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File 130355726361.jpg - (132.98KB , 900x675 , deathclawboxing.jpg ) [iqdb]
139959 No. 139959
Hey, new author here, with a very odd idea that I had. Hope you enjoy it... and stuff. Don’t worry, we’ll be off to Gensokyo soon enough. Pic unrelated.

----
Your heart is pounding as you stand at the gates of the scrapyard. The large sign had been vandalised long ago, and is now covered in indecipherable graffiti and smeared with blood. You stare up at the corpse hanging from the metal arch. The corpse is horribly mangled; his arms and legs are little more than meaty confetti, and whatever’s left of his face resembled something you’d throw onto a grill. A large, grizzled looking crow lands on the dead man’s shoulder, and cocks its head as it inspects the carrion. With a sickening slurping sound, the crow jabs its black beak once, twice, plucking the man’s eyeballs out.

You hurry past it, the smell and the sight driving you away. As you continue forwards, you see more and more examples of the Fiend’s handiwork, hanging from makeshift gallows. Most of them are adults, but you think you see a child’s body, once or twice. You’re not too sure because the stench, and the sight, keeps you away. You barely suppress the urge to throw up.

In your heart, you feel an intense, burning hate for these bastards. You didn’t just take this job because it would pay well; you feel that these inhuman monsters lost their right to existence a long time ago, and you're all too willing to usher them from this mortal coil.

In the dead of night, you crawl through the scrap and trash on your belly, weapon in hand. You can hear the gang of Fiends below you. Thankfully, you’re far enough from their camp so that you can’t actually smell them, to your eternal relief. You can hear them shouting amongst themselves, cursing and laughing in equal measures. They were about as noisy as one could be without firing their weapons in the air indiscriminately, making it all too easy to keep tabs on them as you move along.

As you creep your way through the piles of scrapped cars, you take care to make as little noise as possible. Whether the Fiends could even hear you from here is a moot point. You’ve waited too long for this opportunity to fuck it up, and you’re not leaving any room for any error.

The full moon gives you just enough light to see where you’re going, and you continue to maneuver your way through the junkyard, over derelict cars and through mounds of rusted piles of junk.

After a minute or so, you arrive to your first designated sniping position, in a gutted van atop a monstrous pile of junk. Anticipation grips your windpipe as you crawl into the small space, taking care to not move too much. You have no idea whether this place is stable enough, and although the idea of crushing the Fiends under a pile of junk appeals to you, you’d prefer to be alive at the end of it all.

You’ve given up so much for this one chance. The smell of rusty metal, so akin to blood, only heightens the excitement and fear you feel. Just as planned, there’s a gun case there, with a large box of ammunition nearby. A quick inspection reveals that the weapon you wanted is there, just as promised, not to mention some extra goodies. You silently thank your contact as you pick them up. Your supplier hasn’t failed you just yet.
---
What is the weapon that you requested beforehand, what is your sidearm, and what are the extra goodies he managed to get for you? Pick one from each category, please.

[ ] Anti-Materiel Rifle
[ ] Marksman Carbine
[ ] Silenced Sniper Rifle
[ ] Scoped Hunting Rifle with extended magazines
[ ] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[ ] Scoped AER9 Laser Rifle with focused optics
---
[ ] Silenced 10mm Pistol with laser sight
[ ] .357 Magnum Revolver
[ ] 9mm Pistol with extended magazines
[ ] 10mm SMG with recoil compensator
---
[ ] 5 Plasma Grenades
[ ] 3 blocks of C4 and a detonator
[ ] A 40mm grenade launcher with 6 HE rounds and 3 incendiary rounds

>> No. 139960
[x] Scoped Hunting Rifle with extended magazines
[x] 9mm Pistol with extended magazines
[x] 3 blocks of C4 and a detonator

>A Wastelander In Gensokyo
This name gives me a bad feeling. Well, we'll see.
>> No. 139962
[x] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[x] Silenced 10mm Pistol with laser sight
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades

This will never replace Fallout Gensokyo. ;_;
>> No. 139964
[x] Scoped Hunting Rifle with extended magazines
[x] 9mm Pistol with extended magazines
[x] 3 blocks of C4 and a detonator

He best be an extreme zealout youkai exterminator
>> No. 139965
[x] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[x] .357 Magnum Revolver
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades
Magnums man. Though I'm really fine with anything else.
>> No. 139969
File 130358405035.jpg - (188.82KB , 800x600 , touhoucp12.jpg ) [iqdb]
139969
[x] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[x] Silenced 10mm Pistol with laser sight
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades


Picture related, It's what you should be downloading taking screenshots and posting every update
>> No. 139970
[x] Scoped Hunting Rifle with extended magazines
[x] 9mm Pistol with extended magazines
[x] A 40mm grenade launcher with 6 HE rounds and 3 incendiary rounds

>>139962
It doesn't have to replace Fallout Gensokyo. The two stories read and feel differently enough already, aside from the one obvious similarity, that being they both involve Fallout.
>> No. 139973
[x] Marksman Carbine
[x] .357 Magnum Revolver
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades

Do you think this anon is actually the Courier or someone else like a merc or bounty hunter?
>> No. 139977
[x] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[x] Silenced 10mm Pistol with laser sight
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades

With a gauss rifle, we can do the most damage with each shot.

I have to ask though, is this a fusion like Fallout Gensokyo, or is it a more common crossover?
>> No. 139983
>>[X]Anti-Materiel Rifle
[X].357 Magnum Revolver
[x]5 Plasma Grenades
i remember taking out alpha and mother deathclaws with this puppy. ahh memories, almost makes me wanna fire up NV and make a new profile. almost.
>> No. 139984
File 130363763558.jpg - (28.47KB , 260x200 , prettyredmist.jpg ) [iqdb]
139984
>>139970
Pretty much this.
>>139960
Just you wait, man. Here's the update!

[x] Gauss Sniper Rifle
[x] Silenced 10mm Pistol with laser sight (It was this or the 9mm, I flipped a coin and got this.)
[x] 5 Plasma Grenades

You retrieve the hefty Gauss rifle from the case, the familiar weight of the weapon calming you somewhat. You look the weapon over once more, checking for any flaws in the mechanism. When you are satisfied, you reach into the ammunition box and pull out a small satchel full of MF cells, as well as an extensive repair kit full of scavenged parts. You whistle in surprise as you appraise the belt of plasma grenades. Those must have cost your supplier a pretty penny, and you appreciate the gift as you strap them on.

After one last quick check of the weapon, you insert a full MF cell into the rifle and raise it to your shoulder. Heaving the weighty weapon up, you brace it against the frame of the busted van’s window and aim down the telescopic sight.

Far below, you see a relatively large clearing in the rubble, leading to the Fiend’s campsite. From your vantage point, you can see the clustered forms of the raiders. You only see a single entry point in and out of the campsite, which you take note of. It looks like a good potential choke point.

There are around eighteen Fiends situated around a large campfire. You see a charred human corpse on a large spit, tended to by a bored-looking individual. He’s cutting pieces of meat off the body, and passing them around on chipped porcelain plates. Bile rises in your throat once more, and you fail to hold it in. You spit out a mouthful of a thin, yellow, vile tasting liquid. Your throat burns, and you fumble for your canteen. The taste still lingers in your mouth even as you wash it away with the lukewarm water from your canteen.

You move the scope along quickly, and scan the rest of the camp. Most of the other Fiends are sprawled out on the ground or in makeshift tents, passed out from celebrating their last raid. However, you do see a few still shooting up Jet or other drugs. Others are eating... as to exactly what they’re eating, you don’t want to think too much about that. Only a few seem to be actively guarding the camp, but most of them are distracted by drink, needles or women to bother with their jobs.

In typical raider fashion, you see that while all of them are armed with firearms (you do see that some wield energy weapons or grenade launchers, though), they look shabbily maintained.

What they lack in quality, the Fiends compensate with quantity. Aside from the weapons they have on hand, it looks like they have looted several small towns to make a rather large stockpile, piled up in one corner of the camp.

What do you do? You may detail a specific plan of action, if you wish to.
[ ] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.
[ ] Act now! Those bastards have run from justice long enough, and you don’t think you can stand waiting when they’re right there. They’re already off guard, and you can take them from here.
>> No. 139986
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

While they are partying and stuff, they still have some awareness and would react faster to being attacked, than when they're all sleeping. Considering they're drinking and shooting up with drugs, it'll be harder for them to wake up and react.
>> No. 139987
[x] Act now! Those bastards have run from justice long enough, and you don’t think you can stand waiting when they’re right there. They’re already off guard, and you can take them from here.

They are sure to set up perimeter guards while sleeping. This is our chance to get the drop on them. Who would expect someone to open fire on an alert camp?
>> No. 139988
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

Just a bit longer. Justice is at hand.
>> No. 139992
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.


We don't happen to have the Sandman perk do we?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg1D8JeAouA

I'm gonna watch the update with Mr. Sandman if we do...Is there something wrong if you enjoy killing people with that music?
>> No. 139994
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

These are Fiends we're talking about. What guards they do post will probably be easy pickings or too strung out to notice their fellows going down.
>> No. 139998
I'm going to doubt we have any experience fighting Fiends, based on the characters reaction. Then again, Anyone would puke at the site of that. But until then,
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

If possible, Can we knife them instead of shooting them? Less noise after all.
>> No. 140009
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.
>> No. 140012
>>140004
>The Headless Spy

Knock it the fuck off. You do not require a name to post around here, and the only purpose it serves is to show the other users how much of a cunt you are. Drop that shit.
>> No. 140023
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.
>> No. 140025
[X] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

First you kill 'em, then you loot them.
>> No. 140049
File 130379800957.png - (19.90KB , 210x210 , Mister_Sandman.png ) [iqdb]
140049
Hey guys, update tiem! Sorry about the delay; I was busy saving SCIENCE with GLaDOS.
---
[x] Wait until they’re all asleep, and then fill them with bullets. You’ve waited so long that a few more hours won’t kill you. Besides, it doesn’t look like it will be too long before they all fall asleep.

You set the Gauss Rifle down, leaning it against the walls of the van. The gang of Fiends already look fatigued; just wait a few more hours and you can kill them in their sleep. You’ve been

You settle down in the rusty insides of the van, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible. It’s rather hard to do; you’re aware of every little sound you make as you stay inside the vehicle.

While your Gauss Rifle is far from quiet, you have a 10mm pistol that you think will do the trick. You pull out the pistol in question, and search the weapon for any flaws. This particular pistol has been yours for years; it was your first weapon, given to you by your father.

Reaching into your pack, you pull out a small metal case. It's battered and beaten, the white print almost illegible in the near darkness. You can barely make out the label proclaiming it to be a product of the Gun Runners. Popping it open, you remove the silencer and the laser sight from the Styrofoam packaging. A few seconds later, your trusty sidearm is now ready for such a risky operation like this one.

From your boot, you produce another weapon ideal for the task at hand. The eight-inch blade of your combat knife glints in the dying light of the fire. You’ve had to do plenty of close-quarters work in your job, and you wouldn’t trade this knife away for a million caps.

Outside, the sounds of the partying Fiends slowly dies down as time passes by. The roaring campfire begins to die down as well, shrouding everything in an inky black sheet.

Peering through your binoculars, you see that most of them are either passed out, asleep or about to fall asleep. You only see three people that are still active enough to present an immediate threat.

Through your binoculars, you see a single man sitting at the entrance to the encampment, some ways away from everyone else. He’s sitting on a lawn chair, staring into the darkness outside the camp. He’s the only guard still awake; the others have either shacked up with their comrades in the tents, or have fallen asleep at their posts. This particular guard is a jumpy little man who keeps on fiddling with the rifle cradled in his arms. He’s short, skinny and he looks rather timid for a Fiend. If you want to get into the camp undetected, you’ll have to deal with him quickly.

Deeper in the camp, you see one Fiend still shooting up by the tents. He’s half-insane, staring out at the world with his enormous eyes and stabbing himself over and over with a rusty-looking syringe. After a moment, he stands up, and starts to dance frantically to music only he can hear. You see plenty of grenades strapped on his person. You’d like to take him out, and quickly. Even though you see a world of opportunities for friendly fire, those are a lot of explosives he has on him.

The last man awake is a beefy individual sitting by the dying fire, tending it. He tosses more scrap wood onto the heap. When it looks like he’s satisfied, he sits back down on the bench, and retrieves a particularly large weapon from a nearby pile.

You whistle to yourself when you see the Gatling Laser in his arms. It seems that this particular marauder is no novice with the weapon as well. You can easily tell from the way he meticulously maintains the weapon, unlike the vast majority of his compatriots. It looks like this particular raider didn’t drink as much as his comrades. He looks like the biggest immediate threat to your plans at the moment.

After ten minutes or so, you decide that you’ve waited long enough. You leave the van, taking your Gauss Rifle with you.

The path down to the clearing takes another thirty minutes or so, and you take a route that is, by your estimates, the least likely to cause undue amounts of noise. The trade off, though, is the fact that the journey takes a lot longer than what you’d normally expect from yourself. Luckily, you manage to end up near the entrance of the clearing.

You crouch behind what appears to be a half-dismantled bus and set down your Gauss Rifle. It’s too hefty to carry around, but you want it close by, just in case. You grip your sidearm tightly, and mentally steel yourself. You can see the lone guard from here. He’s drowsier now and has stopped fidgeting, mostly. He still grips his rifle tightly as he stares into the dark, scanning for any intruders.

You look around, searching for something to distract the guard. A moment later, your hand closes around an old, dented tin can, and you smile. It’s perfect.

Pistol in one hand, tin can in the other, you stand. Cocking your arm, you hurl the tin can as the Fiend crouches down to fix his boot laces. It lands exactly where you wanted it; in the chassis of a burnt out Corvega. As it rattles around the inside of the empty reactor housing, the Fiend jumps up as if stung. He quickly grabs his rifle, and looks warily in the direction of your thrown tin can.

“Hello... Is anyone there?” For a moment, you wonder how such a cowardly person ever became a Fiend. “Who’s there?” he repeats, lifting up his rifle.

The blood roars in your head as you shuffle away from your hiding place, your pistol aimed at the back of his head, so loud that you can’t understand why no one else can hear it. Just a few more steps...

“Huh. Must’ve been my—” He’s interrupted as your JHP 10mm round slams into the back of his head and sends dozens of tiny fragments bouncing around the inside of your skull. His rifle clatters to the ground. Before he hits the ground, you sprint forwards, and catch him.

He smells of sweat and fear and blood. His blood leaks out onto your clothes, and you quickly drag him away, and drop him behind a small heap of scrap. One down, seventeen to go.

---
What’s your next move? Write ins only, please. I want to see what /you/ guys want. This is a CYOA, after all.
>> No. 140050
>You’ve been

ARGH DISREGARD THAT FRAGMENT THAT I SUCK COCKS

If you anons see any other errors, could you point them out please?
>> No. 140051
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.

We don't want to overestimate ourselves. Let's just be diligent and strike when the time is right.
>> No. 140052
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.

Also,

>sends dozens of tiny fragments bouncing around the inside of your skull

Found another one.
>> No. 140054
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.
-[x] Take care not to spook the fucker with the Gatling Laser.
>> No. 140058
[x] Two bullets, two kills. Take out gatling laser and the dancing lunatic while they are still unaware.

We just need to kill those last two guys, and we are set. We can loot the grenades from the crazy guy, and chuck them all into the tents. Job finished at that point.
>> No. 140069
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.

Woohoo lets fucking do this shit
>> No. 140072
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.

Soon, all the Fiends will be put to sleep... Permanently.
>> No. 140199
File 130396207813.jpg - (34.01KB , 564x268 , Haleythecommunist.jpg ) [iqdb]
140199
[x] Take your time. Patience and perseverance will win this fight. Take them out slowly and one by one.

Leaving the body of the guard behind you, you return to the entrance of the camp. It seems that the Fiend’s death went unnoticed by his fellows, thankfully. You take this opportunity to retrieve your Gauss Rifle, securing it to your back. It might be unwieldy, but you’re not going to be caught out in their camp without your trump card.

You slink back towards the entrance, pistol at the ready. As you enter the camp, you detect an abhorrent odor. It is reminiscent of human waste and fetid meat, with the acrid smell of chemicals. Knowing the Fiends, it’s nothing pleasant.

The entrance to the Fiend’s camp has a rather well-made barricade that’s in the way. It’s made of several large cars welded together to form a wall, with plenty of firing positions and cover for any defenders.

You see some heavy weaponry mounted on tripods, but fortunately for you there’s no one manning them. You count two LMGs—probably taken from an NCR outpost— and a single grenade machine gun.

For a moment, you wonder where in the hell did they manage to get one of those monsters, but you decide not to entertain that train of thought at this exact moment.

This camp is situated right smack dab in the middle of Deathclaw country, so it makes some sense for them to have such a powerful gun in their arsenal.

You scramble over the barricade with ease, keeping one eye on the campfire as you move along. It seems that Mr. Gatling Laser has decided to take a nap, and the dancing freak is still... dancing, but he’s on the far side of camp.

Knife in one hand, silenced pistol in the other, you move towards the nearest of the large, off-white tents. As you enter, you see three sleeping forms. The thick pungent odor of mingled sweat and urine feels like an oppressive blanket, almost bringing tears to your eyes.

Your first victim is a woman, around your age, nestled in a makeshift bed. She’s curled up on the ground in a sleeping bag, muttering something in her sleep. Your plunge your combat knife into her throat, severing her carotid artery.

Blood gushes from the wound, and her shout of surprise is cut short as you cut through her vocal chords.

You stab again and again, and in moments she’s dead. Her sleeping bag is soaked with her blood, which seeps onto your clothes.

You can’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for the woman as you stand over her corpse; you certainly wouldn’t want to die in the way she just did, assaulted in the night by a man with a sharp knife...

Then, the image of the mangled corpses hanging from their makeshift gallows flashes in your mind, and you remember why you’re here.

The other two sleepers are dispatched without incident, and the first tent is done with. Wiping your knife clean, you cut into the thick canvas of the tent.

You see the next tent, a couple of meters away. You freeze as you hear someone coming in your direction.

A Fiend stumbles past the hole you just made, oblivious to your presence. You can practically smell the Med-X on him. He nearly trips over a half-buried piece of rebar and stops at the foot of a scrap pile.

You hear him unzip his fly, only a few meters from your position. You hold your breath, and thank God that he’s probably too high to notice you right behind him. A stream of yellow urine patters against the scrap, and the Fiend whistles tunelessly.

Before he can finish, you send three shots into his brain. He drops like a stone. You quickly move to the next tent, slipping past the flap.

It turns out that this particular tent is an armory and ammo dump; there are dozens of large crates, all sorted and labeled, albeit with clumsy, almost childish, handwritten notes. Here and there, you see partially disassembled weapons on tables or in boxes.

The tent’s single occupant is a portly Fiend slumped in a chair on the far side of the tent. Luckily, he’s facing away from you. He’s covered in grease and grime, and you see an assortment of tools on his belt. He must be their gunsmith, you think. He continues snore loudly, innocently unaware of your presence.

You slit his throat, catching him as he slides from his chair, and shoot him in the head for good measure. As his blood pools around his head, you take a quick look around, and find a crate labeled “10mm”.

Popping it open, you see that the Fiends were kind enough to put a lot of the shells in magazines already. Afterwards, you reload your pistol and pull out a couple of magazines labeled “JHP” from the crate, stowing them amongst your other magazines. It’s not like the Fiends’ll need them for much longer, anyways.

You turn back to the armory, picking over the various weapons, and snatch up half a dozen fully charged MF cells, stowing them in your backpack.

After a while, your interest wanes and you almost leave the tent, but your interest is sparked anew by the discovery of a large stash of a dozen high-velocity missiles, a dozen frag grenades as well as a bundle of TNT, rigged to a timer.

Smiling wickedly, you grab one of the bombs, and turn the handle of the egg timer for 10 minutes. That should be enough, you decide.

Suddenly, you hear someone walking towards the tent.

You manage to duck behind a set of lockers just as the Fiend walks in. He squints in the gloom of the unlit tent, tentatively taking a step forwards.

“Mick! Mick, where the fuck are you, dude? We gotta go, man, there’s a fuckload of Deathclaw—” He stops, gawking open mouthed at the fat Fiend’s corpse.

You take advantage of the raider’s shock and step out from behind the lockers, shooting him. The JHP rounds sink into his chest and head, splattering the canvas behind him with blood. You manage to catch him before he falls backwards onto a table laden with ammo.

Did that man say Deathclaws? Your blood runs cold at the implications. You’ve never actually seen one of the fabled monsters, but you’ve heard the stories.

You wonder for a moment what might be drawing them to this dump. It must be the bodies, you think. In the tales, Deathclaws never seemed to eat dead meat, but they were always attracted by the smell of blood. They’d swarm over fresh blood—and fresh meat— like NCR troopers on furlough to Gomorrah.

“Fuck fucking fuckity fuck.” Your litany of curses continues. What will you do now, now that you’ve rigged a bomb that will most certainly take out most, if not all, of the Fiends? (and you, if you’re still around if it goes off?) Besides, it doesn’t look like your presence will be unknown for much longer; that other Fiend looked like he was in a hurry to get back to his boss...

PICK ONE, MIGHTY ANONS
[ ]RUN LIKE FUCK
[ ]WE FIGHT
>> No. 140200
[x]RUN LIKE FUCK

Sounds like we're outnumbered by the beasts. And judging by how it's implied that a machine grenade launcher is needed for those things, we'd better get the hell out. What, a gauss rifle against a horde? No way.
>> No. 140205
[x] RUN LIKE FUCK

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
>> No. 140207
[x]RUN LIKE FUCK

There's no choice! We can't fight both Fiends and deathclaws at once. Check weapons and ammo, and make a run for it now before it's too late!!
>> No. 140208
[X]RUN LIKE FUCK

At least a horde of youkai would make conversation and kill you quickly.

Plus, we aren't crazy enough to try the topic pic. Maybe if it was just one, but not a horde.
>> No. 140209
>>140208
>At least a horde of youkai would make conversation
*goes to Fallout wiki*
>Although they do not have vocal cords, they can growl and shout, and seem to be able to mimic human speech much the same as a parrot does. However, normal deathclaws aren't intelligent enough to be capable of real speech.

Fuuuck.
>> No. 140210
[X]RUN LIKE FUCK
>>140209
Makes me wish we could see the intelligent Deathclaws in Fallout 2 again. Weren't they about as smart as an 8-year old human?
>> No. 140211
>Makes me wish we could see the intelligent Deathclaws in Fallout 2 again.

Ho ho ho.

Anyways, calling votes, writing update now.
>> No. 140226
[X]RUN LIKE FUCK
SYMBOLIC VOTE
>> No. 140246
You know I have to wonder about>>140209. In another story on this board, there is a distinction between youkai that have taken on a more human form and those who are still "beastial". It said that youkai who have a human form have traded sheer toughness for intelligence, whereas those youkai that are still like beasts/animals, while not able to speak except in roars and such, are immensely tough. Are most youkai in Gensokyo in a more human form, or is there an implication that many youkai are still super-smart beasts?
>> No. 140249
>>140246
In the canon and historically most Youkai were sprititual beings, ergo physical form didn't really mean all that much. They could pick and choose how they looked for the fuck of it.

At that within Touhou one of the more crucial points to how strong a character is happens to be age, it stands to reason that as a youkai grows older they get smarter, and when they smarten up a bit they may change to a human form to blend in a bit.
>> No. 140257
>>140249
Hey why exactly is the term "youkai" always translated into "demon"? From what I've read on them, they seem more like monsters, than demons.
>> No. 140267
>>140257
It's sort of a different set of ideals I suppose. I think of it like this:

Monsters are physical beings typically with greater strength and bestial qualities.
Demons are spiritual creatures that prey on the soul, using magic and trickery.

Youkai aren't universally evil like demons, but in terms of how they apply their power, they're more demonlike in that they use magic more often than not.
At that, monsters are usually mindless killing machines, which isn't true in a lot of cases for Youkai.
>> No. 140278
>>140257
>Hey why exactly is the term "youkai" always translated into "demon"? From what I've read on them, they seem more like monsters, than demons.

That's why most translated materials pertaining to Touhou don't translate youkai at all. I think the term 'demon' is reserved for '魔界人' in the context of the setting.
>> No. 140287
>>140267
Actually Youkai are closest to Faery in British Isles based western tradition. Old, scary, benevolent and malevolent at the same time, often human-eating for lesser breeds...

PS. Though just about every second mythology have lower (and higher) spirits/monsters/minor deities like that... which also quite well translate as Faerie or (Un)Seelie in English or Celtic languages.
>> No. 140310
>>140287
English mythology (as opposed to British) is more Germanic then Celtic but your point stands.
>> No. 140312
>>140287
That's a fair point, but I was thinking in more modern terms.
>> No. 140318
File 130409882532.jpg - (15.71KB , 300x355 , yukariazazel.jpg ) [iqdb]
140318
>>140312
Modern mythology has no place for the harmless unknown on earth. Magic is too-well defined, probed and prodded and ripped to pieces by inquisitive folk asking questions no matter what type it is. There are so very few places that humans dare not tread; from the tips of the planet to the peaks and beyond to the very depths of the ocean. And even within the very core of the planet lies nothing but searing, unimaginably hot magma which leaves nothing fantastical.

This new order leaves no room for the old fae, the mystical and mythical. All that remains is the alien from space, and the horrors from the subconscious, that does nothing but bite and tear and torture and kill.

I don't think there's really any modern words for that kind of thing.. "supernatural creature" would probably fit, but it just doesn't get across the same sort of connotation as the Fae Folk or (Un)Seelie. Monsters have some of it there.
>> No. 140328
>>140310
More like mix of pagan Scandinavian/Germanic one (they have same root and both participated, one from Anglo-Saxons, other from viking settlement of Normandy and colonists/conquerors on British Isles from Scandinavia) with Celtic. And it's not like all that Alves, Trolls and Co don't fall into exactly same niche.
>> No. 140329
>>140318
This post was worded in the best possible way. Though, as much as I would like to hear more about folklore (trust me I do I'm a giant nut about these things), We are straying a bit far from the topic, correct?
>> No. 140336
>>140329
There is absolutely no wrong time for learning, my friend. It was discussions like these that made the "Knight in Gensokyo" threads lively.
>> No. 140340
>>140328
If you look back, Scandanavians and northern Germans (such as Saxons) have the same roots in their mythologys.

The english language quite obviously has heavy roots in German (which is still the closest language to English) and Norse - which can be seen in the days of the week.

Beowulf is a Saxon tale but is quite clearly based in Denmark.

If I recall correctly, trolls, giants, dragons etc are more of a German/Norse then than Celtic.

Though there is a theory that most of the ancient european mythologies have a common root from one proto-mythology.
>> No. 140347
File 130414858043.jpg - (13.81KB , 300x232 , deathclaw_fo3.jpg ) [iqdb]
140347
Sorry about the delay, guys. Meatspace sucks big time. As always, hope you like it, call me out on my BS, etc etc.

Enough of that shit, here's the update!
---
[x]RUN LIKE FUCK
[x] Weapons?
---
Weapons:
1 Gauss Rifle (1/55)
1 10mm Silenced Pistol w/ Laser Sight (12/72)
1 Combat Knife
5 Plasma Grenades
---

It’s time to get the fuck out of here. As much as you’d like to kill these fucks, it seems like those Deathclaws would be more than willing to take them off your hands for you.

And then there’s your bomb, of course.

You make another hole in the tent, leaving through the back. As you do so, you hear the camp come alive as the Fiends prepare to meet the Deathclaw threat.

You hear the myriad curses of the still living Fiends as they scramble to their positions. Over the hubbub, you hear a loud voice, presumably Mr. Gatling Laser, directing his underlings.

“Jonesy, get on the ‘nade gun! Biff, Marcello, make sure he gets there. Those fucking abominations will be here in no time!”

Even now, the drug addled raiders don’t even consider retreat. You’re not sure whether they’re being courageous, or just plain stupid.

“Right-o, boss!” The chorus of replies surprises you as well. These guys seem to be a rather organized bunch of Fiends.

You decide that it would be best if you just disappear, and fast. The bomb’ll take care of them soon enough. If the bomb doesn’t, those Deathclaws certainly will.

You slowly make your way through the camp, your heart racing. The Fiends are all crowded around the various makeshift armories strewn across the camp, retrieving their weapons.

“Oh, fuck! Someone killed our guys!” You stop as you hear the surprised shout of one of the raiders, rushing out of one the tent where you planted your bomb. “Boss, we’ve got company!”

Shit. Now, you highly doubt your escape will go as planned. Well, it’s not like you were exactly optimistic about your chances in the first place.

You abandon the notion of stealth entirely, and dash towards the entrance of the camp, Gauss Rifle at the ready.

Rather predictably, you are found in a matter of seconds.

“Found him! He’s over here!” You stop in your tracks, spin around, and instinctively drop into a crouch. The man who spotted you, a swarthy individual with a submachine gun, raises his weapon.

In one swift movement, without even the slightest thought, you raise the Gauss Rifle, aim it at the Fiend, and pull the trigger.

The world seems to slows down as you hear the mechanical ‘click’ of the rifle as the trigger is depressed.

The butt of the rifle slams into your shoulder, sending the bullet on its lethal and short-lived flight.

The deep-throated roar of the Gauss Rifle heralds the 2mm round’s deadly flight. The man’s head is vaporized in a flash.

Bits of bone and brain and meat go flying all over the place. His helmet, crowned by that stupid bighorner skull they all seem to wear, goes flying.

The bullets begin to fly before he even hits the ground.

You duck down behind a gutted car, listening to the orchestra of bullets pinging off metal and thudding into the earth.

The smell of cordite and superheated plasma fills the air. The Fiends spew the most vile language that you’ve ever heard, although half of what they say is incomprehensible, their words muffled by gunfire or by sheer rage.

You’re around a dozen meters or so from the exit, but that’s too damn far. You’d be holier than Jesus if you took so much as a single step away from cover.

You’ve got only so much time left before the bomb goes off, or the Deathclaws arrive. A cold feeling seeps into your stomach. Are you going to die here?

Well, if you are, you’re not going to go down without killing as many of these fucks as you can.

You grab a Plasma Grenade from your belt, and press the button. After a second or so, you lob it behind you, towards where most of the gunfire is coming from.

An instant later, you hear the immensely satisfying explosion, not to mention the death cries of some of the Fiends.

The gunfire continues unabated, and so does the choir of Fiends spewing out their foul language.

Suddenly, you hear a deep, ululating roar that cuts through the crescendo of gunfire like a hot knife through butter. After a moment, you hear another, and another.

You’ve never heard such howls in your life. A primal urge to shit yourself and run the fuck away rises, but you somehow manage to stay behind the car.

Maybe it’s because of the more immediate danger of becoming Swiss cheese that compels you to stay where you are.

The leader of this small pack of Fiends shouts orders to his men. While some of them leave, presumably to use the big guns out front, the others are left to deal with you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see four men scurry off. The others continue to fire upon you.

You move into a better position, lift your rifle, aim and—

A rifle round, arcing right through the already weakened metal of the car, punches right into your left shoulder. It feels as if God Himself jabbed His finger at and through you.

The adrenaline prevents you from feeling much of the pain, but it’s the sudden numbness in your shoulder, not to mention the rest of your arm, that gets you.

Your Gauss Rifle clatters to the ground, slipping from your numb fingers.

You slump against the car and slide to the ground, faintly aware of the blood flowing freely from your shoulder.

After a few moments, you decide that doing something about that wound would be in your best interests.

”Fucking hell.” You manage to mutter. With your left hand, you try to reach your belt pouch, trying to pull out one of your stimpak. After a minute or two, you finally succeed. The thin metal cylinder is cool to the touch.

You jab the syringe as close to your wound as you can. It’ll be a bitch to have the round removed later, but there’ll be time for that stuff later.

As the medicine works its magic, you try to retrieve your Gauss rifle, and manage to drag it to your feet.

You note that the Fiends have stopped firing on you and are preoccupied with other matters. In this case, it happens to be several Deathclaws.

“Oh sweet Jesus what the fu—” One of the Fiends is silenced, his curse cut short by an unearthly sounding growl and a shriek.

“FUCK YOU, YOU STUPIaaarrrrrg—” Another goes down. The rest of the Fiends are dispatched quickly as well.

The loud roar of the big guns is silenced as well; you wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the only living thing left in the camp.

A small voice in your head tells you should start running.

You obey it, and stumble to your feet.

Your left arm has stopped bleeding, but you can’t feel or move it. It flops around uselessly as you barely manage to scoop up the Gauss Rifle, and clumsily sling it on your back.

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can see the last few Fiends running for their lives, into the tents, past the campfire, anywhere to get away from the monsters.

You don’t bother with pursuing them; by the looks of it, their life expectancy could be measured in minutes.

The others are spilt all over the camp grounds, their viscera scattered around like confetti.

In the distance, you see the long passageway leading to the barricade. You hear something behind you, the heavy footfalls and labored breathing of some great beast.

Some primal instinct, borne from millions of years of evolution, suddenly tells you to duck, and you obey it, dropping to the ground. The Deathclaw leaps over you, nearly clipping the back of your head.

You quickly scramble to your feet, nearly trip over a mangled corpse, and almost run headlong into the Deathclaw’s chest.

Your heart almost stops as you behold the mutants. Ten feet of pure corded muscle and killing intent stand before you, with nothing but hunger on its mind.

Its hide is marred by scratches and bullet holes, and its thick blood oozes from a dozen wounds.

Despite its ragged appearance, the Deathclaw seems to be no worse for wear.

For a moment, the two of you stare at each other, one frozen by fear, the other simply waiting.

The Deathclaw breaks its stare first. It raises one clawed hand, and lashes out at you.

The beast’s razor-sharp talons easily pass through the thick fabric of your jacket, and into your waiting flesh.

Pain, the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your entire twenty-something years on Earth, tears through your side.

A scream is torn from your throat, and the world becomes a hazy red. The force from the blow hurls you to the ground.

Your mind blanks from all the pain, and all you can hear is a shrill ringing. You can’t think of anything but the agonizing waves of pain arcing through your body. The Deathclaw stands over you, saliva dripping from its toothy maw.

The Deathclaw leans over you, bowing its neck as if to get a better look.

Its breath smells of blood and fresh meat, and its saliva, a thick, mucous-like abhorrence, drips onto your chest.

Your fingers scrabble uselessly at the holster of your pistol. Your other arm is completely unresponsive. Your heart is beating so fast you’d think it would have leapt from your chest long ago. But it still remains, bruising itself against your ribcage.

The Deathclaw leans in, its sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. You’re only faintly aware of a deep, terrible roaring sound, and it’s definitely not the Deathclaw.

The beast also looks curious; it jerks its head from left to right, searching for the source of the sound.

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see... a woman? Yes, a blond woman, wearing a dress and holding a parasol. She cocks her head, and smiles. In your adrenaline-influenced state, you wonder about her for a moment.

But when you turn your head to face her, she isn’t there. Under normal circumstances, you would have normally pursued that train of thought, but you have more important things to take care of at the moment.

After a few moments, your attention is drawn back to the Deathclaw. The beast finds the temptation of fresh meat too irresistible, so it ignores the noise and moves toward you again.

Your hand still fumbling with the pistol, the Deathclaw leans in, toothy maw glinting...

The world suddenly goes dark. It’s like someone flicked a switch off in your head; just like that, all your frenzied anger and panic and pain simply vanish.

Although you can’t see yourself, you feel... warm. Comfortable. Content, even.

After a moment, you realize you can’t even feel your body, aside from a general feeling of warmth.

You know all of this, from the disembodiment to the overall feeling of serenity, is terribly strange, but you just can’t seem to give a damn. After a moment, you drowse off. It’s not like there’s much else you can do in your current... state.

“Ah, a newcomer?” You are jolted out of your nap when you hear a voice. “Well, that’s odd. It’s a human... You must be that one I saw earlier, no?”

The voice sounds human enough, but it’s—she’s would be proper, as it seems to be a woman’s voice— genuinely surprised.

You’re still in this... state of body-less-ness, or whatever one would normally call it, so you can’t even tell who—or what —is speaking, much less answer. You try to say something, anything, but it seems that you can’t control your body... if you even have a body anymore. Are you dead?

“Don’t worry, human. You’re not dead. Not yet anyways.” The woman’s voice chuckled as you strung together a series of unspoken curses and exclamations. She could read minds too?

“You’re just... not all there yet.” The woman’s voice continued. “The transition from your home dimension to mine was a bit faulty, to say the least. Whatever caused that spatial rift that sent you here almost separated your body from your soul. You’re lucky to be alive, human. You’ve certainly come a long way from home.”

Most of the words fly right over you, but you can’t help but wonder at the implications. It’s like something out of those cheesy Pre-War comics you used to read when you were eight. All it needed now was an army of goofy-looking space aliens with phasers and you’d be set.

“Well, whoever you are... welcome to Gensokyo. I’ll see you soon, Outsider~”

With those words, you are aware of a sudden and intense pain. You can feel your body again— and all the baggage that came with it.

---
Pick one from both categories, please.
[ ]Hot
[ ]Lukewarm
[ ]Cold
--
[ ]Wet
[ ]Damp
[ ]Dry

---
Whew! That took a while to finish up. Hope you guys are enjoying the adventure so far. Now, it's Gensokyo tiem!
>> No. 140348
Also, could you please suggest a name for our hero?

Something short and generic (like John Smith) would be nice... and stuff.
>> No. 140358
Theodor (Ted) Arlington
>> No. 140359
PS.
[X]Cold
[X]Wet
>> No. 140361
[x]Cold
[x]Wet
-[x]Exit lake

Theodore sounds good.
>> No. 140366
[x]Cold
[x]Wet

Theodore is cool.
>> No. 140367
[x]Cold
[x]Dry
[x]Name=West

That deathclaw came through the rift with us. You heard it here first, folks.
>> No. 140368
[x] Hot
[x] Damp
[x] Theodore

>>140367
Deathclaw touhou? I second this notion.
>> No. 140369
[x] Cold
[x] Wet
[x] Theodore
>> No. 140375
[X]Hot
[x]Dry
[x] Theodore

Picked hot and dry due to not wanting to get sick.

As for Gensokyo, considering how often the Outside world is talked about, has this guy literally been sent to another universe from the Fallout verse? In Fallout, I doubt Japan escaped unscathed. It'd probably be a nuclear blasted wasteland, like much of the world is. Also considering many outsiders in Gensokyo arrive with cellphones, it can't be located in the Fallout verse because electronics never became that small.
>> No. 140376
[X]Hot
[x]Dry
[x]Theodore
>> No. 140377
[X]Hot
[x]Damp
[x]Theodore "Ted" Mason
>> No. 140378
Let's not forget about last names. By the way, what are we wearing this whole time? Combat armor? One of the Merc outfits? What?

[X]Hot
[x]Dry
[x]Theodore "Ted" Mason
>> No. 140380
[X]Hot
[x]Dry
[x]Nicholas Conagher
>> No. 140381
>>140378
I'd assume some form of very basic armor, prolly nothing too flashy.

[X]Cold
[x]Damp
[x]HERBERT MOON
>> No. 140382
[x] Hot
[x] Dry
[x] Theodore
>> No. 140388
>>140381
Wouldn't he wear Reinforced Mark 2 Combat armor?
>> No. 140390
>>140381
I was thinking he was wearing the merc adventure outfit, because that is usually my Courier character's clothes when trekking around the Mojave Wastes.

Anyway... Good bye, Mojave Wasteland. Hello, Gensokyo.
>> No. 140392
Also what are the stats, perks, and level of the MC?
>> No. 140394
Level 16 Strider of the Wastes
Traits:
Trigger Discipline (lower firing rate, higher accuracy)
Small Frame (+1 Agility, +25% limb damage)
S: 5
P: 7
E: 6
C: 4
I: 6
A: 8
L: 5
Tag Skills: Guns, Sneak, Repair (Imagine this is some crazy parallel world where a Gauss Rifle uses Guns instead of Energy weapons, like it should...)
Perks:
Level 2: Hunter
Level 4: Educated
Level 6: Travel Light
Level 8: Commando
Level 10: Mr. Sandman
Level 12: Sniper
Level 14: Center of Mass
Level 16: Better Criticals

I'm too lazy to calculate his exact skill levels, so yeah.

Writing update now.
>> No. 140395
Change hunter to Intense Training (Agility), and that's his character sheet.
>> No. 140396
Hmmm hope we can find some way to increase his charisma a good bit. Maybe a worthless stat in some Fallouts but I always did have fun with it. Are we gonna be able to increase our stats through the use of special events, perks, level up (well this one is certain) and Bobbleheads?
>> No. 140404
>>140394
>Imagine this is some crazy parallel world where a Gauss Rifle uses Guns instead of Energy weapons, like it should
Right, so fallout 1-2 instead of 3.
But no, wait, your feats are for NV aaargh my fragile mind it breaks
>> No. 140407
Hell no. It's just an abstraction of his skills and latent abilities, a way to help readers gauge what he could or couldn't do.

Besides, picking up a bobblehead to become smarter/stronger/luckier is rather stupid, when you think about it.
>> No. 140412
File 130424816481.png - (381.19KB , 929x270 , koishiwhackrsatorifallout.png ) [iqdb]
140412
>>140407
Clearly you do not know of the arcane power that surges through these "head of bobble" artifacts that you speak of, changing your fate itself!

etc
>> No. 140414
Oh my god where did you get that. Also, translation?
>> No. 140429
I wonder where in Gensokyo will the MC end up exactly...?

>>140412

Cool and funny pic by the way. :)
>> No. 140433
>>140429
>:)

No. Get back to gaia with your shitty emoticons.
>> No. 140434
>>140429

Hmm, I dont know, What are the closest places to the border?
I'm seriously going to shit brix if MC lands in the fucking underground.
>> No. 140449
Was this guy ever The Courier?
>> No. 140452
I was kind of worried that this was going to suck, but it seems like it might kinda maybe could be okay. I was really, really hoping for some kind of Gensokyo/Mojave integration much like Fallout Writefag so masterfully pulled off. Oh well.

>>140412
...You are going to keep writing, right?
Please?

>>140449
Good question. It doesn't seem like it, though.

>>140433
Seconded. Read >>/gensokyo/6052 before you ever post on this site again.
>> No. 140500
>>140452
I don't think "bobbleheadquest" would prove popular or appropriate to this site, so, probably won't keep writing, no.
>> No. 140507
>>140500
That whole "use bobbleheads to make all your SPECIAL stats go to 10" is only in Fallout 3. Still I wonder how bad of a Gary Stu would our hero be, if all his SPECIAL stats increased to 10?
>> No. 140517
>>140507
I would think SPECIAL stats wouldn't mean much in gensokyo. After all, We'd only have oh so much ammo to hold us over, and the fact that Magic > most guns means that, well, We can barely outclass a normal woodcutter in the village.

that or VATS SPAM OLOLOLOLO
>> No. 140528
>>140517
So things like "Luck" or "Agility" or etc. do not have any bearing on someone when they're in Gensokyo?
>> No. 140541
File 130442522488.jpg - (92.35KB , 384x382 , PMiSS_bambooforest.jpg ) [iqdb]
140541
[x] Cold (That’s what had the most votes when I started writing the update.)
[x] Wet (Ditto)
[x]Theodore “Ted” Mason (Nice name! As for the Herbert Moon thing... maybe when we need an alias, eh? eh?!)
---

A peal of thunder crashes through the fog clouding your mind. You are further pulled out of sleep by the deluge of water pouring over you, icy water that chills you to the bone. Despite these jarring changes, you find the agonizing pain more pressing than the strange shift in weather.

Your shoulder feels like it’s on fire, and your side fares no better. You also feel a dozen scrapes and bruises you sure weren’t there before.

You open your eyes and sit up. You are promptly greeted by one of the strangest sights you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

All you can see, aside from the thick curtains of rain, is a forest of these huge, green... stalk... things, spreading out in all directions. They are wavering slightly, gracefully dancing in the strong winds. You’ve never seen plants that looked so alive, not even in the forests you were so fond of.

The rain intensifies, churning the ground into a thick, pasty mud. You are drenched to the bone by this strange storm.

Where the hell are you, and how did you get here? You faintly recall a woman’s voice telling about rifts, or something like that... It’s quite murky, but you think it’s fairly important.

You shake the rapidly-forming questions from your mind. First things first, you gotta make sure you’re not going to, you know, die?

Reaching into your thoroughly soaked backpack, you pull out two syringes, one larger than the other.

First, the stimpak. You focus on closing up that gaping hole in your side, using up most of the syringe in the process. As the wonders of modern medicine patch you up, you use the last dregs of the syringe to close up the more worrying wounds.

Next is the Med-X. The light blue liquid sloshes around in its tiny metal syringe, and you grimace as you stab your mangled shoulder.

Almost instantly, the pain fades into a dull throbbing. You fail to stifle a groan of relief as you apply the painkiller to your side.

There’s not enough Med-X to completely relieve the pain or enough Stimpak-juice to fix up your arm, but it’s one hell of a start.

Besides, you’re not too keen on OD’ing on either stimpaks or Med-X at the moment.

Fuck, it is cold, you think as you shiver. Your clothing, perfectly adequate for a blazing Mojave summer, is hardly ideal for this sort of ungodly weather. You hug yourself tightly in a futile attempt to conserve your body heat.

Well, there’s no point standing around here... wherever ‘here’ is. You stand up, and decide to get a better look at your immediate surroundings.

Apparently, you’re in some sort of clearing. The rain’s not letting up, so you can’t see too far away.

The clearing itself isn’t so big, and those green stalk things seem to press in on you, giving you a mild feeling of claustrophobia.

Sticking around in this empty clearing isn’t probably the best idea right now, so you hoof it.

Not even ten steps are taken before you see something very, very strange.

You see a burnt-out Corvega sitting on top of a pile of splintered tree-shoot-thingies. It looks as if it just... fell out of the sky, judging from the array of damaged stalk plants surrounding the derelict car.

As you move along into the thicker parts of the forest, you see more and more bits of debris, all varying in size.

A twisted rifle stuck in the mud, a discarded Flamer fuel canister, the remains of one of the tents, not to mention several derelict cars.

The list of debris you find grows longer and longer as you move along.

You keep an eye out for anything of use, but the rain and the unfamiliar territory hinder you as you move along.

You note that the rain is lightening up. It’s more of a light drizzle now, but you’re still very fucking cold.

A few seconds later, you find a corpse, or to be more precise, what’s left of a corpse.

This one is mostly in pieces, strewn across a small area. It’s definitely not one of the Deathclaws, but aside from that, you can’t tell much, aside that whoever had done this guy in was very hungry.

You even see that whoever ate this guy was tidy enough to pile up all the bones and... stuff... in quite a fastidious manner.

What’s left of the corpse looks like it’s been gnawed on, and very recently, to boot. There’s not much left, anyways.

You hurry past what remains of the dead man. Even if there was anything of value amongst the gore, you wouldn’t be too fond of sifting through the assortment of water-soaked viscera and bones to get it.

Not five steps later, you hear a sickly gurgling sound coming from the right, from behind a rather thick bunch of these stalk things. After a moment, you hear what sounds like vomiting, and a garbled string of curses.

You raise your pistol, and push through the thick wall of plants, to see a Fiend, lying on the ground. He’s facing away from you and doesn’t react as you draw closer to investigate.

A rifle is on the ground beside him; its barrel is hopelessly twisted, and it doesn’t even have a magazine inserted.

You stand over him, your pistol aimed right at his head.

The Fiend’s face is twisted in a macabre expression of pain and confusion. His blood-soaked arms are wrapped around his belly, holding in what remains of his intestines.

The man is surrounded by a quickly-growing pool of his own shit and gore, which is thankfully mostly diluted by the rain.

It doesn’t look like he’ll live for much longer...

After a few moments, the Fiend notices you through his blinding pain. His right hand flops around as he tries to grab the twisted, useless rifle at his side. He gurgles some incomprehensible nonsense, and flops around weakly.

Even now, they just won’t give up. You shake your head as you watch the sorry bastard flop around helplessly.

What do you do?

[ ]Kill the Fiend with a shot to the head. A quick, merciful death is the most he deserves.
[ ]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
[ ]Leave him there. He’s not going anywhere any time soon. Let the bastard review his bad life choices for a while.
>> No. 140543
>>140541
[x]Discreetly offer to slit the Fiend’s throat. Hey, some people might like to cling on in that vague hope of living. Besides, someone might here the bullet shot.

He's done anyway. Doesn't make much difference as long as it doesn't attract anyone else.
>> No. 140544
[x]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
-[x] For fuck's sake, cover his fucking mouth.
>> No. 140545
>>140544
I'm going with this and

[x] "Hi, my name is HERBERT MOON, and I've just been robbed!"
>> No. 140546
[x]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
-[x] For fuck's sake, cover his fucking mouth.
>> No. 140550
[x]Kill the Fiend with a shot to the head. A quick, merciful death is the most he deserves.

Yeah bullets are probably gonna be hard to replace in Gensokyo but I couldn't leave a guy like that. End it for him now...
>> No. 140552
[x]Kill the Fiend with a shot to the head. A quick, merciful death is the most he deserves.

Kill him quick. It's more efficient.
>> No. 140554
[x]Leave him there. He’s not going anywhere any time soon. Let the bastard review his bad life choices for a while.

That pathetic bastard doesn't deserve a merciful death. Unless you guys are forgetting, he's a Fiend. He tortures and eats people. He deserves everything he's gotten.
>> No. 140555
>>140554

There's a difference between him and us. HE deserves 0 mercy. WE only have a limited number of bullets that cannot be refilled. For all we know, a single bullet we waste on the fucker could mean a bad end. I doubt it, But better safe then sorry.

I'm also going to teehee if someone takes all our bullets away from us; like Yukari. "HEY WE DONT DO LETHAL SHIT GUISE"
>> No. 140558
[x]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
[x] For fuck's sake, cover his fucking mouth.
>> No. 140559
>>140555
If the "WE DON'T DO LETHAL SHIT" part comes into effect, what will our knife be replaced by? A rubber knife?
>> No. 140560
>>140559
A rubber duck good sir. We'll be pimp slapping all the girls in gensokyo with our mother fucking rubber duck.
>> No. 140562
>>140560
Could you imagine taking someone hostage with it, like Harry Dresden did in Death Masks?
>> No. 140563
[x]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
[x] For fuck's sake, cover his fucking mouth.
>> No. 140564
>>140562
I could imagine and that would be awesome. Also come on writer we need an update so we can get one step closer to our mother fuckin rubber duck.
>> No. 140573
>>140555

>I'm also going to teehee if someone takes all our bullets away from us; like Yukari. "HEY WE DONT DO LETHAL SHIT GUISE"

If Yukari even tries pulling this shit I'm just gonna vote for unloading everything into her. I don't give a damn if it's a BAD END for us and/or Gensokyo. That troll piss me off and go 10/10 most times...
>> No. 140599
>>140573
Okay, lets run this through:
Yukari controls boundaries. Everything anyone in touhou can do, She can do with a little smart thinking. She could stop time for all you know. She is higher then every god in every religion combined.

Plus we wont get a Yukari route if we try to shoot her, yaknow.
>> No. 140600
>>140599
...Where exactly did you get this impression? Yeah, her power is manipulation of boundaries but who the fuck actually knows what that means.
>> No. 140602
>>140600
That's the beauty of it though. No one knows what she can do with it. Which makes it all the better.
>> No. 140604
>>140602
It just seems really silly to go on rambling about how she's the strongest thing ever when you really have no idea of whether or not she's anywhere near that strong.
>> No. 140605
>>140604
As we all know, How poofy your dress is = power level. Look at all the Final Boss's wimpy poofy dress's, then YUKARI'S.

That shit will fuck you up.
>> No. 140620
>>140573
And attitudes like that might be way so many stories die.

But seriously, Yukari might just shrug off those bullets as if they were pebbles.
>> No. 140621
>>140620

Eh at best it'll only be one BAD END and then we can merrily go along our way of drinking tea with Touhous. Plus I think a good story needs a bad end or two along the way, makes things more interesting and sometimes can be enlightning.

>>140599
What? You've never shot the girls you're after? Works for me dude.
>> No. 140627
File 130457960460.jpg - (601.09KB , 860x744 , Mmmsquirrel.jpg ) [iqdb]
140627
[x]Slit the Fiend’s throat. He’s got to die now, but you’re not going to waste a bullet on him.
[x]For fuck’s sake, cover his fucking mouth.
((A mutha-fukken rubbah duck? You guys made me laugh.))
----

You put your pistol away, holding back your urge to put one in between the eyes and leave it at that.

You have no idea where you are, and you only have so much ammo. You need to conserve your resources. However, the Fiend’s going to die, and die now. Thankfully, you still have your knife. You pull out the trusty weapon from its place on your belt. It glints thirstily in the dim evening light.

The dying Fiend’s eyes bug out as he stares at the wicked blade.

He starts to babble incoherently. You catch something about “fucking drugs” and “little girls”, but aside from that, you can’t understand anything he’s saying and ignore his muffled mutterings.

You bend over him, knife in hand.

Your other arm has regained a modicum of its former control, and you use it to muffle the Fiend’s half-hearted cries. He struggles only momentarily.

Your knife easily passes through his leathery skin and into him. Blood gushes onto your hands as the Fiend’s struggles weaken, and slowly stop.

He doesn’t live for much longer.

After a few more spasmodic twitches, he gives a gurgling, shuddering sigh and finally falls still.

You take a step backwards, avoiding the rapidly growing pool of blood.

There. It’s done.

You turn around, and walk away as fast as you can. You want to get the stink of that bastard out of your nose.

Suddenly, there’s a rustling in the leaves, somewhere behind and above you.

When you look back, there’s nothing there but the shifting of the wind.

You could have sworn you heard a mechanical clicking sound, or something like that.

You chalk it up to blood loss and taking too much Med-X, and continue to move along.

You limp into another clearing. It looks like it has been bombarded by quite a lot of junkyard debris, including bits and pieces of the tents you saw.

The whole place looks like a war zone, with dozens of the tall stalks knocked over and broken into pieces.

Most of them seem to be destroyed by falling cars and other bits of large scrap, while others seem to have been torn apart by... explosives?

You easily recognize the burn marks and the smell of cordite, and the sickly, bitter-smelling residue of plasma grenades. Behind it, is the iron smell of blood.

Quite a few people— and possibly mutants— have died here.

Your eyes widen in shock when you realize it’s because of the dancing freak, the one with all the explosives, back at the junkyard.

It looks like he managed to survive the rift, or whatever that woman’s voice called it, to come here. Wherever here is, anyways.

Unfortunately, it seemed that that pack of Deathclaws managed to cross as well.

You see the crazy bomber —or at least his horribly burnt upper torso— surrounded by the bodies of several of his comrades and no less than three Deathclaws.

There’s blood everywhere; staining the vivid green of the stalks, to the earth, to the rust-speckled metal. It looks like someone just tossed around buckets of the stuff.

You nod your head in grudging approval at what remained of the crazy bomb-throwing Fiend.

He might have been a sick fuck and a cannibal, but at least he fought well, and best of all, he managed to go out with a bang.

One look at the assorted corpses tell you that they’ve got plenty of useful loot. Aside from the bomber-freak, who’s little more than a charcoal-y skeleton, you see plenty of goods worth scavenging.

What do you do?
[ ]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
[ ]Move along. You don’t have such a good feeling about this place, and we need to find a place where we can attend to our wounds properly.
[ ]Write-in?
>> No. 140628
[x]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
>> No. 140629
[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.

To avoid jinxing, I will refrain from making comments about "feelings", good or otherwise.
>> No. 140630
[x]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.

What are the odds of a rubber duck being somewhere in all that mess?
>> No. 140631
[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
- [x] Find rubber ducky in loot pile, name him "Ducky"

I was always a loot whore so I'm going with this, even if it's not the smartest move right now.
>> No. 140632
[X]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.

This. We're already soaked to the bone, so we need supplies and goods in order to make it through.
>> No. 140634
[x]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.

Who knows what other items made it to Gensokyo?
>> No. 140640
>>140631
I love you.

[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
- [x] Find rubber ducky in loot pile, name him "Ducky"
DUCKY'S GUNNA TEAR SOME SHIT UP
>> No. 140680
[X] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
- [X] Find rubber ducky in loot pile, name him "Ducky"

If we can make one of Gensokyo's powerhouses fear we can kill them with a rubber duck, I will laugh like a hyena on helium that just heard the best joke in the world.
>> No. 140686
>>140680
[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
- [x] Find rubber ducky in loot pile, name him "Ducky"

"I'm gonna kill you... with my rubber Ducky."
>> No. 140688
There is no shame in vetoing a dumb write-in, by the way.
>> No. 140692
>>140688
You got something against rubber ducks?
That's fuckin' racist man.
>> No. 140705
[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
>> No. 140711
[X]Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.

My main problem with the write in is the fact that it assumes that there is a rubber duck in the first place.
>> No. 140712
Considering the ridiculous things that show up in canon Fallout, I somehow doubt that a rubber duck possibly being somewhere in the salvage is far-fetched.

That said, if it isn't there, it isn't. I think the 'rubber duck' is more an idea of something outrageous that we find while searching.
>> No. 140725
>>140631

The safest place is the aftermath of a battle. Quiet as the grave and all that.

Except maybe in Gensokyo, where curious, stupid and dangerous things may be drawn by the scent of blood.
>> No. 140728
>>140725
Except the Village is the safest place in Gensokyo, but we dont know that.
Writefag, Get writan, We need our mother fuckin' ducky.
>> No. 140761
File 130492402246.png - (132.12KB , 326x397 , snapshot3.png ) [iqdb]
140761
Sorry about the delay, friends, my Internet fucked my shit up, and weekends aren’t very good for updates in general.

Pic is tagged as NSFW for spoilers, not for NSFW.

[x] Search the clearing. We’ll need goods to survive wherever the hell we’ve ended up.
---

You limp into the clearing, and towards the pile of corpses arranged in the middle.

The smell of blood soon overwhelms you, like someone’s hands closing around your neck.

You’ve never seen, or smelled, so much blood in one place before. The odor seems to wrap around you like a snake, embracing you with its foetor.

The corpses aren’t any in any better shape, either.

While Mr. Lord of the Dance killed himself—whether on purpose or by accident, you haven’t the foggiest—the rest of his crew were split open by the beasts. You try to ignore all the... bits you’re stepping in.

You crouch in front of the nearest corpse.

Female, late twenties or early thirties. Ancient, for a Fiend. Ugly looking bitch, and it looks like she has the classic signs of severe Jet addiction.

This particular woman was killed when a Deathclaw reduced her torso into a soupy, bloody mess. Ick.

You ignore the gore, and search her for anything remotely useful.

When this particular Fiend died, she had three stimpaks, two bottles full of Buffout, 12 caps, two bones—probably human, but you don’t want to look too close— several empty 10mm casings, over two hundred caps worth of Jet, and a condom.

For some reason, the last item on your list looks to be very out of place.

Sexual hygiene isn’t what you’d expect from your typical insane cannibal raider, but it seems this one was an exception from the norm.

As for weapons... You don’t take a single look at the rifle. It’s damaged beyond repair, so instead, you check her for a sidearm.

You appraise the pistol she had in her holster. It’s a generic-looking pistol chambered .45, one of the dozens of M1911 facsimiles that flooded the gun markets before the Great War.

This particular model is known for its durability—but not as well known as the N99 model and its legendary hardiness—but best of all it’s in a decent condition—decent for a Fiend, anyways. You think you could get at least 70 caps for this individual piece.

Your train of thought is interrupted once more as your ears pick up another noise.

Again, you hear a whisper-like ‘click’ in the leaves above you. This time you’re certain it’s not your imagination.

There’s no taking chances here, so you react accordingly.

You spin around, raise the .45, and squeeze the trigger. The pistol roars once, twice, thrice. The recoil threatens to tear the gun from your trauma-weakened hand, but you somehow maintain your grip.

In the almost eerie silence of the rain-drenched forest, the trio of reports are deafeningly loud. So loud, that the squeak of surprise is almost lost to you. Sounds almost like a girl... Huh.

You’ll think about that later.

You keep the pistol aimed at where you heard the click for a few seconds, your finger on the trigger.

Whatever, or whoever, that was, it’s not coming back, for now at least, and you drop the pistol.

You return to your scavenging, keeping your hand near your pistol at all times.

There’s a large assortment of goods to be sorted; guns, ammo, caps, even a dozen or so Legion aurei (you pocket these as soon as you see them), and of course, drugs.

Jet, Buffout, Med-X (this has some use, but you’re not looking to become a junkie), Steady... the list goes on.

You’re pretty sure you could easily earn a few hundred caps from all this loot, and that’s just on the corpses in the center of the clearing.

Three of the half-dozen or so derelict vehicles scattered around the clearing form a crude sort of barricades. It looks like the raiders tried to hold this position, but were quickly— and painfully—dispatched by the Deathclaws.

On taking a closer look, you see that there are indeed multiple Fiend corpses in and around the immediate vicinity of said barrier.

The first two cars are a disappointment. Nothing more than bent rifles and bottles of Buffout, and a rubber duck.

The third one, however, looks promising. You see the obvious outline of a Laser Rifle, and several other energy weapons. You’ll need all the ammo you can get—

Your train of thought is interrupted again by a sinister and all-too-familiar beep.

You only manage to blurt out a shaken “Oh fuck no” before the fragmentation mine explodes in a cacophonous roar.

You’re thrown back a few meters and you slam into the ground like a sack of bricks.

There are a thousand burning needles digging their way into your gut, burning right through you.

You scream, a raw, bestial yell that scalds your throat.

The pain goes on and on and on, whether for seconds or for eons, you’re in no state to tell.

Agony is your entire existence; there’s a red veil over everything, like a shimmering veil of blood cascading over the world. Your only thoughts are to relieve the pain.

Med-X. You need your Med-X.

But your hand lays there, completely unresponsive.

You’ve been hurt plenty of times, but nothing like this. Not even close. A deep, cold fear trickles into your gut.

You turn your gaze, and stare at the grey sky.

You don’t want to die here, in this strange forest of stick things. Not here, not now!

Then, in the air, you see two figures, zipping across the sky like birds.

This can’t be anything but a hallucination, you think as you gawk at the flying duo.

The two figures, no, two women, land some ways away from you. You hear their muffled exclamations in a language you’re sure isn’t English.

One of them is a white-haired woman. She’s not old, though, despite her long silvery braid. She looks like she’s in her... thirties? You can’t be sure, what with the excruciating pain you’re in. She’s wearing a weird blue and red dress, with a matching hat.

The other one is a younger looking person, with hair tinted... purple? pink? What is that? Her red eyes— Red? Seriously? Is that the best your subconscious could do?— are wide with shock, and... pity?

She’s wearing a business jacket and tie with a skirt, but it’s the rabbit ears— ears that actually seem alive, what with the twitching and all— that have your attention.

You remember a doctor or something telling you that hallucinations are influenced by your subconscious, so you briefly ponder how your subconscious pulled up the image of these two strangely-dressed young women— one of whom has rabbit ears— who are jabbering in what sounds like Chinese.

Maybe that doctor guy, the one in Goodsprings, would have said it had something to do with your repressed childhood self or some other psychiatric bullshit.

The older one bends over you, concern and some amount of surprise on her face. Her companion says something, and she responds curtly.

She puts one impossibly cool, soft, hand on your forehead, and mutters a few words.

Almost like magic, the pain is instantly relieved, but unfortunately not all of it. Your gut still burns like fuck, and you’re losing plenty of blood, but it’s a start.

You try to thank the lady-apparition, but you can’t manage anything more than a confused wet gurgle. She says something again, maybe a warning or some instruction, but you can’t understand her.

The last thing you feel is the odd sensation of bleeding out, which you’re all too familiar with, coupled with a sudden sense of vertigo. So this is how it feels like to die, you think.

And then it all fades away.

----
You dream, but what do you dream of?
[ ]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.
[ ]A great personal triumph that you’re known for.
[ ]You have a nightmare about one of your past failures.
>> No. 140762
[x] A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.

Happy late Mothers Day!
>> No. 140765
[x]A great personal triumph that you’re known for.

Really no explanation other then it's the most interesting one to me. That 3rd one sounds way too emo for my taste....
>> No. 140766
[x]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.

Since one of our last thoughts was about the "hallucinations" possibly being our repressed childhood self, it makes sense to dream of better times.
>> No. 140768
[x]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.

Knowing the Fallout world, I bet it's shooting Geckos with a rifle or something like that.

Or fixing things, it's one of MC's Tag skills...
>> No. 140769
[x]You have a nightmare about one of your past failures.
>> No. 140772
[x]A great personal triumph that you’re known for.
FAME!
>> No. 140774
[X]You have a nightmare about one of your past failures, aka how YOU DIDNT PICK UP THE FUCKING DUCK
>> No. 140775
[x]A great personal triumph that you’re known for.

Previously fought off Powder Gangers or Legionaries for someone.

Well... Could be anything other than that.
>> No. 140781
>The first two cars are a disappointment. Nothing more than bent rifles and bottles of Buffout, and a rubber duck.
>a rubber duck.
>we didn't pick it up

WHY DO YOU DO THIS.
>> No. 140782
>>140768

Those were exactly my thoughts.

[x]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.
>> No. 140783
>>140781
This anon knows his shit.
I demand that we get a rubber duck before the third thread at most. If not, We will boycott you and your racism to rubber ducks. Seriously man, y u do dat
>> No. 140785
[x]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.
>> No. 140786
[X]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.

Because nightmares aren't prophetic.
>> No. 140788
[X]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure and a rubber duck.
>> No. 140789
Calling votes for childhood pastime, writing update now.

Also, don't worry, we'll meet Ducky again... sometime.
>> No. 140790
>>140789
By "meet" do you mean "Oh hey look there's a duck that's cool and HOLYSHITWHYISTHERESOMUCHPLOTKEEPINGMEFROMDUCKYNOOOOOOOOO"

Seriously, Either we get that fuckin duck or that duck will be the main focus of the story. Sorry, But your duck is in another castle.

or by "meet" do you mean we, gasp, ACTUALLY get the duck?
>> No. 140818
>>140500
Oh. No, no, no, see, I mistook you for Fallout Writefag. My bad, sorry.
>> No. 140970
File 130527687228.png - (95.63KB , 300x300 , Swr-portrait-udonge.png ) [iqdb]
140970
[x]A favorite childhood pastime, spent with a parental figure.
I blame meatspace for the rather long delay. Derp derp.
As for Ducky... We’ll see, dear readers, we’ll just see.
----
The afternoon sun beats down on your bare neck. Sweat trickles down your face, but you ignore it. Nanna always told you to keep still when you were shooting, and you don’t want to disappoint her over something as trivial as sweat.

From your vantage point on the ridge, you can clearly see the wide valley below you.

It’s completely devoid of anything man-made. Not a single derelict car, wrecked sign or billboard in sight.

Nothing here but the rustling of tumbleweed and the wind whistling in between the huge rocks.

You feel happy as hell; you’ve been waiting for this for a long time.

She’d been delaying the hunting trip for weeks; there’d always be one reason or another and your grandmother would postpone it on the last second. If it wasn’t rumors of bandits in the area, it’d be coyotes loping around. If it wasn’t that, she’d say that you need to help her with the vegetables and that you could always go plinking later.

Your grandmother’s usually so busy that you’re often left alone at home; and when you are with her, it’s either that she needs your help or you’re in trouble, or for special occasions like this.

Not this time, for not even the legendary, indomitable gunslinger Nanna could deny you your rightfully earned birthday present, which in this case was a hunting trip.

The trek to the Pit, as everyone in town called it, was pretty long. The two of them had to do some serious hiking into wild country. Not that you didn’t enjoy it; quite the opposite, in fact. You relish the opportunity to do something aside from sitting around at home all day.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sting of sweat in your eyes. It’s too much; you reach up and wipe it away, jostling the unfamiliar rifle in your arms as you do so.

“Stop fidgeting, Theodore,” Nanna chastises you.

“Sorry, Nanna.” You mutter softly, quite embarrassed.

“It’s alright. Just don’t do it again.” Your grandmother’s raspy voice was softer now, less harsh. You turn to look at her.

The leathery old ghoul’s looking through her binoculars at something in the distance. She licks her dead-looking lips with a raspy tongue.

“Huh. Thought they’d be here by now.”

Like most ghouls, or wastelanders for that matter, your grandmother’s a tough old cookie. When she became a ghoul, it only made her tougher. Knowing your grandmother, it was inevitable for her to become this tough.

Being a ghoul didn’t do anything to hurt Nanna’s reputation in town; if anything, your neighbors held her in a sort of awe for suffering what many considered one of the worst fate anyone could endure with nary a complaint. She had a reputation for being as tough as nails, a reputation justly earned and one only exacerbated when she became a ghoul, long before you were born.

When your mother passed away, Nanna took you in. Dad was... well, wherever he went, so it was only natural that your grandmother took you in, even if she was always so busy.

“There we go, Theodore. There’s the first of those ugly critters.”

You look down the scope of your own rifle.

In the distance, you see a stout, stumpy little figure stumble awkwardly out of the crags.

A Gecko.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen one, or at least a live one anyways. You are no stranger to Gecko steaks or Gecko stew, courtesy of Nanna’s traps and her rifle.

Life with Nanna was alright; although she left you alone a lot, you don’t feel so bad about it. She was always helping out the townspeople with something, from dealing with Raiders to misleading Legion scouts to hunting wild animals all over the place.

The Gecko waddles over to the bait. It leans over, sniffing the trough of brahmin guts you and Nanna set up.

After a few moments, it straightens up, and takes a cursory glance at the world around it. The Gecko then throws its head back and utters a shrill cry.

Out of the rocks, two more Geckos scamper towards their companion, eager for the fresh meat.

“There they are, Theodore.” Nanna croaks. You note “You ready?” For such a tough old wastelander, your grandmother almost seems scared. She raises one mummified hand to scratch her almost-bald scalp.

“Of course, Nanna!” You say half playfully, half reproachfully. You’ve been waiting to go hunting with her for a long, long time. You’d done plenty of plinking with the old .22 rifle you got for your 10th birthday, but you know that’s not the same thing. Not even close.

“Okay then.” Nanna sighs, and looks down the sight of her own rifle. “Remember what I taught you.”

You clumsily slide in the 8-round magazine and operate the bolt of the rifle, chambering a round.

“Good, good. Now...” Nanna makes a sound of approval. “Shoot ‘em!”

You struggle to guide the long barrel of the rifle to aim it at the grey-skinned

The Gecko’s head explodes in a shower of gore. The lizard’s body falls to the ground, raising a small plume of dust.

“Now get his friends! Hurry, before they spot you!” Nanna’s voice reaches through the deafening ringing in your ears, and brings you back down to earth.

The two Geckos finally pinpoint your position. They raise their stubby little arms, adopt a menacing pose and run towards the ridge.

Your first shot goes wide, its path foiled by your shaking arms. It bounces off a boulder, sending a spray of rock chips into the air.

That’s your last miss, you think with steely resoltution.

Your next two shots are flawless, and two more Geckos fall to the earth, blood pooling around the holes punched in their heads.

For a moment, you lift your gaze from the scratched scope of the rifle.

Nanna’s face is unchanged, but in the recesses of her leathery, sun-baked face, you see a glint of approval.

You smile back, radiating with satisfaction. You can’t help it; you’ve finally proven yourself as someone worth... something more than a burden.

Suddenly, you feel something is wrong.

You don’t know what, but something just isn’t right.

The dream-world vanishes in a veil of shimmering color, replaced by darkness. You try and open your eyes.

Light.

There’s light.

And pain.

So much pain.

Your shoulder feels like someone’s jabbing a red-hot poker into it.

The rest of you isn’t much better; your abdomen is aflame with a thousand piercing needles of fire burning right through you.

You’ve never felt so much pain before.

Someone’s yelling, and loudly. A woman.

What’s she saying? You can’t understand her...

You hear another voice, this one more panicked, unsure. The first voice speaks again, in a commanding yet reassuring tone.

Hands, cold-as-ice hands, scrabbling across your body. Something even colder slides into your shoulder, bringing more waves of pure, concentrated agony.

A small part of your brain wonders where Nanna went, but the thought is lost as the pain surges again, welling in throughout your body

Then, comforting, blissful, wonderful, unthinkably divine darkness.

----

After a long, dreamless sleep, you awaken.

The soft, warm light of a candle rouses you from sleep.

You groan, and cover your eyes with your forearm.

Dreams of you and your grandmother... they always seem to come back. Especially the good ones.

They just remind you of all that shit you’d rather forget. Goddamnit, it’s just making you feel even shittier than you feel right now.

For a moment, you stare at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling, not sure what to think.

You remember... two women... saving you? Yeah, it went something like that. And then you had a dream, and something else. You’re not sure whether that was a dream or not, though.

You’re lying in a sleeping-bag-like-thing, the sheets partially in dry blood. Probably yours. That’d explain why you feel like utter shit.

Ugh. It’s all over you. It seems that you can never really escape the effects of your job, can you?

You slip out of the sleeping bag thing, and look at the room. It’s... well, you can certainly say it’s nice, but you haven’t seen a room like this before.

You’re in your boxers, which are surprisingly clean, considering the circumstances you were in.

A quick self appraisal only leaves more questions. Someone’s patched you up quite a bit. As for who, and why, you don’t have a fucking clue. It’ll probably be answered soon.

You have a particularly large bandage over your shoulder—from that bullet wound—and more on your abdomen—the shrapnel?—and a couple on your legs—probably more shrapnel, but you don’t remember getting hit there.

The bandages are pretty clean, but in one corner of the room there’s a whole pile of dirty, bloodstained ones.

Huh.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the unfamiliar sliding sound of a screen door opening.

You spin around, and face a young woman carrying a bundle of familiar-looking clothing in her arms.

Hey, it’s that girl you thought was a hallucination! The one with the bunny ears and the weird purple hair, to be specific.

She seems pretty surprised that you’re up.

The bunny-girl says something in Chinese, and indicates the bundle of clothing in her arms.

“What?” you respond, somewhat bemused. You take a step towards her.

She repeats herself again, enunciating each syllable clearly. You note that she’s blushing, and averting her eyes from your current state of indecency.

She holds out the clothes at arms length, still keeping her eyes fixed on the wall.

Huh. These were the clothes you were wearing.

You take them, and she quickly absconds from the room, granting you solitude once more.

When you’re fully clothed, you feel better. Not by much, but it’s an improvement.

Your clothes seem to be in perfect condition, even better than when you first got them.

You don them, and then you realize something.



Wait one fucking minute, where the hell’s your stuff?!

What do you do?
[ ]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
[ ]BLUH BLUH INCOHERENT RAEG
[ ]Get the fuck out of this crazy land, pronto.
[ ]Write-in?
>> No. 140971
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.

Might as well get our other stuff. I wonder if Theodore will be surprised at how advanced, and small computers are in Gensokyo considering in Fallout those little terminal screens are the best the pre-War world ever got to?

Of course the big difference is that in the Fallout world the Energy Revolution took place whereas in the real world/Outside, the Information Revolution was what took place instead of the Energy Revolution.
>> No. 140974
[x] Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 140976
I have to wonder, what would Eirin think of stimpaks?
>> No. 140977
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
People who don't kill you in the Wasteland and instead patch you up generally don't do so out of the goodness of their hearts; on the other hand they're almost always preferable to the ones who do kill you.

Without a decent weapon politeness goes a lot further than fists. These people might be weird bizzare mutie chinese of all things, but you seem to be intact and it's best to stay that way for the time being.
>> No. 140978
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.

No use in antagonizing the people who helped us.

>>140976

A mixture of raeg and "ooh, shiny" is my bet.

Seeing as they can be made of flowers and shit in Fallout (albeit weird-ass mutant flowers) I don't think it'd be too hard for her to replicate it.
>> No. 140980
>>140978
Why would she "raeg" about it?
>> No. 140982
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 140986
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 140987
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
I don't expect much success though.
>> No. 140988
[x]Rest. You are in no shape to be doing anything.

>As for Ducky... We’ll see, dear readers, we’ll just see.

I sincerely hope not. That you are even considering pandering to a completely fucking stupid idea like that gives me negative feelings.
>> No. 140989
>>140988
Too damn bad. This anon wanted the duck in the first place, and now alll the others do. Come on guys, Let's fuckin' ask Eirin if she's got a duck.

>>140980
Because it can be made so simplely, and most of the meds she makes is prolly hard as fuck.

[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 140998
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 141000
[x]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.

No possibility for success, but we should still try.
>> No. 141016
[x]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
>> No. 141026
[X]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.

Works for me~!
>> No. 141148
Am I wrong to assume that we'll be seeing any of our companions from New Vegas in the story?
>> No. 141151
>>141148
That would matter if the PC was 'the Courier', but we don't know anything really about the MC yet, other than his name and that he had family once.
>> No. 141163
>>141148
Well of course we'll be seeing them, But they'll most likely be dead, you see the problem?
>> No. 141180
>>141163
Who are our companions again?
>> No. 141183
>>141180
Corpse A and B. Maybe C, but he was kinda a dick.
>> No. 141191
I have to ask, since the Honest Hearts DLC came out, will this affect the MC in any way? Also what about Dead Money and the gold of the Sierra Madre, did that affect Theodore in any way?
>> No. 141194
File 13057011884.jpg - (93.40KB , 600x800 , yagokoro_eirin.jpg ) [iqdb]
141194
[x]Try to communicate with bunny-lady calmly, and ask for our stuff.
A/N: Meatspace sucks balls, and I just finished Honest Hearts. Anyways I hope anon can forgive me for the delay. And no, Theodore is not the Courier. If he was, I would have mentioned the Pip-Boy already, wouldn’t I?
---

You slip into your familiar set of clothes, marveling at how... clean and comfortable they are.

It’s as if they’re brand new, newer than how you first got them. Not a single thread out of place, or even a single stain or anything resembling a flaw.

Whoever fixed this up must be a fucking wizard or something.

You wonder how much you’ll have to pay, when the time comes. You doubt that whoever patched you up did it out of the kindness of their heart. You just hope they can explain—in English— where on Earth you are, how you—and the Fiends— got here, and what was with the Chinese bunny-lady’s ears. Is she some kind of mutant? Or what about that weird umbrella lady? Would they know about her?

It’s worth a shot, you guess.

Anyways, you’ll surely owe them, and big time, or you’ll eat your boots.

Speaking of boots, it seems that the bunny-lady didn’t give you your shoes—You can’t have everything, now can you?—but it doesn’t seem to be a problem. Not here, at least. The floors here don’t look like there’s any stray debris or whatever, so you won’t have to worry about your feet getting cut up by random crap on the ground.

Whoever owns this place sure knows how to keep tidy.

You’re not hurting too bad, but you can’t help but wince as you move your shoulder around a bit, not to mention all those lacerations on your gut. The pain’ll pass, eventually, and it’s not too bad, overall but it could certainly be better.

Nothing would be better right now than one of those Stimpaks you have in your backpack, or, failing that, a syringe of Med-X would be absolutely divine.

You decide to have a word with the bunny-lady, despite the obvious language barrier. Maybe she can bring you to someone in this godforsaken place who can speak English, and through that, to your stuff.

The door slides open with ease. You don’t remember seeing doors like these before, but they’re certainly familiar... Meh, you’ll remember eventually. It’s not important, or even faintly relevant to your current situation anyways.

The bunny-girl’s standing there, her hands folded in front of her.

Now that you aren’t dying or naked or anything, you take a better look at her.

She’s a bit shorter than you, if you don’t count her bunny ears. She’s still wearing that outfit, the one that she was wearing when she and the other person found you. Aside from the bunny ears and the purplish hair, she looks totally normal.

She looks up at you, and tilts her head slightly as she appraises your newly clothed self. She’s definitely curious; you suppose that she doesn’t see guys like you every day.

After a moment or two, she spouts a stew of incomprehensible Chinese again, gesticulating wildly with both arms. She seems pretty upset, or surprised. Whether it’s one or the other, you can’t really tell.

Despite her best efforts, you still don’t understand a single fucking thing she’s saying.

“Uh...” You’re really unsure of what to do, or what to say. You decide to try and introduce yourself anyways. There’s not much else you can do, besides sit around doing jack shit.

“Hey there. Name’s Theo Mason. I guess you can’t understand me... right?”

“Nani?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You sigh.

The bunny-mutant-girl starts spewing out more of her incomprehensible speech.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t understand a fucking word you’re saying.” Hell, if she can’t understand you, why bother being polite?

She grabs you by the wrist (with a surprisingly strong grip, or unsurprising, since she’s you know, a mutant) and walks down the hallway, pulling you along.

“Hey, hey, what the— Yeeooww! That hurts! Jeez, would it kill you to loosen your fucking grip or something?”

She remains silent as she continues to manhandle you through the hallways, ignoring your curse-laden complaints.

“Sweet fucking Jesus I think you broke my wrist.” You’re joking of course, but there’s something in your faux-anguished tone of voice that makes the bunny girl stop dead in her tracks, your wrist still in her hand.

She turns around again, and asks a question in that odd language of hers. She seems geniunely concerned.

You shrug. She snorts in disgust and continues on her way, pulling you along.

The hallways of the strange house are... nice. Clean. Strangely empty, and rather bare, but that’s nothing new.

At least there’s none of those NCR propaganda posters or those cheesy Pre-War advertisments for Sunset Sarsaparilla anywhere. Christ, those things made you cringe a little inside every time you saw ‘em.

It’s kinda odd that the two of you don’t encounter anyone else, you note.

This place is huge, judging by how long it’s taking the two of you to get anywhere, and you’d assume it would take a lot of people to keep it this clean.

Finally, the mutant girl stops at a slide door, identical to the dozens the two of you passed on your journey here.

Letting go of your wrist, she slides the door open, quickly enters, and shuts it behind her with an almighty clack.

You then hear hushed conversation in Chinese, if they’re even speaking in Chinese.

Bunny girl seems to be telling another person about you.

You’d be willing to bet your skin that whoever is behind that paper-screen door’s going to come out any moment and—

clack

Before you stands your friend Bunny Girl and another woman.

Hey, it’s that silver-haired chick from before. She looks rather tired, and her silvery hair is mussed up, a clear sign that she’s just gotten up. She yawns, mumbles something to Bunny Girl and takes a quick once-over of you.

She’s still wearing that blue-and-red dress, and she has... hey, is that blood on her dress?
Probably yours.

She asks you a question, and Bunny Girl mutters something to her.

“Ah.” She nods, her eyes widening in understanding.

She tries another language, one that sounds like Spanish. You think.

“Sorry, nope.” You respond dryly.

“Ah, you speak English? That’s odd. We don’t get many English-speaking Outsiders, you know.” The woman speaks in perfect English, with only a tiny hint of an accent. She smiles widely at your shocked expression.

“Hello there, Outsider. I didn’t expect you to be up and running so soon!” Bunny girl mutters something, to which the doctor lady responds, rather curtly.

“My name’s Eirin Yagokoro, and this is my assistant, Reisen Udongein Inaba.” She bows slightly. The bunny girl, or Reisen, bows as well.

“Uh... Hi there. Name’s Theodore Mason. Thanks again, for... you know... saving my life.” You scratch the back of your head.

“Oh, that was nothing.” She smiles at you again, waving one hand dismissively. “It’s what anyone else would’ve done. Well, anyone who wasn’t a hungry youkai, anyways.”

“What?” That doesn’t sound very nice. What the hell’s a youkai?

“Ah, never mind that now, Mr. Mason. Lady Kaguya will want to see you soon. She’s been asking about you ever since you arrived here. It’s been ages since anyone arrived here at Eientei, much less an Outsider like yourself.”

A Lady Kaguya? There’s royalty here?

Exactly where in God’s good name have you ended up?

----
What now?
[ ]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[ ]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.
[ ]Complain about the pain. Be the complainer.
[ ]STUFF WHERE’S MY STUFF
[ ]Write-in?
>> No. 141195
[X]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[X]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.
[X]Complain about the pain. Be the complainer.
[X]STUFF WHERE’S MY STUFF
>> No. 141196
[x] Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[x] STUFF WHERE’S MY STUFF

We're a professional, we don't complain.
>> No. 141197
[ ]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[ ]STUFF WHERE’S MY STUFF
>> No. 141198
[X]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.

[X]Stuff where's my stuff

[X]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.

We DON'T NEED TO SHOUT ABOUT ARE STUFF. Seriously this guy can't ask a question in a normal voice or something? Was the choice of stuff BEING IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS supposed to reflect panic or something? For that you could just use a "!?" at the end.
>> No. 141199
>>141198

I was just being silly, man.
>> No. 141200
>>141199
Don't worry about it. I'm a killjoy, who is probably obssessed with "winning" in these stories. After reading all the stupid votes on "Do The Right Thing" I've gotten unhappy. Your writing is good and I hope you keep it up.

Considering Honest Hearts just came out today, will it and Dead Money as well have any impact on Theodore's story/life?
>> No. 141201
[X] Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[X] Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.

Stuff can wait. We've got other stuff, so we'd better finish that stuff and find out some stuff before we go asking about our stuff. Otherwise we'll probably get stuffed.
>> No. 141202
[x]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[x]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.

Our stuff can definitely wait, considering that these strange people saved us from a horrible death.
>> No. 141204
[x]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[x]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.
>> No. 141207
[X]Apologies but I'm lost, if you'll just show me the way out I'll be on my way...
[X]Ah, and I'd just like to ask, if it's not to impertinent... STUFF WHERE’S MY STUFF
>> No. 141210
[x]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[x]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.
>> No. 141212
[X]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.

[X]Stuff where's my stuff

[X]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.

[x[ "Per chance, Do you have a rubber duck anyway? They're um... rare from where I come from. Yeah, thats it."
>> No. 141218
[x]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[x]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.

Perhaps our stuff can wait a little while longer.
>> No. 141219
[X]Ask this Eirin lady for the low-down on this crazy place. She seems nice enough, and she speaks English. Maybe she’ll know about the umbrella lady.
[X]My stuff where is it?
[X]Go talk to Kaguya. She seems like she’s in charge, and it wouldn’t be in your best interests to keep someone important waiting. If she can speak English, that is.