Badass Dragons of the Wasteland - Round Seven Prologue

Bill @webiii1976 mate - where the duck are you? Wha’ - I’ve been napping - you can’t risk your skin alone! You need firepower, speed, back up! You’re a good listener, but shite man, nasty situations need nasty people!

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Bill thought he heard his TCB chirp…

~Bzzt!~ [quote=“peregrinus_bis, post:23, topic:26172”]
re the duck are y




"Major? Major, do you copy? Tom Joe do you read me?

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Hey! Copy that; you’re breaking up. Have you gone out on your own??

Oi, camp! We can’t let Bill go on his own!

Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell have you people been or not been doing? I drag myself back from the depths of some horrible place, wake up a day or two later and everything has gone straight to hell.

  • Clank is off somewhere, Junior appears like he is wandering the wastes for him.
  • That little dirty kid has been taken by that antisocial weirdo who was gunning for Sir Gonville for some weird reason.
  • Marion appears to have been taken by Toecutter and possibly Bubba.

That about sum things up?

I’m sitting on about half my health thanks to the fine work of Bill the Bum, but no idea what we hauled out from the depths and ol’ Billy gave his fine life for. Hell, I don’t even know who’s willing to ride out and do something to someone.

I think our priority ought to be Marion, without that chunk of brains ain’t nobody going anywhere, let alone surviving when they get there, but I’m still a little groggy and feeling a step or two behind this dance.

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Marion’s one thing - but without the mechanics, we’re not getting much further along this road at all!

I’m off to catch up with Bill & Co - if you’ve got guts and guns, let’s get some action on!

~ tyres squeal, hits 60 in 4 ~


Without Clank, we won’t be able to repair enough to push the ark much further. Plus, Clank’s had my back this whole sad trip since Riverside, I’m not going to abandon him now.

Cougar will go after, and return with her son. Whether or not anyone goes with her. Bet on it.

Although I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t have some help. It’s no good having a license to kill if you can’t, you know, actually kill. I suspect one fine English Gentleman will want to wipe that egg off his erudite face.

Marion is critical. I’ve still got a Zima left to offer the Driver that comes back with Blazer’s license plates. He’s the turncoat, I’m sure. That whole story about Blazer being a victim of Toecutter and Toecutter being afraid of Blazer?

Bullshit, all of it, or enough of it to matter. Blazer may have once been mad at Toecutter, but clearly Toejam made an offer to pursuade Blazer.

And, don’t trust a damn thing Toecutter sez. Remember he also said he killed Max.


Yeah. Well. I thought we should talk about a few things before going off to certain doom and all. Getting separated like this keeps causing more problems than it causes.

Problems like conclusions like this. Let’s take a minute. Clank’s not hanging under the sword of Damocles right now.

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~ tyres squeal, hits 0 in 5 ~

Right. Emotions in check. Plan? 30 minutes and I’m going after Bill & Co!

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Fair enough. What are our available resources? You. Me. Junior. Anyone else willing to saddle up? We’ve got a lot of guns and gas but we’ve got to point them in the right direction.

How much gas are we using? Can we get Clank back home with those who go with him? Assume he has no fuel to manouver and we’ll go from there.

As to the kid, does anyone have a stake in that game? Which direction did Mello go, is it on the way to Clank? And frankly, besides familial and emotional ties, is the kid useful in any way or have any strengths that we are unaware of to allow him to help himself out of this type of situation?

As to this mystery about Marion, I find very little information from those logs about who this supposed traitor is. Because for all I know, this driver she’s talking about could be someone in her past not associated with our little cadre of desert bandits. And frankly, I’m a little worried that she’s going to be messed up upon return. The crawler isn’t going fast and isn’t subject to shocks or strain. For all we know she’s bouncing along in a motorcycle sidecar and is going to be next to useless in the time it takes a Deliverator to get to the house. I don’t trust Toecutter or his ilk to not burn everything down just because they like fire.


Maybe Toecutter and I did kill Max. There’s plenty of other people around here for whom being dead isn’t an impediment to walking around.

Speaking of which, I can’t really go anywhere until I address my digital poverty. I can’t even tie my shoelaces right now.


~Honey speaks up after what feels like a few weeks of silence~

I’ll be with Marion or the kid. The mechanics have good friends, I trust you guys to get them home safely. Meanwhile I’ll try to help out and keep this shit from falling any further apart. Wherever I’m needed most I suppose.


Well - we’ve got some LP’s, right? Where’s that bloody new Stretch thing?

Let’s Mech up and Move out!

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Right here:

To date, only three people have been in that cockpit to have known where the bolts are. Cougar, The Kid, and Blazer. The Kid is removed by process of … elimination (heh).

Well, there was that member of Toecutter’s gang a few rounds back when I was at the citadel, but he’s no longer a suspect.

It’s not Bubba. He’s locked himself in his Lotus, and, if you get close, you can hear he’s been listening to Gary Numan on repeat.


Fixed your statement.

Hey, whatever. Believe what you want.

For my shits-per-gallon, that particular lady [doth protest too much][1], methinks.

Cougar rode out to see Fleetwood in the Citadel, rode point to get Billy, and damn near died last sortie under the Citadel.

Has Blazer even gone on a mission?

Blazer’s seen not a scratch, and his only job was to protect the Kid and to protect Marion.

And he failed at both.
[1]: Badass Dragons of the Wasteland - Round Four

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Chevy. Unreliable. Cheap.


You’ve got Channing too!

We rescue Clank, save the kid, find Marion and the shitter, and I’ll personally light Toecutter on fire till there’s nothing left but charred scrap. Anyone that stands between us is fair game for termination.

Seems simple enough right?


And: French.

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I’ve been afraid of this day for a while now, but it’s been a long time coming. “Truth will out,” as the Bard used to say and as I’ve come to think of you as close as friends get these days, I’d rather you hear it from me instead of possibly hearing it from someone, or something, else.

I used to fix things. I fixed a lot of things.
And then I broke everything.

My name isn’t Desmond Balthar. Hell, it’s not even close. That’s just an amalgam of names I used from some old television shows about two characters who felt like they were at fault for a lot of pain and suffering for others. And since I feel like most of the problems of the world are my fault, it seemed like the thing to do. It’s sometimes the smallest of actions that lead to the grandest of consequences.

My name is Dr. Edwin O. Chelsey. Not “Chelsea,” but “Chelsey.” It’s not my fault nobody can read anymore (well, it might be, hard to tell), but the history came down on one spelling and since I decided to kill myself off, I wasn’t in a mood to correct anyone for a long time.

I did not work at Cheyenne Mountain. Not even close. Most of my talk about the East Coast? Never spent a lot of time there. I spent most of my life in California. Everyone knows Stark was a brilliant guy, possibly the smartest ever. And invariably tinkering with something with most of his days. He liked to build and really get hands on with a lot of his personal things around his house. But he couldn’t (and didn’t want to) build everything. That’s where I came in. Myself, and a few other guys worked out of a warehouse space in Thousand Oaks kind of reverse-engineering some of his brighter ideas into commercial application products.

Marion mentioned she was one of several? A direct descendant from Stark’s Jarvis household intelligence program. Shitgo? Kind of a spinoff of the arc reactor system that he created when he had to take long trips in that suit (“Nothing wasted, gentlemen and ladies” he had said at the time).

But to jump cut to now, the White House had gotten sick of being one-upped by Stark’s artificial intelligence systems and had a guy inside StarkTech moonlighting on projects for them, Ed Chelsey. Stark paid well, but you know that part where I didn’t spend a lot of time on the East Coast? That’s because the President of the United States came calling to me. That was some pretty powerful mojo. The reason that Jarvis worked so well was that he learned, he educated himself based on databases and systems Stark had incorporated slowly to the intelligence. Unbeknownst to me, but I should have guessed it (they always said the guys in the back room at StarkTech were good with machines but had no idea about people), they hooked their version up behind the walls of the Black Gate of Mordor that is/was the NSA. Presumably to ensure that all the bad guys could be found easier or something.

Well, that little ferret had more than enough information, heaping helpings of paranoia and very little foresight to see pretty much all of humanity as bad guys. They hadn’t hooked him up to the nuclear briefcase, thank goodness, but the power he did control was more than enough to reduce us to scrabbling over the last dregs of humanity, zombies, vampires, giant mutant squid, and intelligent missile-launching cars.

So, that’s my story. Needless to say, I’m not going to be taking up any space on any Ark, not until I’ve done my penance down here. Take it or leave it, I know what a tool like Marion can get up to in the wrong hands, that’s where I need to go. That’s what I need to fix.