G
Guest
Guest
Hello! This story was heavily inspired by Jim Bob's "Story of a psychotic loon".
The lone man who walked into NCR was clad in a long, dusty black trench coat. Under the coat he wore Leather Armour Mk 2, and was armed to the teeth.
At his hips were two 44. Magnums and a 14 mm pistol, holstered at his upper torso were two M3A1 Grease guns, slung on his back was an assault rifle and a 12 gauge sawn off shotgun, strapped to each leg was a ripper, numerous grenades and knives were attached to his belt, and a leather pouch filled with high explosives completed the walking arsenal who sauntered casually past the gate guard and into the city.
Once inside he headed directly to the arms store. Walking in, he slammed his hand down on the counter jarring the clerk from his short nap.
"I want ammunition! And lots of it!!" He yelled.
"Um yes, yes what type of ammo are you looking for?"
"14mm, 12 gauge, 44, 5mm, 45 calibre, .223, and small energy cells." Said the stranger.
The clerk blinked in amazement. "Um, OK, I think I can manage that." He put the ammo on the counter. "Anything else?"
"Yes, I want 15 stimpacks, 2 sticks of dynamite,
4 grenades, 4 Molotov cocktails and a Bozar."
The clerk checked under the counter and added the items to the pile.
"OK" said the clerk. "And how will you pay for all this?"
The stranger looked at him coldly and smiled.
"I won’t."
The clerk’s face reddened in anger, but went white with fear as the stranger pulled out a 14mm. Before the clerk could say anything, the man fired the gun. The bullet struck him in the mouth, smashing his teeth everywhere, and exited out the side of his neck, before leaving a hole in the wall behind him. This injury did not kill the clerk. He fell to the ground, rolling around in agony. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic squeak as the air exited the hole in his throat.
The stranger collected his supplies, and anything else he could carry, concealed it within his trench coat, slung the bozar on his back, and left. Leaving the clerk struggling in a pool of his own blood.
Leaving NCR, he nodded at the guard and strode into the wasteland without a word.
The stranger’s name was Kane. And he was a Highwayman.
--To be Continued--
P.S Jim Bob- I am sorry for the resemblance this bears to your story. It just kinda turned out that way. Sorry.
The lone man who walked into NCR was clad in a long, dusty black trench coat. Under the coat he wore Leather Armour Mk 2, and was armed to the teeth.
At his hips were two 44. Magnums and a 14 mm pistol, holstered at his upper torso were two M3A1 Grease guns, slung on his back was an assault rifle and a 12 gauge sawn off shotgun, strapped to each leg was a ripper, numerous grenades and knives were attached to his belt, and a leather pouch filled with high explosives completed the walking arsenal who sauntered casually past the gate guard and into the city.
Once inside he headed directly to the arms store. Walking in, he slammed his hand down on the counter jarring the clerk from his short nap.
"I want ammunition! And lots of it!!" He yelled.
"Um yes, yes what type of ammo are you looking for?"
"14mm, 12 gauge, 44, 5mm, 45 calibre, .223, and small energy cells." Said the stranger.
The clerk blinked in amazement. "Um, OK, I think I can manage that." He put the ammo on the counter. "Anything else?"
"Yes, I want 15 stimpacks, 2 sticks of dynamite,
4 grenades, 4 Molotov cocktails and a Bozar."
The clerk checked under the counter and added the items to the pile.
"OK" said the clerk. "And how will you pay for all this?"
The stranger looked at him coldly and smiled.
"I won’t."
The clerk’s face reddened in anger, but went white with fear as the stranger pulled out a 14mm. Before the clerk could say anything, the man fired the gun. The bullet struck him in the mouth, smashing his teeth everywhere, and exited out the side of his neck, before leaving a hole in the wall behind him. This injury did not kill the clerk. He fell to the ground, rolling around in agony. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic squeak as the air exited the hole in his throat.
The stranger collected his supplies, and anything else he could carry, concealed it within his trench coat, slung the bozar on his back, and left. Leaving the clerk struggling in a pool of his own blood.
Leaving NCR, he nodded at the guard and strode into the wasteland without a word.
The stranger’s name was Kane. And he was a Highwayman.
--To be Continued--
P.S Jim Bob- I am sorry for the resemblance this bears to your story. It just kinda turned out that way. Sorry.