Rachel had not heard before. When Dominic apologized for his ward, Rachel laughed. “Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.” (2)

Instead, a strange sort of hostile friendship had grown between them. The women sat and shared a box of Potato Crisps, trading increasingly complex and clever insults as they watched the night from between two of the newest Turrets.

It was machete who spotted the armed force approaching from the NorthEast. Dozens of armed men and women, clad in black. Machette tapped Rachel on the thigh, at first causing the Barbarian to smile, thinking Machete had at long last admitted that she, like everyone else, wanted to sleep with her.

Alas, Rachel saw the girl's gaze and followed it, grimacing as she motioned for the young warrior to return to sound the alarm. Almost too late she spotted the shadow at her flank. Rachel spun a moment too slow, avoiding the swing of a blade that would have taken her head clean off. Too slow, for she took the hilt square to her jaw. The Barbarian was certain she had been addled by the blow, for before her stood a blurry form that looked entirely too like Carolina Red. Rachel would never know how the woman survived her fall from the water tower, for Machete's blade emerged from Red's throat before she could ask.

Machete cleaned her blade on Red's clothes. “I'll alert the others. Looks like Paradise Falls has sent troops backed up by Talon. You going to be OK?”

"When I cannot stand alone, it will be time to die," she mumbled, through mashed lips. "But I'd like a flagon of wine." (3)

Rolling her eyes, Machete called back, “Drinks on me if you're alive when I get back!”

Rachel braced for the first wave to come over the wall. The battle lust took her as she held one spot against ladders and ropes. Still, they spilled over. Red haze filled her vision as each cut and blow drove her fury to higher and higher burn. At some point, she heard the townsfolk approaching behind.

Reeling up, blood streaming down her face from under her dented helmet, Rachel glared dizzily at the profusion of destruction which spread before her. From crest to crest the dead lay strewn, a red carpet that choked the valley. It was like a red sea, with each wave a straggling line of corpses. She realized she had been corpses into butchered wetness. The first wave had fallen. The second held back at the naked, savage fury of the red haired woman. (4)

Machete ran to her side. “When did you get a helmet?” She took off the dented headgear. It had a Talon Company logo on it. Rachel shrugged. “Are the Iron Horses ready?” (5)

The Mechanist nodded. “Cleaned and repaired and awaiting only your command.” He threw a switch on his talisman and bright lights illuminated a clever raising platform concealed beneath the AntAgonizer's mound. There stood a score of the mechanical beasts.

The townsfolk stepped forth, clad in leather and helms. Rachel stepped into the light. "This day you become knights!" she laughed fiercely, pointing with her dripping sword towards the iron horses, herded nearby. "Mount and follow me to hell!" (6)

Rachel leapt astride her custom painted steed and lead the riders to battle.

Roaring down the battlements, the Canterburians charged the enemy. The Talons made a phalanx and set to receive the charge. The slavers were not so disciplined, and fell to the first wave of passes. Machete carried an Iron Dragon, and laid the remaining slavers to ruin with a rain of hellfire.

The Talons drove several riders to the ground, sacrificing their own to overbear the machines. Rachel ground several beneath her wheels, all the while swinging a length of chain from her first. Two Talons made the grave error of trying to intercept it. She dragged them to the edge of the steep drop and let go.

Rachel zoomed across the battlefield, intercepting and assailing where she was most needed. She leapt from her horse barely in time to save Roe from his own end at five to one odds. Between the two of them, the merchant partners survived to fight on.

It was morning before the last of the invaders fled. Exhausted and covered in the gore over a hundred dead, Rachel stood speaking with Uncle Roe.

“Our way has failed. There is darkness and evil in the Wasteland. I would be dead in my sleep tonight if not for you. And twice over in battle.” He knelt and offered his sword. “My Queen.”

The others followed, each kneeling. Even Machete bowed her head slightly.

Rachel nodded in proud satisfaction. “So be it. Arise, my people. There is much yet to do.” One arm around Roe's shoulders, the other Machete's, Rachel, Queen of Canterbury limped back to town to begin her reign.

(1 )From the Fallout: Van Buren design document notes.
(2) “The Tower Of The Elephant”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 3, Mar 1933
(3) “Rogues in the House”, novelette; Weird Tales 23 1, Jan 1934
(4) Entire Paragraph from “Black Colossus”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 6, Jun 1933
(5) Motorcycles.
(6) “Black Colossus”, novelette; Weird Tales 21 6, Jun 1933

Miranda: War On Steel Poster

2010-01-02T01:40:00.001-05:00

Miranda: War On Steel #0 (Part 2)

2010-01-01T20:01:00.002-05:00

War On Steel #0: Cold Comfort (Part 2)

It was mostly all busted up outside. Miranda had seen old pictures of the city, nice houses, beautiful buildings. Now there was just broken up bits. She could still kinda see the shapes of the houses. They musta been nice.

The damn machines were out here too. She put down the floating metal ball with a couple of shots. Killing robots was good, but not like killing men. That got done over at a big brick building that used to be a school. Now that was satisfying.

Her stupid pipboy pinged. It still ached when it did that. She followed the compass marker to the most horrible thing she had ever seen. An entire city made of machines. She knew better than to kill the robot with that many people around. She had one gun, not many bullets, and they all had some mean looking rifles.

The Sheriff was mean to her, and the people in the store yelled at her. She barely noticed, not just cause she was used to it. In the middle of the ugly crime against nature of a town was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. One big damn bomb.

Someone mentioned they had seen another jumpsuit like hers up at the saloon. She nearly vomited when she met her first Ghoul. Backing away, she encountered a snake of a man in the corner. She knew the type. When the guards would feel her up or Jonas would “accidentally” walk in to the showers when she or Amata were in there, they would talk all smooth like that.

Miranda learned what Ghouls were from this Mister Burke. Sick and twisted mockeries of humanity. Radioactive Zombies like in the George Romero films they used to get to watch on Halloween. This town, these people, the ghouls.. He wanted them gone. So did she. He wanted her to make the big bomb work. She had a small climax at the thought. Dealing with the Guards, the Tunnel Snakes, Jonas and Floyd had taught her how to talk to men. She got Mister Burke to agree to pay her double.

Miranda made her way through town, creeping in shadows and corners. She took everything she thought could be of value and sold most of it off to the merchants around town, trading for medicine and supplies for her walk to Tenpenny Tower. She stood and listened to the crazy preacher, lovingly caressing the warm casing of the bomb as she slipped the remote trigger in.

She stopped outside to spit on the robot, trade with a crazy drug dealer, and kill a beggar who deserved a little better death than the others were gonna get. The robot didn't even look.

Some packs of wild dogs and mutant flies gave her some trouble on the way. She met one of the Brotherhood of Steel on the Bridge on the way over by someplace called Fort Independence. He was mean to her too. Everyone always was. Her last bullet went into the head of a nasty rat thing. She was sad she didn;t have any to pump into the zombie at the gates of the tower.

Mister Burke not paid her, he paid her double, and creepy old Tenpenny gave her a room in the place. They even let her push the button. She got the switches wrong once on the computer in Mr. Burke's briefcase and instead, the box started playing music.

Quote:
Originally Posted by Blondie
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight make it right
Uh huh make me tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Oh uh huh make it magnificent
Tonight
Right
Oh your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
Tonight make it magnificent
Tonight
Make me tonight
Your hair is beautiful
Oh tonight
Atomic
Atomic
Oh
Mister Burke looked embarrassed. Mister Tenpenny laughed. Burke set the switches for her, and pointed to the button.

Miranda almost passed out from the powerful felling that ripped through her when the blast hit.

Mister Burke looked like he felt the same. He was still a creepy old bastard though.

Miranda was spent as she snuggled into her nice bed. “One down. Bout a million to go.” She fell asleep with a smile and dancing mushroom lights behind her closed eyes.

Miranda: War On Steel #0 (Part 1)

2010-01-01T18:08:00.000-05:00

War On Steel #0: Cold Comfort (Part 1)

Miranda hated machines. But they started it.

As far as she could think back, there was always a machine hanging around, just waiting on a chance to do her dirty. Damn things even hurt her eyes when she was just a baby, showing pictures of the way she would look when she growed up. She turned out that way, sure, not that it did her any good.

At least machines bothered to get a hate on. People had no use at all for her.

What kind of dad leaves his baby girl all alone for hours on end? And always coming back to find her thumb pinched in the baby gate, or a toy Nuka Cola truck repainted in bright red from the gash it left falling on her head.

Maybe that last one happened a few too many times. It would explain some things.

Being the Vault Whipping Girl made her quick to talk her way out of trouble, but that just made damn sure to get her into even more dutch. Even her birthday party got her pounded on by the local bully and insulted a dozen times. Her dad got her a BB Gun that year she turned ten. Guns and cherry bombs were the only machines she could talk to. The rest just growled like angry animals and tried to take pieces of her whenever she got too close.

The special feeling she got killing radroaches with them didn't hurt none at all.

She got her periods the week after her birthday. That was bad enough, but then Dad made that damn machine do her exam. Cold metal just did not belong up in some places.

Somehow, Butch and his stupid gang knew all about it. The teasing and beatings never quite took a day off after, and she soon took to “helping them out” to avoid the beatings as they matured. Fingers and foul tastes mostly kept her from getting beat up. Mostly. She still got a good cuff now and again cause she never did let them in where the damn Robot hurt her. Not even the day she had to “help out” all three of them at once in the Men's Room to get them off Amata's back. Her smart mouth got her in trouble there too, cause Amata was mad at her. And then Mister Brotch gave her the business for being late.

The G.O.A.T. exam making her a member of the Maintenance Department was just the last straw. Spending her days getting cut, scraped, banged up, and bloody while bowing and scraping to the metal monsters made her even more sour than she started.

When Dad up and left without so much as a goodbye, they all blamed her too. She was ready to be stuck sumping the reactor forever, but the damn Overseer wanted her dead. “Thanks, Dad.”. If the whole world was gonna give her up for a bad job, she decided to make a bad job of it and get the hell out. Amata gave her a real gun to get out with.

The first man she killed caused shivers and a kind of joy she had never felt before deep inside, leaving her sweating and panting and her Vault jumpsuit feeling way too tight around her chest. But in a really good way. “Way better than Radroaches.”

Miranda killed every guard she couldn't hide from on her way out.
She only stopped when she heard Amata's dad and his chief thug about to do her some harm. She killed the Security Chief with a single shot to the back of the head. He never saw it coming. She let out a cry as a powerful spasm took her for a moment.

The Overseer turned pale as a ghost seeing the orgasmic flush come over her as she shot a man in the back in cold blood. He ran and locked himself in the jail cell as she was reloading.

Amata ran too. Miranda just scared the hell out of her.

Computers hated Miranda in special kinds of ways. She not only couldn't open the cell door, but she somehow managed to seal the room. The Overseer would just have to live with the fact he was scared of a girl.

Amata was hiding in her room. She gave Miranda the key to her dad's office, and hacked into his computer for her before running off. She learned about the outside, the people, about where her dad had come from.

Her life sucked because her dad ran away from men who wore machines. Machines were everything wrong in the world except for people, who were almost as bad.

Miranda killed two more guards as she left the Vault forever. There was a world out there, were men could not be trusted, and machines kept them alive. A world that men with machines had ruined in the first place.

Miranda stepped out into the light and decided that it was time to make things even. Cocking her pistol, she cradled the ice cold metal against her cheek. With the only machine that was her ally in her hand, she headed off to begin her one-woman War On Steel.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #4 (Part 1)

2009-12-29T01:21:00.003-05:00

The Siege of Canterbury Commons (Part 1)

Rachel walked, her head filled with the musings of one who had tasted power and lusted for more. She slew as she found them, Raiders, bandits and beasts. Her travels cleared the area around Canterbury Commons, allowing it to expand.

Word spread of her deeds, as those willing to work hard found their way to the town. Soon the mere handful she began with burgeoned into a city to rival Megaton, Underworld, and Rivet City.

Under the watchful eye of the Mechanist and his marvelous Turrets, the town seemed safe. Little did they know their greatest trial was yet to come, forever forging the destiny of the crimson haired Barbarian.

Slaves had come to Canterbury, first in small number, then more as time went on. In his lair beneath the horrid idol of the excesses of the World Before, Eulogy Jones brooded. The warlord would stand no more losses. He sent his trained dogs to kill Rachel.

Late, she slept beneath a pale moon atop a ruined water tower. Three figures crept slowly toward her, silent as the night breeze. Evading Rachel's traps, Crimson and Clover approached her from either side of the catwalk while Carolina Red ascended a short ladder to the roof. Flakes of rusted silt shifted and blew into the wind as Carolina Red settled to bear her wand on the sleeping Barbarian's head. She primed the fiendish weapon with the gentlest of clicks.

Rachel erupted into a crouch, drawing her sword before she was fully awake. Throwing her mass into the side of the tower, she narrowly avoided Clover's thrown dagger. Crimson lept to intercept her, gaining purchase on her leg.

Rachel wrapped a broken length of hanging chain around her arm, pulling herself up as she used Crimson's head to kick off from the ledge. Still the frenzied woman did not release her grip. Rachel swung at Clover, missing her neck by a hair's width. She let go a loop of chain, steeling herself as she connected solidly with the railing. Crimson broke the rusted supports, letting go of Rachel as she hung on to a broken pipe with one hand.

Rachel rolled back onto the ledge, taking a kick from Clover on the chin. Disoriented, her blade flashed in a wide circle, driving the girl back long enough to get a moment's breath. Rachel could hear Carolina Red shuffling about above, trying to find a rusted hole wide enough to assail her with mage fire.

Trusting her instincts to carry her through, she swung again, running along the rail as sparks flew scant inches behind her. Rachel let go and dove for the catwalk. Carolina Red impaled Crimson neatly between her eyes as Rachel rolled past. She spared a glance at the falling form as she regained her feet.

Rachel spotted the dagger Crimson had thrown. Rolling into a somersault, she came up and threw. Red staggered backwards, joining Crimson in her plummeting flight to earth. A low, feral growl, more animal than woman came from behind. The sound of such raw emotion sent Rachel's loins to tingling.

Thrusting her sword over her shoulder and down, she blocked Clover's blade. Whirling, she locked the blade of the smaller woman. Face to face, eye to eye, Rachel asserted her will. The woman pushed and twisted, Rachel countering clover's every attempt to free her steel.

As Rachel's fire grew from staring into the eyes of so magnificent a passion, so too did Clover's heart begin to burn. Each knew they would forever need the other like a dying beggar needs pure water. Dropping their blades, the women came together in a fierce kiss, as much a combat as an act of love. Rachel took the girl by her collar to the bedding she had made herself and roughly had her way with her.

In the morning's light, Rachel awoke to Clover sleeping curled against her. Kissing her gently on the head, she smiled as the sleepy kitten awoke. “Come now, girl. We return to Canturbury.” The she-tiger stretched and yawned as she wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Yes, Mistress.”

Rachel and her bride set off for home.

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 2)

2009-12-28T04:24:00.002-05:00

LET FREEDOM RING (Part 2)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Half a mile past the Republic of Dave: 11 AM.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Atomica grimaced at a pain in her shoulder as she knocked the heads of the last two Slavers together with a satisfyingly hollow sound. They dropped comedicaly into each other's arms and fell atop the bodies of their four fallen fellows. She failed to stifle a yawn as she unlocked the collars of the slaves they had been transporting with a practiced hand.

“You sure look beat, Miss. We heard tell of you freeing slaves all over the wastes these past few days. Maybe you need a rest?”

She rubbed her shoulder until it was just stiff instead of throbbing. “Maybe.” She considered her week. Allison was making good money off of slaver gear, Atomica had definitely had an effect. Instead of 2 or 3 slavers as escorts, the routes were now being manned by half a dozen or more per slave caravan.

“Come on, its time to point you in the right direction.” Exhausted, her foot slipped, and she nearly fell back over the ridge she had ambushed the slavers from. “Please Miss Atomica. Come with us. One day off. You earned it... and you won't do anyone any good if you get killed cause you're too tired to fight.”

Another yawn tore loose from her without caring what she thought of it. Nodding, she gave in. “OK. Ok... Come on.. Its just half a day from here.” One of the children's eyes went wide. “Its really real?”

Atomica leaned over, hands on her knees while she caught her breath. “Sure is.” Standing up, she stretched mightily, drawing admiring stares from most of the men and a couple of the women. She pointed to the west. “Next stop...”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Temple Of The Union: 2 PM
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Atomica was half asleep by the time the slaves reached the gate of the Temple. She had never come within range of its walls before, preferring to observe from an overpass nearby. As she approached, the rough woman who guarded the Temple challenged them. The password was given, Atomica being brought in with her arms around two very happy men's shoulders. She felt guilty for taking the aid of those forced to serve, but it was that or nap under a bush outside. With her only taking half an hour sleep at a time as she haunted and assaulted the slaver's trade routes, she was running on empty.

Hannibal Hamlin approached her with a mixture of disbelief and reverence. “By the Stars and Bars, Atomica herself! It is an honor to finally meet you! Word of your crusade has spread from the Pitt to Point Lookout!”

She marshaled the strength to shake hands heartily. “I admire what you've done here, mister Hamlin.” He laughed, and insisted she call him Hannibal. Upon seeing her stagger when left to stand on her own, he also insisted she get a hot meal and a full night's rest. She chose not to argue.

Atomica awoke to the light of dawn. She had slep the rest of the day and the night away after her solitary supper of Salisbury Steaks and Insta-Mash. “Mornin' Suit. How we holding up?”

POWER RESERVES FIFTY THREE PERCENT.

“I need to get you some cells.”

CONCUR.

“Smartass.”

The slaves she had rescued the day before had already moved on, headed west under cover of darkness through the Underground Caravan Trail. Merchants dressed them in ones and twos as guards and caravan helpers, leaving them to trade off at safe places like Agatha's and the Republic of Dave. Even before Atomica left the Vault, Hannibal had saved hundreds in ones and twos.

“But now, with you and your comic book super powers, we're overloaded. We need somewhere more fortified, somewhere we can make a stand, and defend.” He showed her Caleb Smith's work, and told her of his plan to take back the Lincoln Memorial. “But even our might is not enough to assail the Supermutants that haunt it.”

“For that you need a Superhero. Luckily for you, I happen to be one.”

Hannibal smiled gently. “I would never have asked, nor can I offer more than gratitude.”

“Its what I do. As soon as I can find some energy cells, I'll be able to power up enough to handle them.”

“Well Old Glory Be! Maybe I can offer a bit more!” He handed her an ammo case. “The blasted Laser Pistol hasn't worked in a dog's age.”

Atomica smiled as the suit recharged to full.

“Once we find a way to recover the drawing of the Memorial that was known to be in the Museum of American History, we can strike out and reclaim the great Emancipator's monument for the cause of freedom.”

Atomica nodded. “I can get that for you. Only one thing delaying me.”

Hannibal paused with a worried look. “And what it that?”

“Lunch.”

Hannibal laughed uproariously as he set her a place for a hearty meal of noodles and Mac & Cheese.

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #2 (Part 2)

2009-12-28T02:06:00.003-05:00

THE CASE OF THE RIVETING REPLICANT (Part 2)

The rough corridors of the massive hulk that was Rivet City were no stranger to the wounded staggering in after rough treatment in the Wasteland. The security officers had witnessed her battle, and commented on her impressive skills when outnumbered three to one. The detective thanked them, and made her way to the infirmary.

While waiting, the fevered ramblings of a deathly ill man diverted her. The poor devil believed that an artificial man from the north was hiding in Rivet City, and even now was in dire danger of discovery. Hearth was only slightly surprised when the Doctor treating mentioned he had received a communication claiming to be from just such a man seeking refuge.

Upon listening to the recorded voice, she was certain she could detect the subtle pauses of artificiality from which such an Android would by necessity suffer. Her mind raced through the brief time she had spent within the Marketplace, and identified those pauses in another.

Her wounds tended, Hearth made her way to investigate the allegation, and rapidly found her suspicions confirmed. The merchants were abuzz with news of a visitor to the Science Lab seeking just such an escaped automaton.

Along the way, she arranged for an escaped slave to find justice against her pursuer, took no interest in the petty politics of the governance of the city despite efforts on the parts of all factions to involve her, and facilitated both a wedding and a mentorship between two troubled souls, all as distracted afterthought to her own investigations. Such investigations did not go unopposed.

In a dark side corridor of the ruined seagoing city, Hearth knew someone was shadowing her moves. The pursuer knew the boat better, but Hearth had spent the afternoon wandering the boat, listening, breathing, learning its pulse and rhythm.

The soft shuffle and subdued breaths behind her were not the confident stride of a guard, nor the clumsy efforts of the impaired to find their way home. No, Cherylnn Hearth was being stalked. She made her way to the Capitol Preservation Society's chamber, wherein hung relics of the times before the war. Pretending to be interested in the terminal of dubious historical facts in a shadowed corner, she slipped around the corner and steeled herself to confront her potential attacker.

Instead, a soft voice came from where the footsteps stopped. “I hear you are interested in the Android. I wish to know your intent.” Hearth simply told the truth... She had no interest in anything but mysteries and their solutions.

Although Sherlynn Hearth plays at being aloof and disinterested in anything but cold justice and colder science, in truth, the story told by Victoria Watts touched her deeply. A story of a network of artificial men and women who had been created by a corrupt government for purposes of enslavement, beings who, though metal and electronics beneath, still had souls and dreams and tears. She gave Hearth an Android Component to fool the man from the Commonwealth into believing the Android he sought had been destroyed. And so she did.

However, the mystery as yet unsolved, she pushed her investigations further, even braving the radioactive water of the Potamic to discover the hidden lab of Pinkerton, a founder of the city. The man who had given the android new memories and a new face. They departed respectful of each other's intellect and skill.

Hearth paused to solve the Council Wars with the information that Pinkerton had given her, then confronted the Android. She restored his memories, leaving him a state of not entirely knowing who he was. A new identity was forming, needing a purpose, a direction. And that's when I first met Cherlynn Hearth.

She smiled at me, a thin thing, but sincere. The offer made, and accepted. I left with her, preparing returning to Baker Street. Taken with a sudden humor, she put on her disreputable hat. Cherry Heart shrugged her shoulders and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Lets blow this joint, dollboy.”

I told her not to call me that, and she laughed. “Fine by me, Kiddo.” Her hat blew off as she opened the hatch to the outside. Switching affectations again, she bowed her head graciously with an exaggerated, sarcastic sweep of her arm. “After you, then.. Watson.” It was a small price to pay to accompany the detective as her faithful companion. Holmes had Watson, House had Wilson. And Cherlynn Hearth had Harkness. And suddenly, for just a momeht, all seemed right with the world.

- - - - -

OOC: There is, in fact, a Harkness Companion mod. :)

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #2 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T21:33:00.002-05:00

THE CASE OF THE RIVETING REPLICANT (Part 1)

Cher had gotten a decidedly shady looking fedora from Moira Brown as part of finishing that book they wrote together. She set out through the post-modern wilderness of the urban jungle, dishing two-fisted justice through the end of a chrome plated barrel as she made the mean streets safe for.. well, no one, really.

Rivet City sat like a broken dream on the faintly glowing sludge they called the Potamic River. Cherry Heart stood with her hands in her coat pockets while she looked the rusted wreck over from one end to the other. That was her first mistake.

Mooks from an outfit calling themselves Talon Company snuck up on her and drew down. Turns out there was a bigwig back in the Waste who was less than thrilled about some kid in a fancy coat making noise and sticking her do-gooder nose in places it wasn't wanted.

Cherry shrugged and made a gesture entirely unfitting for a lady. She kicked a rusty tin can up and at the face of the head goon, using the motion to roll down the stairs to the old subway system behind her. Turns out that rolling down ancient concrete steps is pretty hard on a gal's ribcage.

Ignoring the cracks that made breathing into an exercise in seeing through flashes of bright hot pain, she drew her custom piece and fired at the first thing that showed its head at the top of the stairs. She was never sure after if it was luck or reflexes that put the hollowpoint between the man's eyes.

The other two peppered her hiding place with high caliber automatic fire. The rusted out trash barrel took most of the hits before shredding, leaving her cracked ribs to play welcome wagon to the slug that had moved into the corner lot in the neighbourhood of her shoulder.

She emptied the chamber at the one with the fancy tommy gun, managing to return the favour by embedding hot lead in his hand. When he dropped the weapon, she used the opening to charge him, clocking him across the face with the butt of her gun. He crumpled with a nasty wet crunch from his nose.

The last one had retreated to the parking lot full of ancient cars. Cherry scooped up the rifle and fired wildly, her shoulder and ribs helping make the shots go wide. When she woke up, she realized that she had no memory of the previous little while. The wrecks of the old cars were burning, some having been flung halfway across the river. There was no sign of the Talon.

Cherry rubbed her head, wincing as it came away wet with blood. She got unsteadily to her feet, muttering under her breath. “Why did they bother with seat belts?” She was too sore and tired to be surprised as her hat blew past her and alighted on the landing above. Tucking it away, Cherlynn Hearth staggered up the ramp to Rivet City.

- - - - -

(This is where my Fallout 3 died and took my save games with it. Everything past this point is fiction, pure and simple, based on Fallout 3, but all in my head. :D )

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #1

2009-12-27T21:32:00.001-05:00

HOW MS. HEARTH CAME TO BAKER STREET

Now, when Cherlynn Hearth first came to her now-iconic demesnes at the facetiously named 221 B Baker Street, she had no great wealth of specific information of the sort she later used to such great effect in solving mysteries and dispensing justice across the length and breadth of the Capital Wasteland.

Nonetheless, Lucas Simms told me that when she first walked into town, the course of a single afternoon saw the great bomb at its center rendered inert and the unlamented saboteur Burke dead by her hand moments before he would have shot the sheriff in the back. She spent the next day repairing the water plant and decorating the house she had accepted as a fee-on-retainer for her services to the town.

Her third day saw her explain to the Stahls about Leo's drug habit and embezzling. She had met and spoken with them less than half an hour before. Leo offered her his hidden stash of chems, only to have her suggest to Jenny that she sell them to the traders that passed by. No one had told her about them, either. She had inferred their existence from differing depths and sizes of hoofprints well-worn into area outside the gates.

Her meeting with Moira Brown left her agitated, but willing to issue “A trifling monograph” on Wasteland Survival on her behalf. Her forays into the near wastes had left her with a cache of weapons, including a remarkably well preserved six shooter of deadly aim and custom bore. Many Raiders found staring down its barrel to be their last living act.

Nova is fond of telling the tale of being present when she was introduced to Moriarty. Cher's eyes sparkled mirthfully, the thinnest of smiles playing about her lips. A honey-dipped voice thick with ironic amusement set the tone for all their future interactions. She is reported to have said, “You have got to be kidding me.” To this day, I am unsure he quite understands the joke.

Cher went back and forth to the environs of the Anchorage Memorial for more than a week, using stealth boys to study and write on the anatomy and habits of Mirelurks and Mole Rats. Likewise the old RobCo facility. She cleared the Minefield with an unbroken stride, having spent an evening watching the one called Arkansas go about his rounds instantly discerning his pattern. She reclaimed the National Archives for us all to use in the new Library system. And then, she came to Rivet City. That tale I shall relate to you next time, including how she and I finally met.

Cherlynn Hearth: Wasteland Detective #0

2009-12-27T21:30:00.000-05:00

I first made the acquaintance of Ms. Cherlynn Hearth upon answering an ad posted at the Brass Lantern seeking a roommate to share expenses at her residences at 221 B Baker Street, Megaton.

Oh, come on, Cher. Do I have to read this?

You know, I hate it when you're drunk. Can I at least do the other one?

Awesome.

OK, Lessee.

Of all the gin joints in all the wasteland, she had to walk into mine.

Oh, come on!

Cher?

She's blacked out. Let me read this into the record the way it actually happened.

You see, the Wasteland's most famous consulting detective actually came out of one of those vaults from before the war. When she was a little girl, the other kids were reading comics, watching vids. Atomica, Rachel the Barbarian, Captain Cosmos and Drake Tungsten the Chrono Cowboy. But not Cherlynn Hearth. The only Hubris Comics title she ever cared about was The Inspector.

She read voraciously, learning anything and everything she could about, well, actually, anything and everything she could. I have ever marveled at the keen insights and towering intellect my friend employed to index a plethora of facts used to draw accurate conclusions from seeming nothing...

Oh, hell. She's got me doing it now.

See, Cher is so smart, remembers so much, sees so many little details... If you've been through the the books and vids she brought back from the Archives, people like Sherlock Holmes, Joseph Bell, Greg House, Adrian Monk.. They come along one or two a century. Cher is one of them.

She gets so bored, with her brain running on overdrive all the time that she has to have some coping mechanisms. One is the drinking.. She would never sleep otherwise. Not that she does very often. I read that Tom Edison and Nick Tesla only slept 20 minutes at a time every few hours. I sometimes catch Cher dozing in a corner. I think she does that. But a body needs rest, too. So whenever we have a genuine day off, out comes the key to the liquor cabinet.

The other way she occupies herself is by role playing her heroes. Its supposed to be.. how does she put it.. “An ironic affectation designed to invoke ingrained memetic folklore archetypes and thus distract.” Which is a fancy way of saying she does this Columbo thing, making people think she's a little nuts. Seems to work. And it makes her happy.

I know, though, its also for her. All this time later, she never has quite gotten over her daddy abandonment issues. And if you tell her I said that, I'll clock you good. Anyways, she wears this thing she found, an old fashioned trenchcoat with some kind of armour plating. I've seen the like on some of the Enclave officers. Never has told me where she got it.

When she's using that big brain of hers and acting all goofy, she plays up that trace of an accent into sounding like she's from poor flooded Londontown and uses her whole name. Cherlynn Hearth. I think that if I ever meet Doctor James Hearth, I might slap him once for that. She went so far as to put up new street signs calling the short ramp up to her place “Baker Street” and painting “221B” on the door. Whatever, it makes her happy.

When the guns come out, though, she starts the tough gal routine, tries to sound like she comes from Old Chicago, and calls herself Cherry Heart, like the old stories about Sam Spade and Mike Hammer and whatever other crazy last-named gumshoes they used to have running around. I usually play along a little. It makes her happy.

Depending on whether “the game is afoot” or she puts the damn fedora on, she calls me either Watson or Kiddo. Of course, my actual name is...

Crap, she's gonna vomit. I have to keep her from choking on it and the damn dog from eating it. I'll pick this up in a bit and tell you about what she did before we met.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen Terminology.

2009-12-27T21:28:00.001-05:00

Rachel's Guide to Weapons:

Wands: Small Guns
Staffs: Shotguns
Fire Seeds: Grenades.
Firetraps: Mines.
Dragon Seeds: Mini Nukes.
She's not encountered Missile Launchers yet.

Other terms:

Potions, Elixiers, and such are meds.
Armoured Knights are power armour or robots.

The Demon Talisman is her PipBoy, Oracles are computers.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #3 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T21:21:00.008-05:00

The Uncommon Commons (Part 2)

Rachel awoke to shouting outside the window. Alone, connected to bags of shaman elixirs, she pulled the needles out of her flesh and sat up. Her talisman told her four days had passed while the fever burned through her.

Donning her armour and weapon, both of which had been cleaned and repaired, she made her way to stairs, and then outside. Her eyes widened as she gazed upon a figure she recognized.

“CROK! As my father before me faced the AntAgonist, so I now face her daughter!”

A man she had not met summoned her urgently back from the door. For the moment content to observe as armoured knights traded taunts with the AntAgonizer, for so she had named herself with vehemence and volume, Rachel spoke with him.

The man was Roe, called Uncle by many. He was concerned, having recognized her as the daughter of Femme-Ra from her gaments. He wanted no further trouble from the likes of those now doing battle, for he also knew of them from the chroniclers and scribes of the order of Hubris.

Crow had vouched for her, and Roe made it plain that there was work to be had in ridding Canterbury Commons of the menace that now imperiled it. Rachel readily agreed.

Following her ancestral foe back to her hidden lair, Rachel made short work of the ants commanded by the fiend. Confronting the AntAgonizer on her throne, the battle was brutal, but swift. The burning from her adversarie's poisoned blade told her that a lovely new scar would grace her thigh once it healed. She claimed the dagger and armour of the AntAgonizer as trophies, and sat to rest.

A strange fire began to spark within her as Rachel sat upon the throne. This was a feeling she would not soon forget.

Returning, Rachel made her way to the fortress of the one called the Mechanist. His knights gave her no quarter. The strange wizardly magic that gave them life arced most prettily across her blade as she brought them an honorable death.

The Mechanist, his work done, returned to the town to make amends. Never again would Canterbury Commons suffer the depredations of raiders or wizards, for the Mechanist would see to it that she was well defended.

A final offer was made to the Barbarian. She saw the potential in the merchants, and bought herself a partnership in their business. Roe named her a Merchant Princess. The wearing of a title fanned the flames the throne had kindled a bit. Never again would Rachel feel quite right without the weight of a crown atop her head. But, O Princess, that is a story for another time.

After settling her affairs and obtaining a map of the traders' routes, Rachel set forth alone from Canterbury Commons to make the wastes safer for those who were now under her protection. As the sun set behind her, she knew without looking back, in her heart of hearts, that she had found a new home.

- - - - -

(This is where my Fallout 3 died and took my save games with it. Everything past this point is fiction, pure and simple, based on Fallout 3, but all in my head. :D )

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #3 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T21:21:00.007-05:00

The Uncommon Commons (Part 1)

They walked for days. Much conversation and wisdom was learned from the shaman Crow. Much sweat and passion was shared between Rachel and the raven haired guard. Much Raider blood slaked the thirst of her blade.

On the third day, Crow made to pass wide beyond a path of marked road. Raider fortresses defended it on either end. Rachel explained what had happened in the fortress the day she left the her home. Crow saw wisdom in letting the accomplished warrior try her hand at breaking the stranglehold the raiders had taken on the travelers in the Wastes.

“After all, if you die, my bodyguard will have more energy during the day!” They shared a hearty laugh as they approached the first stronghold.

Crow had called it The Raid Shack. It was a fair name. The guards out front had no opportunity to call out to their fellows, so swift and silent was Rachel's blade.

The need for stealth passed, she kicked in the door to the intact building. Two came for her, a third staying back out of reach. While she felled them, a flame spat from an iron dragon carried by the hesitant one!

Diving below and beneath, Rachel cut the man's hamstrings. His dragon slept, and immediately after, so did he, for all eternity. The flames caught the ornate hangings that still dressed the Raid Shack's windows. A final raider looked around the stairs, drawing a mage wand.

Crow had taught Rachel the wisdom of the wands and staves, how they were guided by and hand, the same as a sword. The hand was key. Move away from its direction, and no mage fire would touch you. Rachel dodged into the closet where the iron dragon had been hidden. She slipped past again, and then around into the Kitchen, the wand-hand following her a hair too slowly.

Eventually, the demon in the wand slept, its snoring like insects clicking in the night. Rachel walked up the stairs, the mirthless smile on her lips matched by the savage glee in her emerald eyes and dancing lights of the flames reflected in her copper hair. The Raid Shack burned only corpses as it fell behind her when she exited.

The other end of the road proved more difficult. Crow named it Wheaton, once a garrison of well armed troops. Now a nest of well armed Raiders. Rachel grew at once quite used to and quite weary of wands and staves. She learned also that day of fire seeds and firetraps, the furious force of them catching her by surprise as she dove for cover behind a ruined wall.

Crow called out to her, “Timing is key! Wait for it!....” The Shaman did magic of his own. He had his own wand, sequestered. It was used to cause the ancient metal carriages to become dragon seeds. Rachel made her move while the Raiders were stunned by the heat and light. Only one escaped her. She chased him into the fortress.

“RACHEL! NO!” Too late, Crow cried out his warning. Some minutes later, Rachel emerged carrying the last raider's head. She was sick, feverish, and delirious. The poison in the air had taken its toll. Blackness claimed her vision as her fever caused Crow and her lover-guard to vanish. In Rachel's eyes, her father and Amata rushed toward her as she fell.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #2

2009-12-27T21:20:00.006-05:00

Well Met In The Wastes

The morning saw Rachel depart Silver, leaving her spent and sleeping with the name Rachel and the dew of the last night's passion on her lips. She made ready to ask the Talisman on her wrist where the town of Megaton was, but was surprised by a pleasant greeting from behind her.

The merchant Crow had chanced upon Rachel in the streets of the ruined town. He spoke with her at length, trading her unneeded spoils for coin and shaman's medicines.

The day passed as she walked alongside the merchant. She learned what was valuable, what was not, and crossed paths with Crow's compatriot Crazy Wolfgang. Rachel thought to ask where Megaton was. Both men laughed. “About a day's travel back the way we came.”

Rachel explained her mission. Wolfgang seemed more than happy to complete it for her. They agreed, and Rachel insisted on returning some coin to the man for his trouble, as well as purchasing more healing elixirs.

That night, the men sat and talked by the fire for the first watch. Rachel and the two guards, one raven haired and olive skinned, the other fair and sharply featured, repaired to the tent where the women compared and explored each others' scars and physiques.

Second watch Rachel took alone, as she had sent the guards into a peaceful exhausted slumber. The full moon brought beasts to the fray. Starved and crazed dogs who were swiftly dispatched. Dawnrise sent misshapen horrors to her. They fell as swiftly. Wolfgang joked that they were called “Rous”, causing Crow to chuckle and the sleepy eyed guards to roll their eyes.

“Rodents of unusual size?” she kicked the ashes of the fire to cover the bodies. “I do not believe they exist.” A strange stare from the others lead her to shrug with mirth. “In the Vault Kingdom of 101, we knew such fables as well as civilized folk.”

The merchants parted company. Rachel traveled with Crow. She wished to see this “Canterbury Commons” from whence they came.

Rachel: Wasteland barbarian Queen #1 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T21:19:00.004-05:00

The Vale of Springs (Part 2)

Atop the rise beyond the now sealed Vault 101, Rachel did not look back. That life, those times, were dead now. Gazing ahead, the valley below was a blasted ruin of desert. The remains of a half-score of homes littered the landscape. She descended warily.

A loud voice startled her. A man, speaking through a floating abomination. It approached. She brandished her sword, warning it to keep distance. As it closed, she split the foul metal beast in half with her blade. The shock and flame numbed her off-hand arm.

Favouring her wound, Rachel crept through the ruins, taking the lay of the land. One house stood still. Within, she lowered her sword when greeted by a woman demanding to know if she had been sent to collect her bounty.

The woman was named Silver. She had fled a place called Megaton, where a cruel master called Moriarty kept her as a harlot in his tavern. She had fled after he cheated her of wages. Rachel agreed to let the foul beast think her dead, allowing her to flee to safer climes.

Silver warned her that alas, she was kept here by a tribe of rough men who pirated treasures and forbade her leave without pay.. either in flesh or coin. Silver insisted they would have neither, as she had no coin to give.

Rachel's eyes flashed with old impulses that had caused her much trouble. “Treasure? Tell me more.”

Rachel strode to the fortress of the raiders. She called them out, leaping across a break in the wall they were using as an access point to exposed ruins. The first charged her with a knife. His head came off with one clean stroke.

Rushing up the stairs, she was pursued by others from above and below. They cornered her, brandishing bent rods of thick metal, wooden clubs, and blades.

Rachel threw the head of their watchmen at their feet. She sensed their uncertainty and grinned mirthlessly and ferociously. "Who dies first?" (1)

The one with the metal club volunteered. His brothers in violence died swiftly beside him, the one with the wooden club actually managing to hold her off for several blows before she split his weapon in two. Rachel carried the stroke back across his throat.

Within, she faced a dozen more, on three levels. A merry chase indeed, two and three at once. By the end of it, corpses littered her feet. She was cut, bruised, and fighting swooning unsteadiness, black and purple shadows threatening to overwhelm her vision and drag her into darkness.

Struggling to remain upright, she found a key on one of the bodies, and locked herself in a room with bedclothes and a Churgeon pouch mounted to the wall. The potions and salves therein caused her much comfort, and she slept a piece.

Awaking to the darkness outside the windows, Rachel traveled further into the fortress. On the floor above, an ambusher landed her a solid fist-blow to the chin. She repayed the kindness by showing him his last meal.

Another three flooded out into the hallway. She traded blows with them until her sword found its moment, and they were felled in order.

Again she bled, her hand slashed by one of their blades, an ugly bruise on her sword-arm making her swings less precise. She chose to wrap the soreness in cloth rather than resort to the healing elixirs just yet.

Another level above, she faced a wizard. A wand of stinging fire burned a crease on her shoulder, then a bolt of lightning caused a punishing spark to her mail. Rachel spun and dove behind a shelf, rolling to her feet in time to thrust the blade blindly behind her. Fortune favoured her, as her steel slid cleanly into the attacker rounding the corner.

Another burst of mage-fire greeted her beyond the room. Gritting her teeth, she lunged, slicing the hand holding the foul demon-staff away from the offending wizard's wrist. Another thrust ended him. His dog died valiantly protecting its master. She wiped her sword clean on its hide.

The Oracle there told her Talisman of monsters. Likely summoned by the wizards, the demons below were sequestered in a sealed pit. Thinking of Silver, she strode down the stairs to the chamber of the beasts.

“CROK!” (2)

She spat the name of the ancient god of Grognak's people as a curse. Ants. Enormous ants twice the size of the fierce and loyal hound above. Her sword whirled as she carved a path through their nest.

Treasure was found below as well. Poor fools who doubtless were used as sacrifices to summon the infernal creatures. As she approached the corpses, more swarmed. By the time the last died in a flashing battle of blades against mandibles, Rachel was again bleeding from a dozen or more wounds.

This time, she made use of the potions and salves she had found.

That night was spent in the company of Silver, hot food and warm flesh sating the barbarian's hungers. In the morning, she would set out for Megaton.

(1) "The Phoenix on the Sword", novelette; Weird Tales 20 6, Dec 1932
(2) Conan's “Crom” was likely based by Howard on the Irish deity Crom Cruach.

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #1 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T21:18:00.002-05:00

The Vale of Springs (Part 1)

The Kingdom of Vault 101 was her home no more. The safe havens of its hallowed halls lost eternally to her.

Long before, her father, Grognak the Barbarian, had taken the girl, newly ripped from her dying mother's womb, and fled to raise her in safety. In the guise of the Churgeon James, Grognak lived in peace for many years among the strange wizards of the Vault.

Rachel grew strong and proud, like her mother Femme-Ra before her. She thrilled to her father's adventures, thinking him naught but tales and fantasies. Grognak indulged his treasured jewel, providing her with brightly coloured dice and illuminated manuscripts that taught the art and theory of magic and war.

She trained under his watchful eye, costumed in the garb and weapons of his wandering days, all the while pretending it to be nothing more than idle sport. The mighty Rachel frequently stood fast and victorious against the Tunnel Snake Men in defense of her own treasure, the princess Amata.

One day Grognak threw off his disguise, defying King Overseer and opened the sealed gates to the forgotten world beyond. He fled without a word to his daughter, wishing her to remain safe in the world where demons and sorcerers were only a child's game.

King Overseer decreed the death of the Daughter of Grognak. He soon learned his mistake as one by one his men fell to her supple sinew swinging steel. At the last, she took a memento of her lost life, a small treasure from her father's healing chamber.

The cries of the raven-haired Amata drew her aside. She slew the man who dared lay hands on her treasure.

“Your time is done, Overseer. Your throne will be mine, as I cut the crown from your bloodied skull.” Amata jumped in her way, blindly defending her father, even as he sought her harm.

Rachel's hand fell heavily on her naked shoulder. "Stand aside, girl," she mumbled. "Now is the feasting of swords." (1)

The girl's tears stayed her hand. Amata ran out, leaving Rachel to face the King. He demanded she surrender, let him seal the vault. He warned her of the dangers beyond the great door. How the last bastions of civiliztion were kept here by an iron hand. How the world beyond had become a barbaric wilderness.

"Barbarism is the natural state of mankind," she said, still staring grimly at the Overseer. "Civilization is unnatural. It is a whim of circumstance. And barbarism must always ultimately triumph." (2)

She raised the point of her blade to his throat, pricing a welling drop of blood from his tender, softened, civilized flesh. “A hand on Amata, and I finish this.”

The Talisman her father gave her lead her to the royal chambers, and whispered secrets flew between the demon within it and the oracle there. Monsters... Secrets. The Vault had been opened before. The king stood revealed as a tyrant.

She begged Amata to come with her. But to no avail. “Then I shall truly become a Lone Wanderer in the world beyond.” Without another word, she fled into the wastes.

(1) “Xuthal of the Dusk”, novelette; Weird Tales 22 3, Sep 1933; also as "The Slithering Shadow"
(2) "Beyond the Black River", novella; Weird Tales 25 5–6, May/Jun 1935

Rachel: Wasteland Barbarian Queen #0

2009-12-27T21:16:00.001-05:00

PROLOGUE

Know, oh princess, that between the years when the heaven's fires consumed the gleaming cities and the years of the rise of the Great Ships, there was an Age undreamed of, when remnants of the old world lay spread across the wasteland like rusted swordblades beneath the stars – Rivet City, Arefu, Big Town, Megaton, Little Lamplight with its lost children and caverns of Mutant-Haunted mystery, Tenpenny Tower with its bigotry, The Pitt that bordered on the industrial land of The Mill, Underworld with its shadow-guarded Ghouls, The Citadel whose Brothers wore steel and silk robes. But the safest kingdom of the waste was Vault 101, sealed secure against savage threats. Hither came Rachel, daughter of Femme-Ra, flame-haired, emerald-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a stranger, a slayer, with giantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the rusted thrones of the ruined Earth under her sandalled feet.

INSPIRATION:

RACHEL:

ATOMICA: Let Freedom Ring (Part 1)

2009-12-27T21:11:00.001-05:00

ATOMIC TALES FEATURING ATOMICA!

LET FREEDOM RING (Part 1)

Allison smiled as Flak counted out her caps. Atomica hitting the Supermutants had helped clean up the area around Rivet City, and word had started to get out to Raiders. More often than not, her the trip to Megaton and back was free of them. Maybe they were finally getting the message.

On top of all that, Allison's scav business was bringing in so many hunting rifles and miniguns that Flak was starting to wholesale them in perfect condition to the Brotherhood of Steel to use against the ruthless Outcasts in their war on terror..

The Brotherhood of Steel. From all I have heard, this Lyons and his crew seem to be the successors to the heroes who used to inhabit this very ship before the war. I'll have to look them up some day soon. Shrapnel says good things about them.

Her thoughts moving forward to her plan to meet Three Dog, she nearly collided with the shy and quiet Mei Wong on her way to Gary's Galley for lunch.

Sorry, my fault. you know, we've never really talked. Can I buy you some lunch?

The small woman was taken aback by the offer, and eventually, opened up. She told of being a slave, about how she was terrified because she recognized Sister from Paradise Falls, and how she hoped to escape to a safe place up north soon.

I have been lax in my crusade. Supetmutants are awful, yes.. but the Brotherhood, the Outcasts, and the Talons all keep them occupied. Its time to tackle the real evil here.

- - - - -

Sister sighed heavily as he shrugged off his pack and locked his door. It had been a very long day. Rubbing his face, he began talking to a holorecorder.

“Mister Jones, I've made some progress locating the android, but there's a complication. There's this crazy girl who thinks she's some kind of comics...”
He trailed off realizing the room was bathed in a faint blue glow.

“Atomica. I figured I would have to kill you soon or later.”

He spun to face her, weapon drawn. She knocked him over with a palm strike to the forehead, the back of his head bouncing off his cot. She removed his weapon and emptied the chamber in a smooth flick of her wrist while he fell.

“OW! Hey.. How did you do that?”

Atomica frowned. “Tell me about Eulogy Jones.”

Sister pulled a concealed switchblade and aimed for her gut. The knife slid off the nanoweave armour. Atomica grabbed his hand, closing it hard around the blade.

“I will ask one more time, nicely. Then you can go see Doctor Preston about sewing up that nasty mutfruit-peeling accident.”

Sister rolled sideways, coming up with a shotgun from under the cot. He fired, catching Atomica with a blast close enough to cut her in several places beneath the armour and knock her back a few steps. Figuring the guard was already alerted by the weapons fire, Atomica grimaced.

“I was only going to ask nicely once.”

Her blaster came up, and she took his hand off with an overcharge pulse.

“You can get that fixed. If there are Androids running around loose, then there are damn good prosthetics made from the same stuff.”

Startlingly, Sister laughed. “You idiot! I AM an Android! I'm here to return A3-21 to the Institute! And when I am finished, I will use Euology Jones to infiltrate the Pitt itself! Pittsburgh's technological and cultural resources will be assimilated to serve us!”

Sister stood, his biological components dissolving as he shed his disguise. A shiny metal skeleton with glowing red eyes stood revealed. A murder machine that could pass for human. It lunged for her.

A blue flash filled the room. Atomica shook her head at the inactive abomination while tsking.

“It never occurred to you that my suit glow is the same colour as pulse grenades.”

“Interface and reboot in safe mode.”

WORKING.

Atomica hacked the machine, then re-enabled its camouflage.

“What was the name he gave?”

A3-21.

"Reprogram ID chip to match, and wipe his memory."

WORKING.

INTEGRATING UPGRADED TARGETING ALGORYTHMS.

“Awesome.”

Atomica scanned the holotapes while the suit worked, wondering if the guards had simply decided that bad noises from a slaver's room were none of their business.

Paradise Falls.. Euology Jones.. and to her horror, the Lincoln Memorial!

“Oh no. No no no. This is not going to do. At all.”

She learned that the visitor to the science lab was none other than the Institute's own man, and his bodyguard yet another android. Once Sister was rebooted, she spoke to him as he entered configuration mode.

“Randomize appearance.”

The features flowed and changed to those of an entirely new man.

“State designation”.

“This unit is designated A3-21.”

“Wait in the store room across the hall.”

The android went and stood by the filing cabinets in the unused room. Atomica taped a note to Doctor Zimmer's door. She knocked and slipped away into the shadows. Zimmer quietly left with the reprogrammed Sister and his bodyguard, never to be seen again.

- - - - -

Allison met Mei Wong as she was packing the next day. She explained that Sister was gone, and she was now safe to go and seek her friends. The women exchanged hugs. Mei Wong whispered in her ear. It was a set of coordinates. “When your friend Atomica frees slaves, let her send them there.”

Atomica would follow discretely to make sure Mei Wong got to her “safe place” unharmed. Her thoughts turned to the Paradise Falls, The Pitt... and especially, the Lincoln Memorial.

A brutal and bloody conflict ended slavery in this country four hundred years ago. And here we are again, the same problems, the same solution. They called it the Civil War... war never changes. But this? This is going to be a very uncivil war indeed.
- - - - -

(This is where my Fallout 3 died and took my save games with it. Everything past this point is fiction, pure and simple, based on Fallout 3, but all in my head. :D )

ATOMIC TALES: ATOMICA SPECIAL

2009-12-27T21:10:00.002-05:00

With the Miniseries complete, Hubris Comics needed to gauge reader interest. By featuring Atomica in their quarterly anthology title, they could use the sales on the always variable title to help decide. When the issue hit the stands, they sat back and waited for the returns to come in.

Quote:

Originally Posted by OOC

Starting to lose steam on the whole delusional superhero gig. I basically walked through the next few quests on autopilot mentally, thinking more about

that thing I can't talk about.

and buying +4 weapons for my DDO character I never play and outright avoiding some major side quests out of a deep sense of ennui and time wasted doing them. Might be time for a break.

Allison finished up work for Moira on the Wasteland Survival Guide, earning top billing and a rename. Atomica's Illustrated Guide to Wasteland Survival (Listing Allison as the research assistant and Moira as Editor) spread far and wide. More and more often, people recognized her, Talons hesitated to attack, and after a few weeks, even started to believe she was actually real instead of someone dressed up like the character in the big comic book format guide.

She responded to trouble with Fire Ants in Greyditch, letting the villainous Doctor Lesko fall to his own creations. She went to Arefu, only to find it completely deserted. The word "Croatoan" was spray painted on the freeway. She tried to make contact with Tenpenny Tower The villain refused her entry to its sovereign walls, leaving her waiting for the despot to make another move on her Wasteland. Calls for help had starting to come in over the shortwave radio, all cataloged and highlighted by the computer and holomap in the Sanctuary.

The centerpiece of the book was her facing down a Supermutant Behemoth in an old campground near the remains of a railroad. The fight left her drained of resources, but victorious. Supermutants began to refer to her by name.
The book ends with a fold-out pin-up of Atomica, a series of pages detailing her gear, and a map of the Wasteland, with places like the National Archives, the Museum of History, Canterbury Commons, and Big Town indicated.

The last page is a reproduced advertisement:

Atomica #5 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T21:09:00.001-05:00

ISSUE 5: RIVETING CONVERSATIONS (Part 2)

Slipping onto the main deck, ducking behind an ancient fighter plane, Atomica activated her armour dove into the river.

ACTIVATING HAZARDOUS ENVIRONMENT MODE.

Wait, what?

The suit flowed around her nose and mouth causing her to gasp as she hit the water. None made it in. She was breathing normally.

Cool.

Quote:

Originally Posted by OOC

Thanks, 12 Bolt Diving Helmet!

The swim through the broken bow of the ship was largely uneventful. The mirelurks were easy to evade. The taps less so.

Someone is living here.

Making her way more carefully after narrowly dodging out of the way of a proximity mine, Atomica eventually found the old lab.

She approached the man who was inhabiting it, expecting to have to explain herself.

“ATOM-1? Its been a dog's age! I heard you were dead! Is that the new armour? Well. Can't be that new, it was 18 years ago when Doctor Atomic and I were working on it.”

The man was Pinkerton himself. After thoroughly peppering her with questions, she managed to get a word in edgewise.

Pinkerton told her the whole story. How her mother and father were Enclave agents working out of the Institute until the coming of the new President and the insidious, genocidal Project Purity. Couched as a salvation for mankind, James had discovered that it was in fact intended to restore the purity of Homo Sapiens. It would kill anyone who was genetically deviant from the Institute's marker profile.

They had fled here to the USS Flagg in order to use the advanced science bay left behind by a daring, highly trained special mission force whose purpose had been to defend human freedom against a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world.

"Of course, the whole Nuclear War sort of put the kibosh on that deal! Heeheehee!"

The last he had heard of them, Doctor Atomic had infiltrated the insidious Doctor Li's team in his civilian identity, meaning to finish work on Project: Atomica when they had shut it down for good.

“Well, young lady, you have a lot of work cut out for you. So what do they call you? ATOM-2? Heeheehee.”

“I took my name from the armour. I go by Atomica.”

“Atomica? Oh! Oh, I see! The ATOM-1 CA suit.. Ah TOM ee cuh! quite clever! Here, you'll need access to your father's files.”

Thanking the man, she took the holotape from him and left him to work on trying to revive the mighty ship in peace.

That night, in her rented hotel room, Atomica played the tape. It proved the story of the creation of Rivet City, which would please Moira. It also began to describe the case files of Doctor Atomic and ATOM-1. Her parent's personal journals. She sat up all night listening. The last batch of files was all technical data, which she loaded into her PipBoy for later perusal.

SOURCE CODE ACCESSED.

CONVERTING WEAPONRY TO LOCAL POWER.

WEAPON RECONFIGURED FOR DUAL MODE.

TERTIARY FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED.

ARMAMENTS AT ONE HUNDRED PERCENT.

About time.

Atomica made her way to the deck of the mighty carrier. Gazing out over the Capitol Wasteland, she knew that her mission had just begun.

Atomica #5 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T21:08:00.002-05:00

ISSUE 5: RIVETING CONVERSATIONS (Part 1)

The whole city was a warzone. Supermutants, Centaurs, Raiders, Talon... By the time she realized she was lost, her knuckles were bleeding.

This used to be the Jefferson Memorial. What have they done to it?

She signed heavily as the now-familiar war cry of Supermutants arrived shortly before more automatic weapons fire. By the time she had dispatched them all, her suit was practically crying.

OPERATIONAL CAPACITY TWELVE PERCENT.

RECOMMEND DORMANT CYCLE.

“Convert to Urban mode and power down.”

Atomica was now completely exposed and unarmed.

Well, I suppose I could use some of these assault rifles in a pinch. Seems kinda Iron Age, though.

Fortunately, the fog rolled out, and she could see Rivet City across the river. She had passed right by it in the dense weather.

After a welcome similar to the one she had received in Megaton, she went inside and did some research on the history of the town. No one knew much of anything substantial or believable, until she heard about the broken bow of the once mighty vessel. Atomica would be slipping out to see about getting in to Pinkerton's old lab once the suit was up to it.

CRITICAL COMPATABLE COMPONENTS DETECTED.

With the suit projecting its want list into her glasses, Allison traded her salvage from the trip to Rivet City with Flak for the pieces she needed. Making her way to the workbench during the sparsely populated lunch period, she paid the rental fee to use it. Pretending to busy herself repairing the guns and ammo she had purchased, she actually stripped and reconfigured them for the suit to use.

PRIMARY DEFENSIVE FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED.

SECONDARY NANOSWARM AUGMENTATION FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED.

TERTIARY FUNCTIONALITY OFFLINE.

REQUIRE WEAPON MATRIX REBOOT.

How do I reboot it?

REQUIRE ORIGINAL SOURCE CODE.

Great. More punchy punchy. It'll have to do til I can figure out the code.

She went around asking about the Broken Bow. Everyone said they should know more in the Science Lab, but the ladies there were busy arguing with some traveller over a business matter. She would ask them later.

Fortunately, the Chief of Security, Harkness, pointed her in the right direction.

“But you really don't want to go over there. Its infested with Mirelurks. And its a swim in irradiated water at the every least. Besides, everyone knows there's nothing of value left over there.”

“Thanks, Captain Jack!”

“I hate those old shows.”

Atomica #4

2009-12-27T21:07:00.001-05:00

ISSUE 4: UNDERGROUND

It took several days for the power suit to regenerate itself.

I really need to get ahold of some of its real power cells. It can't keep trying to convert local sources forever.

In the mean time, Allison was making reputation for herself as a decent scav (OK, fine. Scav it is.), so she set out for Minefield in her civilian identity. The mines were easy enough to spot, and easier to disarm. Less easy was dodging fire from the Supervillain who had set up Minefield as his personal amusement arcade. She learned from holotape on the body of a dead raider that he was called Arkansas.

What kind of Supervillain names himself after a state? Who do I have to fight next? Rhode Island?

Running through the exploding cars was not much fun at all. Atomica would return once her powers were back at her command.

The suit was still not up to par. The regeneration chamber indicated it had done all possible repair. Capacity and condition read 65 percent.

It will have to do.

Arkansas put up a fight, and several of his shots did some more damage to her poor suit. Forced to flee to cover, Atomica spent the last of the energy cells on dispatching him, ending his reign of terror of the town of Ridgefield.

Investigation of the remaining houses revealed that this had been a small town, surviving in the wastes, until the Slavers of Paradise Falls came for the people here.

Once I am at full power, Paradise Falls will face its day of reckoning!

Returning to Megaton, Moira had a pair of tasks that were right next door to each other. Slipping into and out of the Mirelurk den was easy in Stealth Mode. The giant monster crabs never knew she was there. The Mole Rats...

If I never see another exploding rodent again, it'll be too soon.

The Raiders didn't help at all.

The exit from the Mole Rat Massacre was some place called Germantown. Atomica was immediately accosted by highly organized, heavily armed mercenaries calling themselves Talon Company. They had a bounty on her head.

“Hey girls! We get to kill a real life superhero!”

“Supermutant!”

“I'm not a mutant.. I'm actually technology origin. Couldn't we talk this out?”

“No, no, SUPERMUTANT!”

The green, hulking monstrosities that swarmed down on them were unlike anything Atomica had ever seen. They sort of reminded her of an old comics character, a hulking brute of limitless strength and rage. As the Talons turned their weapons on the Supermutants, Atomica took the opportunity to gain higher ground and assess the situation. She ran into one of the brutes on a ledge in the nearby ruined building. Double-fisted sweeping power uppercuts left her arms feeling like lead. She managed to swing up on a door frame and finish the brute with a full-mass swing, planting both her boots firmly into its chin. It fell over with a thud, expressing disbelief that it had been defeated by the slight girl in the strange clothes.

There was a moment's silence, then bullets peppered the concrete around her. The Talons and Supermutants alike had left off their skirmish to concentrate on her. The next several minutes were a blur of fists and feet and pain. When Atomica stopped to breathe, the suit was visibly worn, and she was actually bleeding from several wounds that it was not quite containing.

Ducking into a surviving storefront, she met up with a wastelander who had turned an old Radiation King into his personal shop and homestead.

“You must be Atomica. Word around is that you help people. Let me help you.”

A few stimpacks and some clean water later, and Atomica felt more like she could make it home.

“Keep up the good fight, Ma'am. The people need a symbol, something good and pure.”

He pulled out a copy of an old comic book that she had never seen before. Surprisingly, it was from only 25 years ago. There was no company logo.

“They still make comics?”

“The Hubris Comics building is still here, the presses still work. And.. this one is more or less true.”

Atomica looked at the cover with dawning comprehension.

ATOM-1. It was the tale of a mysterious woman who used an advanced type of nano power suit to do justice in the wasteland. No one knew what had happened to her. She had vanished 18 years ago.

“I knew ATOM-1. She was good people. Saved me twice, when I was still living in Big Town.” He smiled. “You look a lot like her. Take care of yourself out there, Atomica.”Offering his hand, she started a bit as he pressed something into her hand. “Show this around Big Town when you get there. They'll know you're for real.”

She looked at the small metal badge he had given her. It was shaped like a shield with a lithium atom on it. It identified the wearer as a member of the Atomic Irregulars.

“Be careful out there yourself.”

Heading back to Megaton, Atomica slipped into her Allison disguise, and squared things with Moira, who was her usual brand of overjoyed. When she asked about the badge, Moira squealed with delight, and dug out her own. “This was my mom's. She used to talk about ATOM-1 all the time! I thought she was making up stories, like Daring Dashwood. But with Atomica living right here in Megaton?” She squealed again.

“Anyhoo. You ready for more work on the Guide?”

The next stop was Rivet City, to learn about local history. After the day she had, Atomica was more than happy to spend time in civilian clothes talking to people instead of fighting monsters. She was slightly taken aback when Moira called her a “Super-Assistant”, but decided that she likely just talked that way. Her disguise was foolproof. She wore glasses, after all.

Heading down to the Sanctuary to try to coax a bit more life out of her suit just in case there was trouble in Rivet City, Atomica drifted off to sleep with far more questions than answers.

Atomica #3 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T20:48:00.002-05:00

ISSUE 3: THIS LOOKS LIKE A JOB FOR SUPER-DUPER MART! (Part 2)

Hopping over a shelf, she found the first of her goals easily. Food aplenty still existed here. One of the raiders approached on patrol. She was dealt with switfly. The room was laid out as a sort of supply and workstation for the raiders. A Laser Pistol in poor repair and several rounds of cells for it were scattered about.

The moment she touched the pistol, The suit somehow absorbed critical components.

ASSIMILATING COMPONENTS.

ADAPTING.

UPGRADING.

POWER TO MAIN WEAPON NOW AT FIVE PERCENT CAPACITY.

Atomica grinned.

Now this, I can work with.

The pod on her left wrist opened.

INSERT AMMUNITION.

She fed her suit the Laser's power cells. It drained them and ejected the spent casings.

Cool.

She made her way to the rear of the store, carefully watching her radar. There were four of them, arguing about some lunatic in a bizarre costume that had been sighted near Springvale.

I'll have to keep an eye out for whoever that is. Could be trouble.

Atomica leapt up onto the shelving opposite the raider scum.

Surrender, evildoers!

Their answer was a hail of bullets and profanity. The blaster made reasonably short work of them, even at its greatly diminished power levels. Four more confronted her at the entrance to the restrooms. Three of them went down as quickly as the first group. The fourth dodged, weaved, and managed to get several shots off.

ACTIVATING OVERCHARGE.

The last one was struck with a beam of such intensity that she was reduced to a pile of faintly glowing ash.

Whoah.

In the back of the Mart, Atomica managed to activate a protectron. It showed her where the medicine stores were before heading out to tidy up.

Her world froze and began to spiral as she read the box labels of the medicines she had found.

Stabilizine.. My.. My pills.. These are my.. No.. Can't go back.. I Can't be...Her.. again..

You know we need our pills. You know it, deep down. Superheroes aren't real. Come on, just take a couple..

I Can't.. I.. My.. Pills...

She began to open the box, completely dazed as spots appeared in her vision. Two tablets, once a day. There were years worth here. Allison would never become Atomica again once she swallowed them. She hesitated briefly.

Lemon, Cherry, or Grape?

The intercom clicked on, bringing her back to the present moment.

Uh oh. More of them.

As Atomica checked her radar, she unconsciouslly slid the case of Stabilizine into a half case of mentats.

Atomica could only smile as she came out to find the Protectron had dropped three of them by itself as they entered. The fourth was up front. Her weapon was still in overheat recharge from the power blast. Atomica took the leader of this cell out the hard way. By the time they were done, she felt nearly as dead as her opponent.

Can't use any of the meds I found.. Moira will want them.

The suit managed to stabilize her, but it was in bad shape itself. She needed to get back to the Sanctuary. First, though, there was work to do.

Out of the wastes came a sight the residents of Megaton would talk about for days after. Allison limping into town, several shopping carts lashed together, full of every last can and bottle that was salvageable from the Super-Mart., The improbable rig was pulled by the dead trader's brahmin, which she gratefully donated to the town.

Moira was overjoyed. Food and medicine aplenty.

“And all you need to get it is either the help of a friendly neighbourhood superhero or enough firepower to liberate Anchorage! And lookie here! You have a broken arm and are close to bleeding out! Goodie! Well. Not so goodie for you.”

Moira fixed her up and cashed her out. As she was leaving, she called out.

“Make sure you tell Atomica we have an appointment!”

A quick trip back to the lair, and Atomica appeared. She was completely unaware of her actions as, in a dreamlike trance, she put the case of Stabilizine into a secure hiding spot. Having spent all her energy, Allison faded back to her small place in Atomica's subconscious.

Atomica spent some time standing by The Confessor, trying to talk him out of his nefarious, if entirely passive, agenda. By the time the afternoon had passed and the spectators had actually grown bored, she was feeling quite ill. Moira was again pleased, even if the suit was a little miffed.

GENETIC DRIFT DETECTED.

MUTATION IRREVERSIBLE.

MUTATION IS BENIGN.

ADJUSTING BIOMETRICS.

Another fruitful day passed in Atomica's never-ending battle for Truth, Justice, and the right to a nice bubble bath. Tomorrow, she was off to find Minefield.

Atomica #3 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T20:47:00.005-05:00

ISSUE 3: THIS LOOKS LIKE A JOB FOR SUPER-DUPER MART! (Part 1)

Bright and early, Allison set out to work on the first chapter of the Wasteland Survival Guide. As soon as she was out of view of Megaton's walls, Atomica converted her suit back into combat mode. It was just in the nick of time too, as a poor starved wild dog attacked. Its carcass attracted a giant mutated insect, which proved no great difficulty either.

Rats, roaches and flies... seems the old books were right about them doing just fine after a nuclear war.

The Super-Duper Mart was remarkably undamaged, and her suit indicated there were people nearby. As she approached, her suspicions proved correct.

Rats, Roaches, Flies.. and Raiders.

Cracking her knuckles, Atomica took a deep breath, strode forward... and ducked as automatic weapons fire whizzed past her visor.

A man screamed and ran past her, dressed in merchant togs. Two raiders with assault rifles were firing at him.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?”

“ATOMICA!”

At that moment, an Enclave Eyebot drifted around the corner playing Yankee Doodle, of all things.

Atomica leapt forward, taking the gun out of the closest one's hand with a snap kick. Bullets impacted her shoulder from the other, stinging as the suit fabric failed to contain all the kinetic force.

A handstand flip placed her between the two. She converted it to a leg sweep, taking the armed raider off balance. Her own bullets swiftly ended the life of the first in a burst of poetic staccato justice. Ending the sweep, she converted the motion into a thigh press around the last raider's neck. At the moment she felt the wet snap of the raider's neck through her pelvic bone, the Eyebot's cheery tune ended.

The President began to speak, something about Baseball. There was a skip, a pause, and the message changed, the eyebot looking right at her.

He spoke of the Enclave's enemies. The Raiders, of course. The Brotherhood of Steel.. and the Outcasts. The slavers in Paradise Falls. And how America needed heroes more than ever.

“But a hero without sanction is a vigilante. Captain Cosmos fought his never ending battle under the flag of the United States Space Administration's Space Rangers. Manta-Man stood with his peers in the Legion of Justice and Decency. Vault Boy proudly carried his badge as Vault-Tec's liaison to the Pentagon. Even Hell's Chain Gang obeyed the direct orders of the President, as shown in their Fourth Of July Giant-Sized 2076 Tricentnnial 100 Page Special. Its a new world, with new challenges out there, my fellow Americans. A new world that needs new heroes. Heroes that know to do the right thing, and report for duty at Raven Rock as soon as possible.”

The eyebot drifted away after The President signed off, playing The Battle Hymn Of The Republic.

Not a chance. Raven Rock... Good to know. Brotherhood of Steel.. Outcasts.. Paradise Falls.. So much work for one hero to do. Its getting time to find the others.

Securing the raiders for Allison to scav (RECLAIM!) later, she saw to the poor trader they had set upon.

The man was feverish, delirious. Babbling about greenery, the wasteland blooming. He was bleeding profusely from a head wound inflicted by his assailants. Before she could so much as get a stimpack out, he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

Poor devil. One more innocent victim of the pestilence infesting this land.

His belongings included a note and a strange article of clothing. A hood.. A hood that appeared to be made with freshly harvested barks a and leaves!

Does something like the Arboretum still exist? I'll have to figure out where New York Avenue used to be. I wonder why it was New York Avenue, when this was Washington DC... Then again, there used to be a Washington Street in New York City. Pre-War folk were confusing.

She entered the Super-Duper Mart, not needing her armour to tell her it was detecting more inside.

Just like cockroaches.

Atomica #2 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T20:47:00.004-05:00

ISSUE 2: SPRINGVALE SCHOOL – OF HARD KNOCKS! (Part 2)

Atomica felt a strange, sad pang of nostalgia as she gazed upon the rocket-shaped red sign of the ancient fuel depot.

This is the first place I saw when I arrived here.

Something in her avoided looking in the direction of the Vault as she looked around.

Lots of usable scrap and old leftovers here for Moira. Looks like Allison has a job. Scav is such an ugly word. I think I shall be.. a Reclamation Specialist. Yes.

LIFESIGNS DETECTED.

An intact home in the middle of the devastation showed signs of recent rebuilding and maintenance. Carefully, Atomica knocked.

The blonde woman inside seemed to think she was a Supervillain at first, sent by The Professor. Atomica was able to reassure the woman, whose name was Silver, that she was not interested in pursuing the innocent.

“Oh, you're one of them Superheros like Three Dog talks about.”

There are more of us. Perhaps Three Dog is one. I'll have to find him and ask.

After hearing the former harlot's story, Atomica promised to mislead the Professor into thinking she had fled. Or worse. Leaving the woman in peace, Atomica approached the partially ruined school building carefully.

MULTIPLE LIFESIGNS DETECTED.

Telescopic scans revealed more of the ubiquitous Raiders patrolling the area.

Atomica kicked in the front doors of the former Springvale Elementary School.

“Evildoers! Your day of reckoning has arrived!”

She took the first two as they rushed her. Grabbing the tire-iron wielding raider by her ill-advised straps and buckles, she quickly swung her off balance into the other, knocking the woman with tbe baseball bat over. A pair of quick and brutal throat punches silenced the attackers.

Quote:

Originally Posted by OOC: The 1950s were different, kids.

Four more came at her, guns blazing. A dive and roll into a small storage closet across the hall created a bottleneck allowing her to deal with them one at a time. The last went down hard, bruising her even beneath her advanced armour.

Upstairs, she fought off more of them, her thoughts fading into the muscle memory of countless hours spent in katas and drills when she was younger.

Assault Rifle.. Dodge right, grab left. Butt to pelvic bone, hot barrel metal into the chin. Next... 10 mm Police Special. Feint retreat into spin and grab, snap wrist.. Next..

At the end of the run, half a dozen raiders lay at her feet. She was bleeding, and thought she had a cracked rib. The suit was already administering treatment.

A terminal in the ruined hall past the remains of the library revealed the source of the tremors.

The fools were trying to get into the Vault. And they were digging the wrong way.

Quote:

Originally Posted by OOC: Really!

... Check the map.

The notes about ants made her realize the true threat.

Stockholm sniped a giant ant outside Megaton the other day. It must have come from the nest these criminal scum disturbed!

Downstairs, Atomica was ambushed by three more raiders. Twin blondes with tire irons got her into a corner while their leader came for her with a combat knife. Switching to close-quarters techniques, she folded in close and took blows from the tire irons on her forearms. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she crossed her arms, grabbed the ends of the irons, and twisted them out of the twins hands. Now armed, she adjusted her stance to Kukishin Ryu Bojutsu. In short order, she disarmed the knife wielder before discarding all three weapons and finishing the job.

School's out. Lessons over, kids.

The leader had a key to the basement. Steeling herself, she unlocked the door leading to the tunnel.

Immediately set upon by two giant ants, she struggled to find the proper striking points to defeat them. The second went down faster than the first.

Deep underground, she made her way through six or seven more of the insects before emerging into their nest.

These monsters cannot be allowed to threaten Megaton.. Or the Vault!!

She went back upstairs and fetched some turpentine to set fire to the ant eggs that were massed in the cavern. Discovering and examining the bodies of two settlers, she barely had time to retreat as another wave of ants, too many to engage, began to pour from deeper within the tunnels.

“Damn it, no ammo!”

ALTERNATIVE ORDINANCE AVAILABLE.

What? OH!

She scooped up the dead settler's weapons and made for higher ground. The few frag grenades she had available were more than enough to finish the mass of insects with one to spare, and set the cavern ablaze. She quickly gathered the rest of the settler's gear and retreated to the mouth of the tunnel. The last grenade sealed it off for good.

Changing clothes, “Allison” stripped the school and the remains of the surrounding town clean. Moira was impressed, and offered the mild-mannered Allison a job as a reporter of sorts.

“If you and... Atomica... work together, we should be able to get the Wasteland Survival Guide done in no time!”

With a promise to contact Atomica in regards to stress testing and medical endurance trials, “Allison” cashed out and went home for the evening. The clean water bubble bath in the Sanctuary was an indulgence, but one she felt she had earned. After all, tomorrow was going to be rough on both her identities.

A trial of champions..Indeed.

Atomica #2 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T20:46:00.002-05:00

ISSUE 2: SPRINGVALE SCHOOL – OF HARD KNOCKS! (Part 1)

The stairs ended in... Another switch. Thick cables ran into the walls of the short corridor.

Well. That was anticlimactic.

Pressing the switch caused the noise of servomotors from back up the stairs. Shrugging, she went up to see what had been triggered.

A recessed panel at the base of the stairs had slid downward, revealing an absolutely normal looking shack door.

What? The Sanctuary is maybe... a guest bedroom?

It was even less interesting than that. Within was nothing more than a tiny... and broken.. bathroom. A beat-up old locker was the most notable feature, once you drew your eye away from the leaking water spraying from the busted sink.

One more fix for Walter, once I get the right tools for this old rig.

Noticing not one but two cameras, she frowned.

When I get ahold of the pervert who set these up...

She flipped the radio off in annoyance, then gasped as the floor sunk below her.

An.. elevator?

At first, there was pitch blackness. A sense of space somewhere ahead of her. Her PipBoy light revealed only the gleam of nearby metal. Gingerly taking a step forward, she nearly recoiled as automatic lights flipped on with a dull clunk.

Before her stood revealed a pre-war command center.

No wonder the bomb only made a crater. And now I understand why anyone would build a town here. Its the perfect camouflage.

Getting her bearings, Atomica carefully explored the facility. It had its secrets.. She found one hidden room by accident, while trying to straighten a painting. Another secret elevator lead to an even more secure underground bunker. Sadly, some unnamed person died in bed behind the thick, square door. Yet a third revealed an entire second level to the complex, complete with holding cells. It proved to be completely deserted, and seemed secure.

This will do nicely. Thanks, Dad...

Her attention was drawn by a soft alarm. Returning upstairs, she noted one of the situation monitor displays had turned red.

“What's this mean?”

INTERFACE ACTIVE.

SEISMIC ACTIVITY DETECTED.

ACTIVITY IS ARTIFICIAL IN NATURE.

Her GPS locator updated.

Earthquake machine? Mole People? Underground Chinese Invasion?

She ran for the elevator.

This looks like a job for Atomica!

Atomica: Pin-up

2009-12-27T20:45:00.002-05:00

Atomica #1 (Part 2)

2009-12-27T20:44:00.005-05:00

ISSUE 1: TROUBLE BY THE MEGATON! (Part 2)

That evening, Atomica appeared! Perched heroically on the globe, she swiftly made light work of the bomb. Rushing to the locations she had secretly scouted earlier, she quickly repaired the leaking pipes. Bringing her information to Simms, they raced to confront Burke. Only Atomica's swift action saved the Sheriff from being gunned down in cold blood.. In the back.

“Too cowardly to face the law, Burke? You'll answer for that!”

Burke was utterly shocked. “What the hell are you?”

“Atomica!”

Burke went down with a well-placed roundhouse to the jaw.

“Sheriff! Do your duty!”

She ran out into the night and vanished.

The next morning, Simms was thankful.

“You did some right fine work there miss Allison.”

“Not me, Sheriff. Atomica. I just know how to get in touch with her.”

“Oh dear sweet Nuka-Cola Classic... Not another one.. “ He sighed. “Right.. That's my mistake then, Miss Allison. Thank Atomica for me when you see her.. And tell her, you are both more than welcome to set up a homestead here.”

There are other superheroes still active?!?!?

“Thank you Sheriff. I will.”

Walter was most grateful as well, even more when she agreed to bring him all the scrap parts she could find.

Settling into her new home, Atomica was surprised to find a RoboButler included with the amenities.

INITIALIZE RECOGNITION PROTOCOL.

Wait... What?

Wadsworth's optics changed colour to the same blue her suit always spoke in. “Protocol authorized. Initiate Playback.” He then briefly shut down and rebooted. “What WAS I doing.. Oh, yes, the dusting...”

PLAYBACK INITIALIZED.

“Sweetheart, if you are hearing this, the worst has happened. Atomica is no longer safe. I am so, so sorry for using you this way... Forgive me. You must not let Atomica fall into the Enclave's hands. And keep yourself hidden. They need you to make use of it. I'm sorry. I love you.”

Dad?

END PLAYBACK.

Dad...

TUNNEL ACCESS OPENED.

She started as her GPS indicated a new target.

PROCEED TO SANCTUARY.

The stairs folded up into themselves, revealing a swtich. Activating the switch opened the floor panels, uncovering descending steps. Atomica activated her suit and headed down.

Atomica #1 (Part 1)

2009-12-27T20:44:00.002-05:00

ISSUE 1: TROUBLE BY THE MEGATON! (Part 1)

So much ruin. This used to be a thriving, gigantic city. The capitol of a great nation.

RADIO SIGNAL AVAILABLE.

The President! The United States Still exists!

Atomica listened carefully to the speeches President John Henry Eden gave over the radio. The more she listened, the less she trusted.

Something sounds wrong here. Facist words in dulcet tones backed by stirring patriotic music... Captain Cosmos has dealt with these types before. The Enclave? That sounds like a supervillain group. This will bear careful investigation.

INCOMING HOSTILE.

Atomica spun in time to see the mutated creature lunge for her. Her Suit-assisted reflexes brought the ATOM-1 Cannon to bear.

CLICK.

Click?

CLICK.

Crap.

AMMUNITION DEPLETED.

Dropping to a crouch, she let the wrinkled hairy beast leap over her. The broken, razor sharp teeth of the mutated animal scraped along her arm. The suit sealed around her, but she could feel the wound throbbing.

Spinning, she kicked out in a low sweep, connecting solidly with the monster. The bone in its leg made a satisfying crack. Backing up, she went into stance and prepared for its assault. It lunged at her, its broken forepaw pulling it off balance. A couple of quick blows to the head finished it off.

Checking her wound, she saw that it would not be worth spending her few remaining supplies on. As she came close to Megaton, she felt some small inner voice warn her that the people in the town might react to her with fear and suspicion, like the adults in the vault did.

They made me take the pills.. The pills that made me forget who I am.

“I need a disguise.”

URBAN CAMOFLAGE MODE ACTIVATED.

To her surprise and delight, the material of the suit and cannon flowed and changed. In her Secret Identity, “Allison” entered Megaton.

In short order, she met Sheriff Simms. He showed her around town,. Introducing her to Doc Church, Walter, and Jenny Stahl before showing her the bomb. She was stunned that anyone would live so close to such a horror, much less build an entire town around it. A madman called The Confessor sought to detonate the great beast. So far, the good folk had not fallen sway to his evil machinations.

Simms sort of remembered seeing her father. He let her know that Moira Brown and Colin Moriarty might know more.

Moriarty? I read about him! Consulting Detective comics... They don't even know they have a criminal mastermind living right under their noses! I'll deal with The Professor soon enough.

The topic came up to skills and talents. Simms mentioned that anyone who came from a vault should have the engineering skills to disarm the thing. He had asked James the same thing, but nothing ever came of it. Walter had complained about no one having the talent and time to fix the leaks around town.

“I'm afraid I can't help. But I might know someone who can.”

After the nice “Welcome to town” lunch, she made her way to Craterside Supply. Spare items she got from the Overseer's rooms netted her a few “Caps”.

They use Nuka Cola caps for money... No wonder Moria looked at me funny when I offered her real money.

Turned out she could sell the old currency too. It makes good toilet paper, all told. Sadly, Moria did not have any of the ammo needed for the cannon.

The Professor was silver tongued and corpulent. She avoided bringing up her father. Inside, Gob was stunned when she was nice to him.

All kinds of mutants and aliens used to run around in the old days. Why should these Ghouls be treated any differently than Martian superheroes or any other strange visitors from another planet?

Gob was too scared of The Professor to tell her much other than clueing her in about Galaxy News Radio. She had to admit after listening to what could be heard through the static, she liked the way he talked.

Fighting the good fight.. That's what heroes do.

Nova, however, was something else. The deep hidden part of her that was still Allison reacted with a powerful attraction. Atomica decided to use this to sweet talk this brazen woman of the evening into revealing what she knew. While her body betrayed her with its arousal, her mind was reciting the Captain Cosmos Creed to remain pure.

Meeting Lucy West helped, talking of home and hearth. She gladly accepted a letter to deliver to a place called Arefu.

She was beckoned over to the seedy corner by a disreputable looking man. Mister Burke wanted the unthinkable from her. To detonate the bomb and destroy Megaton! She almost turned him down. But her instinct (Allison?) told her to play along.. to let the Sheriff deal with this threat. He was merely a henchman of a greater evil.. The one called Ten Penny. Between them and The Confessor, this town was in serious trouble. Atomica had her work cut out for her.

Atomica #0

2009-12-27T20:19:00.000-05:00

PROLOGUE: THE ORIGIN OF ATOMICA!

Running.. Must keep running... Don't know why they're trying to kill me.. Its not my fault.. This can't be happening.. No no no no... This kind of thing only happens in comics...

Flash back: A flare of impossibly early memory. Mom, screaming, then sighing, then silent... Dad trying to be brave while they injected her with something and took her for tests. A hastily whispered argument with some doctor named Lee? Maybe? One word stood out.. "Atomica".

Snapp out of it! Hide.. More of them coming.. Can't think about what they did to poor Floyd...

She must have constructed the memory it with the same hypertrophic imagination that made dad prescribe the pills. The pills that let her stay in the real world for work and school and not fall into vivid fantasies of brightly coloured superbeings.

I was going to refill them after my nap...

She remembered all the ones daddy had shown her.. the ones she heard daddy and Jonas talking about when she was a baby. Flying men, people dressed like animals with amazing gadgets.. Strong women with next to nothing on... And the one she could never get an issue of. The one dad and Jonas spoke of in whispers. “Atomica”.

That was Amata screaming..

She remembered when she realized she was in love with the Overseer's daughter. Her birthday party... Getting her PipBoy. The crush started then. It became a flame when she took her G.O.A.T. exam. Standing up to Tunnel Snake, the mighty Atomica... Wait, that wasn't real.. No, it was. Sort of.

Damn.. I need my pills...

Shaking her head, she rushed into the room. Amata was tied to the chair.. The Overseer and Security Chief threatening.

No.. No.. Not Supervillains.. That's Amata's dad and Officer Mack.. FOCUS!

Officer Mack smacked her in the head with his baton as she confronted them. Allison crawled into a small space inside her own head. When her vision cleared, Atomica took the man apart.

The Overseer coaxed Allison back into control. And then wound her fragile sanity even tighter when he betrayed her. Atomica left him locked in his own cell as she raced to find Amata.

The shock of seeing Jonas brought Allison back as cold as if she had taken her pills. Tears streaming down her face, she found Amata. She just wanted to tell her everything, how she felt, what Amata meant to her. But Amata just wanted her to leave.

Angrily, she rifled through the Overseer's things until she found his key. She found his passcodes and hastily read through his files. One of them was about Atomica!

He knows who I am! .. STOP! FOCUS!

Atomica.. Located in a secret storeroom... She had to find it before she left the Vault forever. Her heart sunk and her knees buckled as she felt the loss of her father, her “uncle” Jonas, and her best friend. It was all she had left.

Deep below the secret lair of The Overseer...

Stop it..

In the access tunnel under the Vault, she found the crate. She read the label over and over. PROJECT: ATOM-1-C-A: CLASSIFIED. UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WILL BE SUBJECT TO HIGHEST PENALTY OF TREASON.

What the hell..

Open the crate.. Shiny.. Its my suit.. No.. Its.. Atomica's.. STOP IT.. So hard to focus.. Need my pills.. They're coming..

With no time and no options, she donned the gear in the ancient cache. The Atom-1 Cannon and Advanced PipBoy. The helmet.. Recognized her?

What.. The.. Hell..

Blue scrawl floated in front of her vision.

BIOMETRIC DATA ACCEPTED. 100 PERCENT MATCH.

The guards who came for her were no obstacle at all. The last thing Allison saw was Amata... having refused to come with her.. Rejecting her.. Leaving her..

As the last of the stabilizing chemicals purged from her system, Allison became a small quiet half-remembered dream in the back of the brightly clad superbeing's distant memory. She stepped from the vault, the sound of the screeching metal pushing her to the edge.

Bright light.. so bright.. so big..

RECORDING.

This is the Wasteland. It is a lawless place. Innocent, good people are preyed upon by the forces of evil.

Her shiny nanotech suit gleamed in the rising sun.

I have been sent by my father into this world. I will protect them. The days of villainy and terror are coming to an end. Justice will be done. The Wasteland has a champion.

She gazed out over the desolation spread out before her. In the distance, she could just make out the walls of Megaton.

So swears Atomica!