Chameleon: Broken Memories

[Deathclaw Chameleon]

This fan-fic is based on my character from Old Glory; Chameleon. It will discuss more into his past life before he joined up for the merc group but not too much to ruin or spoil the plot.

Intro Chapter
No name. Chameleon couldn't remember a name anyway, but the dark mirrored glass maks he wore would never come off. He knew he was a very important person; at least before the insanity plagued him. He remembered the wars he went through, and of course the chaotic events that the Enclave had done to him. Were they the cause of his saddened state? No, was it the stealthboys? Or perhaps the death of his parents. Or possibly it all together. He remembered something had managed to prolong his aging factor so he had lived centuries. But he was no ghoul. He just knew that if his mask was ever released, then all would fall aprt and all he had done would backfire. But he remained a merc no less; and a job would be crucial for him. He had to get a good one. One that would finish his plan once and for all.
'But do you have a plan?' The voice had spoken.
'I do not know.' The voice would calm him sometimes and engage in normal conversations. But otherwise, he was an insane killer of honour. Now he would sit, for Chameleon knew that besides his mentality; there was an open slot that would disengage and he would know that perhaps he would be cured. But that was a dream only worth accomplishing if he could recover his broken memories.

 

[Deathclaw Chameleon]

Chapter 1
World War 1: One of the most drastic moments of mankind. Before the Fallout of course. Perhaps it was moments of killing, but Chameleon could remember a tragic event that had brought him a step closer to the EXPERIMENT.

The Germans had brought another mortar down upon the bunker. Chameleon had witnessed his own squadron explode into chunks of blood and gore. Only his Corporal remained.
"Hey XXXXX, you okay sir?" His own name was fuzzed from his memories. Only blurs.
"There ain't no shit about it! Where the fuck are those Americans?!"
"Dunno sir. Absent. Probably chunking down the cigars, while we do all the hard work!"
"Shut up Corporal!" Replied Chameleon. The heavy rain crushed upon the crimson streams that filled the trenches. The bones left by their dead kinsmen now stained with the scars of battle. Chameleon remained unscathed by this trauma however. But it might have had an effect on his far-future insanity.
A soldier slid beside the two survivors.
"Howdy. I'm Private James sir!" The young soldier explained the American's troubles in D.C.
"Well that is great! Here we are in their own country, and they act like there hasn't been a fallout!" The corporal shouted.
"Shut up!" Chameleon said with more anguish.
"Look sir! I don't wanna do this anymore!! No more! These American bastards can handle themselves!" With that, he sprinted from the turmoil of chaos. But not before Chameleon had shot him down. Not before he had murdered his own soldier for committing a crime that would stand as death against the British Army. Pvt. James looked at Chameleon with both fear and surprise. He was holding a deck of strange cards in his hand.
"If you know what's good for ya, bugger off." To show he meant it; he threw a bladed card past James. James needed no further warning. He ran.

What happened then? Chameleon couldn't remember. Not exactly. Just blurred visions of death, blood and chaos. His name was still fuzzy. Why was it forbidden to know a man's own name?

 

[Deathclaw Chameleon]

Chapter 2 DEATHHEAD
Deathhead. A name feared first in Finland. Of course, even Chameleon knew him. And he had respect, but hate for this long-time rival. Chameleon remembered before the EXPERIMENT that they had both entered. Or was it him? But he was so sure of Angelo Damien. They had walked down the dark corridor being escorted by the mysterious guards.
"Hey XXXXX. You looking forward to this? Y'know what they said. Your mind may become even more fragile. Not that it isn't already as weak now. I'd back out before it goes worse." Angelo had said. Was it concern? Or pure mockery?
"Whatever. When have I ever backed out? Besides, we have no choice in this matter. You may embrace it, but I fear for my life. I have no idea for when we shall ever become stabile." Chameleon replied.
"Maybe so. Maybe so. But I do not fear. Finland never fears XXXXX. So neither should you."
"Hehe. Well, mayb we'll see. I'll see you if we both survive this."
"If you say so buddy." Then the white light flashed, and they were gone...

 

[Deathclaw Chameleon]

Chapter 3-Part 1

Memories... What were they? Some witty man may explain them as a vault for safe-keeping, in case of a fallout. But the bombs may perhaps penetrate the bunker and be rid of all that stood. However, not all is lost from there. Despite everything in chaos, the memories may reform and devise the old ways. There is still the ability to walk, talk and think. Yes, this could very well describe man. Despite their destructive ability, they always come back. Chameleon? He was still alive, so it must be true. That is; if he was still considered man.

An old abandoned hospital, Grey Jericho hung in the midst of rubble an chaos. Named after his father; Chameleon still thought it duty to honour it and protect it from all villains of the wastes. He would let refugees, travellers and the sort reside there-not out of kindness-but an idea that this building would still stand in centuries to come. Jericho, the man that was killed in the burning of their house. But, his death? Was it by Chameleon? He couldn't remember in spite of his blades being named after his unfortunate parents. Well, perhaps he'd find out one day.
Super-mutants approached the horizon. Chameleon would be getting busy.
"This oughtta be fun." He grinned under that mask of darkness.

 

[Deathclaw Chameleon]

Chapter 3-Part 2

The super mutants were approaching rapidly. Luckily, Chameleon had a few tricks of his own. The stragglers scrambled for their weapons as they took up arms against the upcoming wave. One named Michael looked at Chameleon with withering fear. Then he was dead. A supermutant stood atop where his body had been. They were quick as they had already jumped from the floor to the roof. Well, at least these new models that had been part of the dreaded experiment. Now it was destiny for them to die. Should they count as brothers and sisters? If so, they were going to die anyway.

Chameleon landed the first blows against the new mutants that had so rapidly appeared upon the roof. His blades had made quick work of them. Unfortunately, a few survivors had been killed in the struggle; but they were only a minor loss to the building's protection. The others kept firing without hesitation, and it was soon brought for that the jumpers were dead. Now all that remained were the catastrophic dreadnought brought by the ground mutant's cannons. Masters and brutes lined the forces. 30 if counted correctly, and none had reached the hospital yet.

A Barret 50 Cal. Lined the dust and bricks layered across the floor, and with immediate response; Chameleon picked it up and aimed carefully towards the battle. Already the survivors were gathering out to battle the mutants. Idiots, he thought.
BOOM! One mutant was down, head off. Reload and aim carefully again. BOOM! Two shots this time. A continuous amount of times and 10 more mutants were eliminated. The survivors on their own had lost many, but with relative power had defeated 10 of their forces leaving only a measly 8 mutants left. When he had looked again, the mutants were gone. He realised they weren't jumpers, but why disappear? Then it dawned on him. They had sunk through the ground and simply churned into the burning sands. But if lucky, some will have escaped the desperate grounds and found the tunnel. Which meant they would end up in-- Too late, the screams were heard and Chameleon knew all too well whose.