Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190809183350/@comment-3293219-20190924210701

It didn’t really do the people of ‘Frisco any favours as they started blaring the raid sirens. While black boots pounded the pavement, closing in, around the mutant at the center of the devastation. None of them had seen anything like Paul, as of yet. A Horrigan-esque abomination, gone completely feral.

Paul usually calmed down by now but he feared Shrike’s return, not allowing his guard to be lowered for a second. Whenever there was a slight change in his immediate environment, he immediately turned and lashed out at it.

All the boys in blue could do was stand still, around the beast, building a ring to keep him confined to ground zero and stop the damage from spreading. Besides the occasional whistle being blown in the distance, all Police movement had long since stopped.

At this point, they were at a definite impasse, until the military could be deployed.

It had only been a couple of hours at this point, though it felt like days. Though they were used to standing, the beat cops’ legs strained under the burden of the situation and not a single one of them would hesitate to run, if given the excuse to do so.

While they continued to wait for confirmation on their next move, salvation found its way to them in an unusual form. Shuffling through the small crowds, that were foolhardy enough to gather, behind the minimum safe distance, a purple robed cultist made their way to the front.

They were immediately stopped by a beat cop, prompting them to look up and make eye contact with them. The Cop got a good, strong look at the young woman, under the robes. Seemingly of Indian heritage, young and rather pleasing to the eye. Her eyes were an amber colour, distractingly beautiful and yet so very unnatural.

“Stay back Ma’am, this situation is incredibly dangerous.” The Cop insisted, sounding rather drained and losing that authoritative edge that his voice would usually have.

“The Abbey has sent me.” The young woman informed him, peering around.

“I am expected…”

The Officer raised an eyebrow, sighing heavily as he found himself at a loss. He turned back to his comrade, who seemed to be his senior and probably knew more about this kind of thing. The two of them had a bit of a back and forth before a radio was drawn and the senior officer stepped to the back of the line and conversed with the station.

He returned with a surprised expression on his face, giving them the nod and the go ahead.

The Robed woman stepped forward, seemingly unfazed by the thrashing hulking horror at the center of the devastation. The Beat Cops almost didn’t believe their eyes as they saw her pass, wondering who in the hell of it had authorized this scrawny priest lady anywhere near this hotzone.

To their surprise, she didn’t seem to provoke him, if anything she was almost invisible to him as she slowly paced up to his restless form. It wasn’t until she was in arms reach of him, that he finally spun around and roared at her, though his lashing out was somewhat half hearted at this point, almost as if he was facing the inevitable.

He recoiled fully as she extended her arm, from out of her sleeve, revealing some sort of dart gun. It was rather crude, like the Capital Wasteland design but clearly had better components used in its creation and it looked more like a pistol than a minicrossbow.

The dart fired out and hit Paul’s neck, causing him to stumble back as he attempted to fight the poison, racking his veins. His muscles withered, causing his legs to collapse as he was forced to his knees, taking a tight grasp at the dirt, beneath his hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">The only thing that kept his focus was the melody, inside his head. An angelic harmony, performed by some sort of musical goddess. It had been this song that appealed to Paul’s inner beast and made him retract his rage, surrendering to its beauty… <p class="MsoNormal" style="border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt; padding:0cm;mso-padding-alt:0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm">He knew not and cared very little as to who said Goddess was, her honeyed eyes just stared Paul down, with a gaze that lacked judgement. It almost felt like he was falling asleep in front of his mother, the safety of the situation was… unquestionable. <p class="MsoNormal">The Song carried him home, not to the bombed-out trailer, in West Virginia but the rustic one, that he was raised in. While some details were bound to be wrong, some smells misplaced, details miscoloured and some tick boxes left blank, this was the clearest his memories had been in centuries.

<p class="MsoNormal">This was his Dad’s trailer…

<p class="MsoNormal">He remembered that blue wallpaper, with the lighter blue palm tree. It was about as putrid as it sounds…

<p class="MsoNormal">The night in question was the night that Mr Thompson came over, a man that Paul only met a handful of times as a kid, each time just as tense as the last.

<p class="MsoNormal">This night was the first time that he directly spoke to Paul. He remembered it, rather well and it was one of his last memories that fell to the distortion. From what he recalled, he was breaking some ‘glass’ with a mallet, a fresh batch of crystal meth, that had been carefully mixed and brewed by Paul himself.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dad was aware how good of a cook Paul was, his enthusiasm was almost contagious and his skill was to be envied.

<p class="MsoNormal">In truth, Paul always savoured this moment, even as he got older. It was like cutting up a beautifully crafted cake. It was honestly outstanding, how one could turn a work of art into something consumable.

<p class="MsoNormal">There was an element of excitement and tragedy, that always clashed as the mallet destroyed the pure crystal. Even his Dad shared this sentiment but that’s all it really was.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sentiment.

<p class="MsoNormal">As Paul mashed up the transparent canvas into ingestible shards, he was startled by a knock at the door. He knew what that meant, Dad made it very clear that no visitors can ever know about the chemistry set.

<p class="MsoNormal">No one but Mom, Dad and Uncle Phil would be safe, knowing that secret and if anyone else found out, then they’d tell the Police, would take Dad off to jail and take Paul away to go and live with some Amish people as punishment.

<p class="MsoNormal">Or at least, that’s what Dad said.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dad was quick to throw a sheet over the set as he walked on over to the trailer door, prompting Paul to adjust it to make sure that nothing was jutting out or no crystal shards were lying on the floor. He didn’t get long before Dad pulled the door open, seemingly making a dozen or so steps between the door and the end table behind him.

<p class="MsoNormal">“M-Mr Thompson!? What-“

<p class="MsoNormal">“Surprised to see me, Paul?” He asked, stepping inside and looking around. This was the first time that Paul was able to clap eyes on him, with his greying combover, sizeable nose, that curved from the bridge to the purse of his lip and his rather rough cheeks and neck from a 5’oclock shadow that just wouldn’t leave.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Y-Yeah! You never come here in person, you’re… What if someone sees.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Thompson raised his hand, cutting him off.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m currently attending a fundraiser, at the local hospital. Nobody unnecessary knows that I have stepped out, to come and see you.” He let himself in as he spoke, along with two guys in black, shutting the door behind him.

<p class="MsoNormal">Both guys looked like thugs, hired to protect him. One was white, like him and Dad and the other was black, like Leyland from school. Neither of them had hair or at least none visible, under their black bob hats.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Forgive me for barging in but it puts my story at risk, hanging around in the doorway. I’m sure that you understand that it’s within both of our best interests, that keep this brief.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“C-Course.” Paul’s Dad said, he was young for a Dad, scrawny for an adult and never wore anything more formal than cargo pants and some short-sleeved top. Be it vest, tank top, Jersey or T-Shirt. Maybe he’d wear a jacket on top of it, in the winter…

<p class="MsoNormal">“Is there a problem?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Mr Thompson just examined the environment as he spoke, taking in Paul Senior’s fumbling as he observed his surroundings.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That all depends, Morgan. You see, the product that you sold me was… of a different standard, than I was expecting.”

<p class="MsoNormal">It was at that point that Paul felt his Father’s eyes fall upon him, with a bombardment of conflicting emotions swimming inside them. Whatever that look was… it wasn’t good.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry, Mr Thompson, I… really am. I let my son help me, with the cooking and he must’ve made a mistake along the way.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“No I didn’t.” Paul said, just instinctively, like a sneeze or a cough, that he couldn’t hold back. This got the attention of everyone in the room, putting him on a rather intense and awkward spot…

<p class="MsoNormal">“Junior!” His Dad snapped, though Mr Thompson raised his hand, cutting him off.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I believe him…” Thompson observed, stepping over to the boy as the goons shuffled up, to get his back.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Wh-What’re you doing!?” Dad’s voice somewhat broke at this point, making Paul flinch in fear, widening the gap between himself and Thompson.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Your boy made a correction, Mr Morgan. The mistake was yours… Something your son did, made your product a whole lot purer, almost 10% purer, to my estimation. I can use this.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I-I don’t understand! He’s just a boy, how’d he…?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You say you’ve only just let him in on your family’s business? Seems a little… young…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“He wouldn’t stop pestering me, ‘till I let him help.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Thompson couldn’t help but give off a slightly bemused smile at that as he turned his attentions back to the boy.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Junior… Paul the second, if I’m correct? What did you do differently, to what your father told you?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paul furrowed his brow, almost not understanding the question but he was able to process it.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Erm… Well… A few things, to be honest. Dad’s stuff was always kinda hazy, so I… tried to figure out what made it look that way. It looked the same, so…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“It wasn’t the same. What you made was purer, I’d like to know, if you could do it again.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Again? S-Sure… I just did it.” Paul shrugged, grabbing the tray and pulling it from under the sheet, Mr Thompson could see it, given that Dad gave it to him every month.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s the same but see through… more see through. I’m still working on it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Thompson broke off a shard for himself, holding it up to the light as he lowered it, clasping his hand back around it and ceiling it inside.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s… Fascinating. Mr Morgan, if I may be so bold as to tweak fate’s nose… I believe that your son here is a savant. A gifted chemist…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“A… Y-You mean like Einstein?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Possibly. Though Marie Curie would be a more... apt comparison, given that Einstein was a physicist.” Thompson observed.

<p class="MsoNormal">“If his gift was nurtured, I think he could achieve on that level.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve been reading the book, Dad got me. The science one?” Paul shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s got a lot of big words in but I remember the important stuff…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hmm… I could get you more books, if you would like. Maybe some age appropriate material, to help you get a greater grasp of the basics. If I could do that, do you think you could continue to improve on your Father’s formula?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paul shrugged, dragging his foot along the floor. There was something… difficult about how he was being viewed here, like some sort of prized animal.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I mean… I can try. It don’t always turn out this great…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Possibility of failure is why we experiment before shipping our product, Master Morgan. Your Father and I would benefit greatly, if you made any further breakthroughs.

<p class="MsoNormal">By proxy, so would you.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Erm… Will my Dad get more money?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Junior!”

<p class="MsoNormal">His Dad snapping at him made him shudder, he wasn’t expecting his Dad to yell, for sticking up for him. It kind of made him wonder what he’d done wrong there…

<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course, considerably more in fact and given how many headmasters I know, personally, I could get you into a number of schools.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I like the school I’m in now.” Paul admitted, sheepishly.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I have friends there.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I know schools who have the best laboratories, equipment and teachers in the state, so long as you work consistently hard and competently, I am willing to help your Father in providing for your future.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paul didn’t really know what to make of this, it sounded nice but it sounded more like a deal that benefitted his Dad more than him, right now.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, that was enough to get him to say yes, given that his Dad needed him to make more money.

<p class="MsoNormal">“S-Sure Mister. Whatever Dad needs…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Thompson’s face didn’t move as he continued to stare Paul down, he didn’t seem pleased or displeased with that answer and merely blankly stared at him.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You understand, that this is to remain a secret, yes?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Y-Yes sir. Dad told me.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You understand, what happens if you tell anyone about what you and your Father do for me.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“D-Dad goes to jail and I get sent to live with the Amish.”

<p class="MsoNormal">At this point, Paul Senior just buried his face in his hands, hoping that Paul wouldn’t ever blurt that out to someone.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, not exactly.” Thompson correct him, slapping a hand on his shoulder and meeting his gaze.

<p class="MsoNormal">“If you tell anyone, I mean anyone, then they will have to die. If they don’t? Everyone, from your Dad to Me could potentially be arrested. Everyone loses their jobs and everyone is at risk of going to prison.

<p class="MsoNormal">If you or your Father, give me reason to believe that such a thing is an immediate threat. I will deal with you both, permanently. If you are a liability, then I will cut you loose. This will unfortunately mean killing you, to protect myself and my people.

<p class="MsoNormal">Do not ever put me in that position, boy. Far dearer people to me have done so and they are all buried on the same plot of land, in unmarked graves, out in the woods.

<p class="MsoNormal">Those who betray me know no heaven, they know no hell. <p class="MsoNormal" style="border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt; padding:0cm;mso-padding-alt:0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm">Just an endless darkness, where life could have been…” <p class="MsoNormal">“An endless Darkness, where life could have been…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paul found himself on a cold stone floor again… He remembered nothing of the past few days. Just Shrike and losing control.

<p class="MsoNormal">Realising that he was basically in a cave made him scramble to his feet, suddenly uneasy at the implications. Had he levelled the entire base? Did he kill everyone, along with Shrike?

<p class="MsoNormal">Those concerns were put to rest, at least a little, by the fact that he was wearing some burlap-sack robes. They were coarse and itchy but they covered up his naked form… not that he had genitals to cover but… well…

<p class="MsoNormal">“You awaken, Brother Morgan…”

<p class="MsoNormal">That voice was somewhat raspy, almost inhuman in the way that it was spoken, like it was… Mimicking human speech.

<p class="MsoNormal">Morgan glanced around, immediately seeing who was talking to him. A rather bulky, hunched over man stood before him. His entire head buried under his hood, sleeves drooping over his hands… The black void, within his robes remained fixated on Paul, looking right through him, pricking his brain with all kinds of crazy signals.

<p class="MsoNormal">Everything about this guy felt wrong to Paul but… well, he probably gave off that impression to most people that he met, so he wasn’t about to judge.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Who’re you?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I run this sanctuary, Brother. A sanctuary for all of us, made siblings by man’s many perversions of nature.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paul remained silent, having no clue what this crazy bastard on about. All he knew was that he was calling him a freak and he didn’t like that.

<p class="MsoNormal">“How do you know my name?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Nadira lifted it, from your mind. You gave it to her, along with everything, in exchange for a song.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“…Wut?”

<p class="MsoNormal">There was a light growl in the darkness, one that Paul could possibly place, if his head didn’t feel like it had just had a head on collision with a Vault Door.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Whassat!?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“My bestial nature, Paul. Just like you, I have an appearance, that most consider… unnerving.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Buddy, I’ve seen every shade of ugly that you can imagine. You met my co-worker, Hancock? The guy looks like his face caught on fire and someone tried to put it out with a rake!

<p class="MsoNormal">If I need a reminder of ugly, I just look in a mirror so just… Come on out here, where I can see ya.”

<p class="MsoNormal">As he spoke, the sack-cloth man did as requested, stepping into the light, which filled his hood and revealed his face. Inside was a pale reptile, with unmistakable features. The only difference being the ash-grey skin and intense red eyes.

<p class="MsoNormal">There was no mistaking it, Paul was stood toe to toe, with an albino deathclaw.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I am Goris.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Ho-Holy shit!” Paul wasn’t really expecting that. Maybe some sort of super mutant or a dropped pie-looking googly eyed bastard but not a talking deathclaw!

<p class="MsoNormal">“I did try to warn you…”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Next time, try ‘hey, I’m a fucking talking dinosaur!’ as your opening line!”

<p class="MsoNormal">“None of that would be accurate though.”

<p class="MsoNormal">At that point, the Resident composed himself, taking a deep breath of cold cave air. Man, this place was freezing…

<p class="MsoNormal">“Okay… So… Is this some sorta talking deathclaw sanctuary or…?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Goris quickly shook his head, letting his claws slide from his sleeves. Those things were long enough to run a man through, maybe even two men, who were very close together.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I am the last of my kind… In spirit of my friends, I built this sanctuary for unique beings, who would face rejection anywhere else. My former companion Marcus founded a place called Black Mountain, for mutants… which later became Jacobstown.

<p class="MsoNormal">I provide similar shelter, for those who have nowhere else to go. We pass the time by learning things about the outside world and building up a network of knowledge and information. Whether it’s collecting from radiated places, reading the minds of the public or posing as pack brahmins, everyone has a means of contributing to our vast library. <p class="MsoNormal" style="border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt; padding:0cm;mso-padding-alt:0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm">This is the Abbey or rather, its undercroft…” <p class="MsoNormal">