I found this in my hard drive, from bloody years ago. I think I wrote this, whilst at University but it's the original prologue for 'Australia' which was my first incarnation of Brothers in Binds. It was going to be a multi part chapter, like Iconoclash or Peace and Future Cannon Fodder but I decided to make it an RP instead.
So... Behold! The BiB that never was!
The Mile-High City, Denver, is ironically at its lowest point in recorded history, the city belongs to the dead now and the feral hounds that roam the streets, hunting down and devouring anyone brave or foolish enough to wander them. The vast abundance of wild dogs has made the place inhospitable and though the NCR and Legion have had their eye on it for some time, neither of them were successful in taking it.
Before the second battle of Hoover Dam, Legate Lanius lead an army out to Denver but they were unsuccessful in capturing it, due to the dwindling supply lines. Many were lost to the city of Dogs and Lanius was forced to pull out of Denver, leaving it to it’s canine residents…
The NCR have since sent scavengers out to the city, hoping to find some way of making the city hospitable as it was once the second most important city in the county and now, it was a ghost town. Scouts returned with nothing but bad news, there was no way that troops could take the town by force, they’d have to work for years to even put a dent in the dog population and even then, there was no guarantee that it would all be worth it in the end.
Several brilliant minds got to work on finding a solution, in truth, taking Denver would take time and dedication and tons of resources. The NCR didn’t have the resources to spare and even if they did, the city wasn’t exactly worth anything. In the end, the critical thinkers declared that Denver would have to remain in its barren place, perhaps the problem would solve itself or they could look into it, later on, when they held more territory and had more control over the west coast.
However, one mind had an idea; he proposed that they founded communities in Denver, who would be able to establish some sort of NCR presence there. Obviously, the idea was subject to heavy scrutiny as such an attempt would lead to a high casualty rate and that the NCR citizens sent in would most likely meet their demise.
It was then that another idea came to the team, what if they sent in a group of convicts as well? People with life sentences or those on death row? Not only would their casualties be of little to no concern to the people of NCR but they may also stand a greater chance of surviving in the harsh, barren city of Denver.
Over time, the NCR eventually came to an agreement, approximately 100 inmates, from various detention centers, prisons and correctional facilities were to be sent to Denver, with the tools they’d need to start a new life there.
This story follows one of those groups, seven men and seven women, all of whom were sent into Dog Town with no idea of the odds that they would face and what was to be expected of them. In truth, they were pretty much sentenced to death; no one expected them to make it…
But it was worth a shot…
The cracks of light slowly shone into McGill’s eyes as they opened and he slowly brought his head up. He could hear the constant hum of the engine and the vehicle bumping over pot holes and rocks caused him to jerk his head up and wake. He immediately felt the effects of the claustrophobic nature of the truck, rubbing shoulders with two of his fellow inmates. He screwed up his face and shook his head, the light and noise over stimulated him and he needed a minute to adjust.
McGill and his fellow convicts were being transported in an old 21st century armoured personnel carrier, a big green box on tank-like wheels, which tore through rocks and debris, like a hot knife through butter. It was heavily armoured, hell, McGill wasn’t exactly an expert on vehicles but he’d imagine that it would survive an encounter with a missile launcher, not that he’d like to put that to the test…
The vehicle was carrying the seven men; the women were in a truck that was shortly following from behind, like prison, the NCR kept the men and women convicts separate during confinement. There was room for one woman but it was unlikely that any of them would want to be in such a tight space with guys like Mickey, the rapist fuck.
McGill had been informed as to who did what, though the past was supposed to be behind them, it was nice to know who was least likely to try and fondle your ass, when you had your back to them. McGill only knew one of the convicts, well ‘knew’ as in ‘he clapped eyes on him once before’ as the guy was in the same prison as he was.
Caleb nicknamed ‘Sheriff Caleb,’ due to his previous occupation. It might seem odd for a lawman to be dragged along for the ride but it wasn’t exactly uncommon, especially in places that were integrating with NCR and were adjusting to their way of life. Some folks just don’t like to have to fill out a form, kindly requesting that the NCR gave them permission to tell the guy raping their daughter that what he is doing is ‘naughty’ and that they should stop.
Take Caleb for example, he’s here, because one guy did something that pissed him off so much, that he grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulled him along, kicking and screaming and then he and his deputies had him beaten to death with 2X4s as the townsfolk watched in horror. Caleb wasn’t exactly the most approachable guy, so nobody had ever asked him what the guy did, for all McGill knew, he could have just stolen his lolly pop.
Still, the NCR came for him next morning and ‘relieved him of his duty,’ clapping him in irons before shoving him down the road, towards the nearest camp. He’d been in prison ever since, serving a life sentence for his ‘perversion of justice’ or some crap; he’d served several years before McGill was dragged in with him. They never met eye to eye; quite literally, nobody would dare talk to Caleb as he scared the crap out of everyone. McGill once saw a kid, a Great Khan to, try and belittle him once, several guards were called and when they got there, it was over and the kid was on his hands and knees, trying to find his teeth in a pool of blood.
Caleb is an older fella, forties, maybe fifties. He has slicked back, long hair and a handlebar moustache and the man is tough as nails.
Then there was the aforementioned Mickey guy, he raped a fifteen year old girl, didn’t even deny it. He was about seventeen at the time, which was about ten years ago now and due to the fact that he’s the only rotten bastard from Klamath, no one knows if he’s changed a jot since.
Mickey was quite a skinny little prick, with messy brown hair and some stubble and an unfortunate face that you just want to punch. It was quite obvious what his motivation was, from the looks of it, he wouldn’t have gotten any, any other way.
To McGill’s right was ‘Sarge,’ his name was Andrew somethingorother but everyone just called him ‘sarge.’ McGill wasn’t even sure if he was a sergeant, he could have been Colonel Hsu’s personal ass wiper for all they knew. Either way, he deserted at one point and shot up the place as he left.
The guy kept his crew cut and his bad ass stubble; his teeth look lonely, without a knife in between it, like someone with an iconic moustache, who had just shaved it off. He looked like your typical grunt, stood on a pile of rubble, with a knife between his teeth, an assault carbine rifle in his right hand an a 9mm pistol in the other, with a woman clinging to his knee.
In other words, he was like an old time action star from one of those cheesy movie posters. McGill had even seen a few of those movies, which made him think of the image. Back when he was a kid, his local school house used to show old movies, every few months, for folks to pay to see. Every kid in Reno would rush down the street to go to school, which was pretty ironic as the rest of the time, they wanted to be anywhere but.
McGill focussed on that memory for a few moments, not noticing that he was staring at Sarge, something that either got you beaten up or… worse in prison.
“You wanna date or somethin’?” Sarge grumbled, slowly turning to look at McGill, who snapped back to the person in front of him, who turned out to be Harley, the Great Khan.
“N-No… Sorry, I er… Zoned out.”
“Whatever…” Sarge grumbled, folding his arms and leaning back, sighing heavily as he stared ahead. McGill glanced back to him, seeing the longing in his eyes, it was obvious that he hadn’t had a smoke in six hours.
“Wanna smoke, huh?”
“Yeah, like fuckin’ crazy…” The soldier slowly looked to McGill, like he was going to ask if he had a smoke but it was obvious that he didn’t and even if he did, he wasn’t allowed to smoke in here, due to the fact that it was air tight. Theoretically, this thing would keep out water, even if it was fully submerged, lighting up a drag would stink the place out.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your name…”
“It’s, McGill, George McGill…” The Gambler replied, not really surprised that he didn’t remember as they hadn’t spoken until now.
“Yeah? Well, I’m Andrew Monroe, though everyone calls me ‘Sarge.” ‘Sarge’ replied, introducing himself, like he was passing a bowel movement. Prison does that to some folk, being pleasant doesn’t come easy after you’ve been inside, surrounded by assholes for so long.
“You were in the army?” McGill asked, cleverly, hoping to find out whether or not he was truly a sergeant or not. McGill liked to know these things, adding them to his little library in his head.
McGill wasn’t a gossip, he knew better than that before being put on the inside but still, it was best to know a lot but share little, in his opinion at least.
“You know that I was, you heard my crime before, desertion, remember?” Sarge snapped, though he didn’t seem any more grouchy than he was earlier. McGill glanced down to the ex-armyman’s hand, to see that he was clawing at his leg.
“Oh yeah, r-right…” The Gambler muttered, seeing that Sarge was a little smarter than he had given him credit for.