5 Likes
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.
6 Likes
Haha! eh!? Since the shit’s well and truly hitting the fan, it all comes out, always! I’m no more a Talleyrand-Laroche than I am a spider monkey with a rainbow striped mohican! Mind, that has been my name since '85 - read a book about the French Revolution on the train, passed through a few towns, got to where I was going and made up the name on the spot. Not many questions asked, and weren’t many bloody answers to be had.
Joseph McCormack, and not bloody proud of it. “You little basterd” to anyone at all. My dad, may his idiot bones continue to dance in Hell, was a McCormack, but through the merry jig of DNA, I happen not to be. Major though, rightfully earned and deserved.
And CEO of Whitewater - I like to call it “Happy Solutions, Inc”. Finds real bastards, deletes real bastards. All with a winning smile.
4 Likes
This isn’t you?
3 Likes
Might be.
Death:
(Date and location unknown)
Might not be.
3 Likes
Well, since this here masquerade party seems to be ending, I guess it’s my turn to tell you all who I am…
I’m Jack Burton Jr.
Now can we cut the chit-chat and get about to rescuing those who need rescuing?
4 Likes
3 Likes
I’m all for it. I just didn’t want Toecutter dropping dime on me and creating mistrust.
Now if you’ll pardon me I need to let loose a 427 in a way that Shelby would be frightened.
3 Likes
it’s like listening to the rolling of the ocean.
sweet music.
Also, at 5’24 - 5’30, looks like you are flipping Jack “Knife” Boyer @drman321 the bird.
1 Like
Right. I’m going to catch up with Bill @webiii1976 and help recce the situation for them. Might join in the fray if it comes to that.
My job has always been to sort the good apples from the bad. This entire situation needs some bloody sorting - I hate mysteries and intrigue. Being on the friendly side of a .50 Accuracy International tends to boil mysteries down to windage and heat haze. I’ll find a lookout.
Keep in touch on the Marion situation. I’m no grand believer in this space trip to Mars - couldn’t we just do to Earth what the rocket is meant to do the Big Red?
I’ve been working on a little companion app in my lonely moments. Might see if it bears fruit.
3 Likes
We go way back.
1 Like
Well, I am (IRL) going on a bit of an extended recce out into the desert for a few days.
I’ll let you know if there’s anything useful out Palm Springs way.
2 Likes
But…But you might miss the Epilogue to the Round Seven Prologue!
2 Likes
We should have a look at what me did manage to scavenge from the catacombs. Maybe I got something with velcro for you.
[quote=“Donald_Petersen, post:1, topic:25810”]
Channing trailed off as her eyes adjusted to the faint glow coming off what Balthar was staring at. A column of shoeboxes, three deep and six wide, rose up and up and up toward the vaulted ceiling until it was lost to sight.
-“…the hell’s that?” murmured Rideword.
-“Fleetwood’s sneaker collection,” said Cougar.
-“Didn’t he ever wear any of them?”
-“Never mind the shoes, we found his stash!”
-“No time to window-shop, kids,” growled Billy around an ancient stub of a cigar that had materialized between his teeth at some point. “Stuff your pockets quick and let’s go.”
Rideword began tossing full gas cans into the back of his Vanagon.
[…]
Everyone just threw whatever they were holding into their passenger seats and put their rides in gear.[/quote]
Fair warning, if one of the boxes has a pair of these babies inside I’m keeping them…
(for the uninitiated: Usavich - Wikipedia)
3 Likes
Attention, you most excellent Drivers!
I am, as always, utterly enamored with what you’ve been up to. Thank you again for your patience and tolerance. New missions being posted this very evening!
4 Likes
Bill was lost. He wasn’t fast enough to catch up with Junior or Channing, but he would not give up. Reverend Clank was his mentor, and Bill would die before he let Fleetwood torture and enslave him!
Bill’s TCB chirped, but something was wrong with the reception. Bill had known better than to try to apply the Major’s mod’s without instruction’s but he had tried anyway… And now his TCB was busted!
“Shit!” Bill said to his mutant mutt, Baby-Girl, “Now we’re really screwed! We cant catch up with the other’s, and we cant call for help…”
Bill sat back in his driver’s seat, feeling totally dejected. He fiddled with the TCB once more, but knew he was just making things worse…
Not sure what to do, he switched his engine off, and stepped out of the tow trucks cab, he made sure that his dog hopped out behind him before he slammed the old door shut again.
Bill paced around a bit, and watched as his dog squat down and took a crap as usual. Bill sighed heavily to himself, but faithfully got a plastic bag out of one of his trucks utility boxes, and walked over to pick up after his Pibble.
As soon as Bill picked up his emergency fuel supply, as he stood up, he couldn’t help but notice, an ancient cell phone tower. Chelsea’s little tantrum had rendered it useless, and the salt water had not been kind to it’s rusting super structure…
But Bill knew that this maybe his only chance! He tossed his dog back into the truck and jumped back behind the wheel of his Ford, and cautiously approached the tower.
After he determined that no Raiders or Super Mutants where lurking nearby, the grizzled old man quickly attached his winch hook to the locked gates which prevented unauthorized access to the cellco’s properties. Bill shifted his truck into reverse and engaged his winch and ripped the main gates off of the hinges on the fence posts!
Bill pulled into the small asphalt lot, and quickly located the main PBX box. With his pry bar Bill popped the lock and opened the panel, “What the hell is this mess?” Bill asked Baby-Girl, “Rrrooowwww…” the Pibble whines as she put both of her paws over her nose. “A lot of help you are…” Bill whines back at his dog.
Without any idea of what he was actually doing Bill made a last ditch attempt to get a TCB signal. He ran a patch wire between his TCB, in his trucks cab and the PBX box. For power he attached his jumper cables and grounded out against the superstructure of the cell tower.
“Here goes nothing Baby-Girl…” Bill said as he started his ignition, and flipped the power switch on his TCB control unit, “Fortune favors the bold…”
“This is Bill the BUM, this is Bill the BUM… Does anyone copy?”
4 Likes
Feedback thus far; I’ve found some holiday homes I apparently need to buy.
4 Likes
At long last, Round Seven Missions are posted. Very shortly Jane will be doling out scavenged goodies from the Paramount prop house and the Citadel catacombs.
There will be updates tomorrow as well
4 Likes
This topic was automatically closed after 1066 days. New replies are no longer allowed.
