Well, I’m still alive. Let’s recap.
Yesterday, I decided to take a hike down to the Super-Duper Mart to find some food and meds for Moira’s book. After about an hour of walking, I crested a large hill and saw the burned-out remains of what was probably once a superstore. As I snuck down a little from the top, I spotted a couple of raiders out front of the store. They hadn’t seen me, so I did my best to sneak down to their position. From what I could see, they weren’t well-armed, probably just pistols at best. Those assholes never even saw me coming. Just as I was getting ready to pick them off from afar, I saw a couple of military-looking types in leather with white talons on them run in and open fire. I swear, they didn’t stop to chat; they just cut the raiders down. Those mohawked jerkoffs didn’t stand a chance.
As the smoke cleared and the fine red mist was touching the ground, one of the Talons glanced up, right at me. He turned and said something to the little guy with the big gun. He looked over at me, too, but neither one opened fire. I took that as a good sign, like maybe they were some kind of civil militia or something. One of those groups that tries to bring law back to the Wasteland by dispensing hot death to those who have most earned it. Besides, if they were going to shoot me, they already would have. So, like a jackass, I walked out and around the fence, gun at my side and pointed down. The little guy with the big gun called me over by name; I should have known that was a bad sign, but I guess my experience with homicidal manics has been minimal (I seldom met Amata’s dad). I at least had the good sense not to get any closer. He told me that he and his gang (Talon Company, it seems) had been hired to kill me, that goody two-shoes like me got shot in the Wasteland. I tried buying them off, but they just laughed.
Something to know about me: I hate people getting the drop on me. So while they were laughing, I brought the rifle to bear and put two bullets in the neck of the guy that had initially spotted me. His laughter quickly turned to wet choking sounds as blood, more red than I’d ever seen it, poured out. I dove behind cover before his buddies could get their bearings together and return fire (but damn, it was close). I never, before that firefight, realized how tough leather armor was, but believe me when I tell you that that was the longest firefight I have yet been involved in. I only managed to kill three of them, out of (I think) eight, including the one I caught off-guard.
The real problem started when I realized that I’d dived behind a car. That train of thought continued when I realized the engine block had caught fire, since there must have still been some fusionable material in it. Figuring I had only a couple of seconds before it exploded, I took off at a low run, trying to zig-zag enough to get shot. It almost worked, too.
I felt this hot pain in my left calf, like a really huge bee sticking its barbed stinger as far as it would go into the muscle. I stumbled and fell down, into some bushes (mercifully) which provided some cover. I did my best to crawl on, but I could hear gunshots and the sounds of pursuit behind me. Sure enough, that car went up like a smaller version of the bombs which scourged this land 200 years ago. Unloading the remainder of the existing assault rifle magazine behind me blindly resulted in the incredibly satisfying sound of wet flesh dropping abruplty onto the dry, hard ground. Between that and the car’s fusion engine going up, I think they were stalled just long enough that I managed to crawl into a thicker dead shrub just long enough to wrap a piece of my shirt tightly around the gunshot. After that, it was nothing but hours of trying to stay ahead of them; those Talon Company Mercs are relentless.
Last night, I tried leaving that message. Unfortunately, I was interrupted mid-sentence by the rest of the Talon Company wankers. The firefight which ensued very nearly resulted in my death, I don’t mind telling you. I took two more bullets, one in the shoulder and another in the chest (but nothing vital, gratefully, and my lung didn’t collapse from the sudden pressure change). On the other hand, I killed the three that had been pursuing me.
Yeah, I said three. Do the math, that tallies seven of eight dead, if my memory serves me properly. So either one of them died when that car went up, or one of them went back to report the failure to their superior. Either way, I know I killed the head of this particular squad; I recognized his face among those last three bodies. Or, what was left of it once I was through. I took his armor, as it seems to be remarkably sturdy. He also had a note on him, about killing me. I apparently pissed off some of the Wasteland’s shadier assholes, and they decided I was too much of a liability to leave alive. I think this has something to do with saving Megaton and killing Burke. I should know better than to ruffle feathers by now, I lived in a Vault for nuke’s sake.
I made it back to Megaton somehow between the last ambush and now. I’m resting and recovering right now. Hopfeully, by the time I try again, I’ll be okay, the Talon Company will leave me alone, and the raiders won’t be on guard anymore thanks to their scouts dying. This might yet prove to be an interesting excursion again.
