I'm not going to copy and paste this time, but I'm genuinely beginning to wonder if the forces of Ancient Darkness which I not-so-humbly serve aren't actively trying to keep me from releasing a new mod.
I got a PM this afternoon. Now, it was clear the sender wasn't a complete genetic defective - no vapid smileys, or horrific intarwebz contractions or such. But nonetheless... it was clear the sender couldn't understand my documentation at all.
The problem, it appears (I say appears, because reading the PM makes my head hurt - I'm not sure whether I just need more caffeine in my blood or not) that the problem is the pretty red diamonds again.
The sender informs me that FO3 "isn't in programs folders", and that the "candy-like button is checked" (??!!?) and that my readme says activate archiveinvalidation, but "the archive doesn't allow it"...
Now, my first reaction is that of a dog, looking at a telephone handset that has its master's voice coming out of it. "....wait, what? *headtilt*"
But my next thought is wondering how much I want to bother.
See, you guys have to understand my contrary nature. I want to help you. I really do, and I don't mind doing it. Some of you have been more than worth helping out with a minor detail here and there. You're intelligent people who just got bushwhacked by an issue that was horribly unintuitive. It happens, and you shouldn't be faulted for that.
The problem is, you intelligent folks who are worth my time, make up about 5% of the help requests I get.
The rest are people who ask for help in broken English, and who once helped I never hear from again. Literally, the only way I usually know if my fix worked is if they stop bitching at me and the channel goes silent.
This brings me to my quandary. As I've said, if I do the Tower for public release, I want to do it right.
I'm going to swap out textures for floor and walls, add scenic-view windows; I've got a whole host of freely-redistributable modders' resources - drapes, appliances, and so forth.
And I'm really wondering... how much more stupidity am I going to be making myself the target for if I release this small monster? Granted, I can offset some by packing resources into a bsa file... but that won't solve everything. When people can't even be bothered to read the instructions for how to operate archiveinvalidationinvalidated...
Granted, I'm being a nihilist again. I know that the new mod would likely connect me with some good people, as the RR Companions Vault itself has over the last year and a half.
...I just know that one of these days the demon is going to slip its leash and I'm going to tell someone to go fuck their mother in response to a bitchy PM, and I'll shortly thereafter be banned from the Nexus.
Mm... House-esque flash of inspiration. Idea for script and setup to allow scenic windows' view to change based on time of day... *scribbles notes to self*
...What was I saying, again?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Nos' Adventures, 8-22-77
August 22, 2277:
Despite the conditions, we managed to sleep decently enough – staying in bed until well after ten in the morning. It was good to give the stress of the previous day – both mental and physical – a chance to heal a bit.
After getting up, we had breakfast and lamented the lack of bathing amenities.
Once that was out of the way, we un-barred the second floor door, and used the skyway to get a peek outside. No new Raiders had moved in, though a couple of yesterday’s corpses appeared to be missing. Carried off by local fauna, we figured. The local carnivorous wildlife could certainly eat well following us around.
Since it appeared safe, we packed up our gear and headed out the front door, immediately tracking due south towards the ruins of DC proper.
We changed direction midway, to stay outside the ruins and head back towards the bridge that would lead towards home.
On reaching the bridge, we stopped; hearing gunfire in the distance. Lots of gunfire. Someone was having one hell of a shootout to the south.
We crept as far as one of the pylons for a destroyed second bridge. Further south, we could clearly see Raiders on one side of the river, engaged in a firefight with…
…Well, I’m not sure what they were, exactly. Were this a fantasy novel, I’d have sworn to you they were some form of ogre. Eight odd feet tall, green skin, heavily muscled, and extremely violent by the look of it.
The ogres were on the opposite side of the river, and were clearly beating the Raiders.
We moved further south, staying as low and quiet as possible; stopping again at an entrance to the metro system.
We could hear the remaining Raiders yelling from here. Something about “muties”. The rest was too difficult to make out with anything resembling certainty.
Whatever they were, the green things were hostile, and good at it.
I quickly improvised a rest, and took aim across the river – hoping to use the still-living Raiders’ fire as cover so that the things wouldn’t notice me surreptitiously helping the other humans out.
The big things were damnably tough. Chest shots barely fazed them, but head shots seemed to be every bit as effective on the ogres as they were on humans.
Unfortunately, the ogres were more skilled at killing than the Raiders were at surviving. I ran out of Raiders to use as cover before I ran out of monsters to shoot in the face. When the last Raider fell, there were still two of the green things standing – though both were bleeding, they didn’t seem to be perturbed by it.
Object of their rage gone, the ogres simply stood there, seemingly unsure what to do now.
I took the initiative, and used a trick I learned from the great Sergeant Alvin York; who said that when shooting at a line of turkeys, you always start at the rear so that the front birds didn’t know their friends were dying. The trick, it turned out, also worked on Germans.
I had to assume that if it was good enough for the Kaiser’s men, it was good enough for putting down these monsters.
My first round went into the monster in the rear, who of course was not being paid attention to by the one in the front. Putting both down had only taken a few seconds.
No more movement was visible on either side, so we moved in to loot the dead like any self-respecting vultures would.
These Raiders had been much the same as the ones Ria and I had been dealing with – armed primarily with light arms, generally in poor condition and with small amounts of ammunition.
I was surprised to find that my Pip-Boy informed me that the GNR signal was now coming in strong and clear. Before re-crossing the river to retrieve the ogres’ equipment, we stopped and listened.
I was disappointed to find that the station was not all Guns ‘n Roses. Rather, the station was named Galaxy News Radio; a sad coincidence. Sadder still, because the DJ had a screw loose. This Three Dog was a self-indulgent, pretentious twit. Something about a “good fight”, trees in the wasteland… Mention of a Brotherhood of Steel fighting said good fight. Still no detail of what exactly this Brotherhood was.
Heard an interesting warning of a place to the west, name of Evergreen Mills that was supposed to be a major Raider encampment. I filed that bit of info away for later as a place to pick up even more weapons.
We were on track to becoming veritable wasteland gun-runners.
When the prattle stopped, and the music started, we killed the broadcast and crossed the river to retrieve the other loot.
The ogres had had considerably better arms than the Raiders. We picked up several assault rifles of various flavor, and a couple more shotguns.
Now loaded down with enough arms to equip a few complete fireteams, we decided to call it good and make for home.
The trip home was thankfully uneventful. We stopped off in Megaton first; unloaded our excess arms and ammunition, and got the reward from Moira for the little jaunt through mine country.
That done, we headed directly back home.
As a faithful drone of Vault 101 maintenance, I’d had to make new keys for locks plenty of times, when the originals were lost or broken. Thankfully, this allowed me to make use of the workshop downstairs to get working keys for the doors to our new home. While not a security system worthy of the name, it would at least deter casual interlopers, or at the very least allow us to know when the place had been entered by the kicked in door or broken lock.
Unlocked and inside, we stowed the weapons we had decided to keep for later inspection and/or maintenance, dumped our armor, and declared that nothing more productive would be done during the day.
After all, there was a shower and a bed and a fridge full of food that all had our names on them.
Despite the conditions, we managed to sleep decently enough – staying in bed until well after ten in the morning. It was good to give the stress of the previous day – both mental and physical – a chance to heal a bit.
After getting up, we had breakfast and lamented the lack of bathing amenities.
Once that was out of the way, we un-barred the second floor door, and used the skyway to get a peek outside. No new Raiders had moved in, though a couple of yesterday’s corpses appeared to be missing. Carried off by local fauna, we figured. The local carnivorous wildlife could certainly eat well following us around.
Since it appeared safe, we packed up our gear and headed out the front door, immediately tracking due south towards the ruins of DC proper.
We changed direction midway, to stay outside the ruins and head back towards the bridge that would lead towards home.
On reaching the bridge, we stopped; hearing gunfire in the distance. Lots of gunfire. Someone was having one hell of a shootout to the south.
We crept as far as one of the pylons for a destroyed second bridge. Further south, we could clearly see Raiders on one side of the river, engaged in a firefight with…
…Well, I’m not sure what they were, exactly. Were this a fantasy novel, I’d have sworn to you they were some form of ogre. Eight odd feet tall, green skin, heavily muscled, and extremely violent by the look of it.
The ogres were on the opposite side of the river, and were clearly beating the Raiders.
We moved further south, staying as low and quiet as possible; stopping again at an entrance to the metro system.
We could hear the remaining Raiders yelling from here. Something about “muties”. The rest was too difficult to make out with anything resembling certainty.
Whatever they were, the green things were hostile, and good at it.
I quickly improvised a rest, and took aim across the river – hoping to use the still-living Raiders’ fire as cover so that the things wouldn’t notice me surreptitiously helping the other humans out.
The big things were damnably tough. Chest shots barely fazed them, but head shots seemed to be every bit as effective on the ogres as they were on humans.
Unfortunately, the ogres were more skilled at killing than the Raiders were at surviving. I ran out of Raiders to use as cover before I ran out of monsters to shoot in the face. When the last Raider fell, there were still two of the green things standing – though both were bleeding, they didn’t seem to be perturbed by it.
Object of their rage gone, the ogres simply stood there, seemingly unsure what to do now.
I took the initiative, and used a trick I learned from the great Sergeant Alvin York; who said that when shooting at a line of turkeys, you always start at the rear so that the front birds didn’t know their friends were dying. The trick, it turned out, also worked on Germans.
I had to assume that if it was good enough for the Kaiser’s men, it was good enough for putting down these monsters.
My first round went into the monster in the rear, who of course was not being paid attention to by the one in the front. Putting both down had only taken a few seconds.
No more movement was visible on either side, so we moved in to loot the dead like any self-respecting vultures would.
These Raiders had been much the same as the ones Ria and I had been dealing with – armed primarily with light arms, generally in poor condition and with small amounts of ammunition.
I was surprised to find that my Pip-Boy informed me that the GNR signal was now coming in strong and clear. Before re-crossing the river to retrieve the ogres’ equipment, we stopped and listened.
I was disappointed to find that the station was not all Guns ‘n Roses. Rather, the station was named Galaxy News Radio; a sad coincidence. Sadder still, because the DJ had a screw loose. This Three Dog was a self-indulgent, pretentious twit. Something about a “good fight”, trees in the wasteland… Mention of a Brotherhood of Steel fighting said good fight. Still no detail of what exactly this Brotherhood was.
Heard an interesting warning of a place to the west, name of Evergreen Mills that was supposed to be a major Raider encampment. I filed that bit of info away for later as a place to pick up even more weapons.
We were on track to becoming veritable wasteland gun-runners.
When the prattle stopped, and the music started, we killed the broadcast and crossed the river to retrieve the other loot.
The ogres had had considerably better arms than the Raiders. We picked up several assault rifles of various flavor, and a couple more shotguns.
Now loaded down with enough arms to equip a few complete fireteams, we decided to call it good and make for home.
The trip home was thankfully uneventful. We stopped off in Megaton first; unloaded our excess arms and ammunition, and got the reward from Moira for the little jaunt through mine country.
That done, we headed directly back home.
As a faithful drone of Vault 101 maintenance, I’d had to make new keys for locks plenty of times, when the originals were lost or broken. Thankfully, this allowed me to make use of the workshop downstairs to get working keys for the doors to our new home. While not a security system worthy of the name, it would at least deter casual interlopers, or at the very least allow us to know when the place had been entered by the kicked in door or broken lock.
Unlocked and inside, we stowed the weapons we had decided to keep for later inspection and/or maintenance, dumped our armor, and declared that nothing more productive would be done during the day.
After all, there was a shower and a bed and a fridge full of food that all had our names on them.
Nos' Adventures, 8-21-77
August 21, 2277:
We spent most of the morning lounging about in our new home. The below-ground conditions were just too nice, compared to the hell above.
Spending your entire life in a vault doesn’t exactly leave one with a great tolerance for sunlight and high temperatures.
The couch in the den proved quite comfortable, if a bit dusty. We listened to the radio, but even with a full antenna this one had the same problem as our Pip-Boys: the “GNR” station just wouldn’t come in, and who in their right mind could listen to the Enclave station for more than five minutes? If you can do it, you’re a better man than I. Fortunately, Angry Bob was still broadcasting… although his playlist was hardly soothing or romantic.
My headache was better this morning. I was beginning to think it had something to do with exposure to the outside air. Considering the possibility, and having nothing better to do, we went looking through the house for some sort of air filtration unit.
We found it in the basement, in an alcove built next to the doorways to the medical bay and workshop. Next to it, sat a water filtration unit.
Neither was active – the air and water we had been using were apparently left over from the previous inhabitants.
Since we still had power, Ria and I decided to turn the filtration systems back on. The water filter was in working order, but the HEPA filter for the air system was caked solid with dust. Fortunately, whoever had set this place up didn’t skimp on sustainability – there was a stack of spare filters stored next to the unit. Filter replaced, we toggled the main switch and were rewarded with the system rumbling to life.
Both systems showing green, we called it good. Tossing ideas around over a late breakfast, we decided to collect up the crap we had looted from dead people thus far, and head towards Megaton. We had no use for the odd case of prescription medication, or for twelve sets of clothing and mismatched armor.
Speaking of clothing, we had switched back to our Vault suits after the school incident; since we apparently couldn’t pass for cannibals anyway. We got off lucky, and after… extensive inspections, neither of us had ended up with any lice from our brief stints in the filthy rags and makeshift armor.
Since the house had a washer and dryer – along with a not insubstantial stock of anti-bacterial cleaners – we decided to see about assembling an outfit or two that wouldn’t stick out as much in the wasteland.
After some cleaning, we managed to get something workable. Long pants and decently covering shirts that were more or less our respective sizes; with mismatched belts and holsters. We kept the gloves, boots, and knee pads from our vault outfits. We also hung on to the armored vests; while it’s true they had the gold ‘101’ on the back, we hoped that being worn over normal clothing would make it look like we had scavenged them from dead vault-dwellers, rather than owning them legitimately.
Once fully loaded, we were more than a bit overburdened. I was glad it was a short hike to the town.
We stopped, as we neared the town; hoping to get a better look while still out of sight of the gates.
A wall built from scrap steel surrounded the place. We could see one sniper in a perch above the gate – though he seemed to be inattentive.
Moving closer, we met some sort of merchant caravan; the head of which identified himself as Harith, and proclaimed that he was an arms merchant.
This, of course, warranted Ria’s full attention.
Contrary to his claims, Harith’s selection was unimpressive, at best. He had some more of the cheap rimfire revolvers, a few knives, and what I thought at first glance was a single-shot 12 gauge.
On closer inspection, it turned out to be an M79 that someone had cut down into a handgun.
That warranted making a deal.
Fortunately, it seemed that these caps they used as money were worth a fair bit each. We managed to acquire the launcher and both 40mm grenades that Harith had without even dipping half-way into our stash. Managed to end up turning a bit of a profit, actually; selling off some of the spare ammunition and melee weapons we had acquired in the school.
Harith warned us at the last second that the grenades he had didn’t have rotational fuses.
Of course, he didn’t know exactly what the wounding radius on the payloads would be; and continued that explosives were too risky to oneself for his taste.
I agreed from a theoretical standpoint; but from a practical one, a quarter pound of solid explosive makes for one hell of a crowd control device, and is always a handy last-ditch option.
We got some information from Harith about the route the caravans took (there were apparently a few caravans, each specialized in inventory), and where they were based out of.
We parted on what seemed like good terms, and Ria and I continued on to the gate.
There was a reprogrammed Protectron. I’d never seen one in person before, and was amazed it still worked. It was apparently harmless though; only welcoming us and recommending we get a drink at someplace called Moriarty’s.
Through the gate and into Megaton itself, we were immediately accosted by the “Sheriff”. He questioned our reasons for being in town, made some thinly veiled threats, and eventually moved on to kicking puppies or whatever it is that megalomaniacs do when they’re not threatening people they perceive to be weaker than themselves.
I had to admit, though, that the assault rifle he had slung across his back would render him the winner of most arguments, even if he didn’t have more than one magazine for the thing.
Moving down through the center of town, I marveled that anyone could consider living like this an improvement over anything. The place could be generously referred to as a converted junk yard; I felt like I needed a tetanus shot just looking around.
We stopped at a restaurant of sorts, and spoke to the proprietor. She didn’t seem the most “on the ball” person I’d ever met, but was kind enough to point us towards the town clinic, and the shop of one Moira Brown – a general goods trader that was apparently of some local renown.
The clinic was closest, so we stopped there first. Inside, we found the doctor, who could be described as abrasive, if one were overly kind. Most people, I think, would call him an asshole.
Still, he was enthusiastic enough about acquiring the stock of extra chemicals and medicine we had. We scored a couple of hundred extra caps, and the right to a five minute “consult” – that I wanted to ask about my headaches. I described the symptoms, and was informed that it sounded like a sinus inflammation; rare since everyone was exposed to the toxins and dust since birth.
I didn’t mention that I hadn’t been.
The doctor continued on that he hadn’t seen a dose of a proper antihistamine in decades. He joked that I could probably find some in a Vault.
I hated to tell him that it didn’t work that way. Because of the recycled, purified air respiratory allergies were all but unknown in Vault 101. They had the heavy-duty stuff for use in cases of anaphylactic shock, but nothing that was safe to take daily.
Seeing that there was no point in sticking around, we moved on towards Moira’s place.
She turned out the be the polar opposite of the doctor. Moira was a disgustingly cheerful person. Talkative, too. Before even getting the chance to ask about trading, she set off on a tangent about some survival guide she was writing.
Moira apparently recognized our armored vests, and marked us as coming from the nearby Vault. I told her a bit about vault life just to shut her up. It was hardly a ringing endorsement I gave.
Her instructional urges at least temporarily sated, I managed to get Moira to discuss some trade. Most of her stock was junk, but surprisingly, her stock of weapons was better than Harith’s. She had a lone MK14, complete with scope and suppressor. I’ll confess, I’d always wanted one.
The price was steep, but Ria agreed with me that we needed some sort of long range armament.
Unfortunately, Moira was lacking any nice revolvers.
It cost us nearly all our swag, but a deal was struck for the MK14, some ammunition, and a portable water purifier.
Moira’s endless chattiness came in handy, when she mentioned having worked out sets of reloading tools for several cartridges – the 7.62 NATO that I now had a use for, included.
It cost me, but I managed to acquire the setup for the 7.62mm. Moira mentioned that components could be retrieved from certain types of ordnance. I had no idea they still packed gunpowder into land mines… but I suppose when manufacturing one’s own in a post-society wasteland, you use whatever you can get.
Once business was concluded, she began talking again. Wanting me to help with this guide. I was poised to say no, when she mentioned a local area that had become known as “minefield” – this struck me as a good place to collect workable components for creating ammunition... and get paid for it in the bargain.
Before I left, I tossed Moira one more question – being fairly sure that I’d regret it when the answer was fifteen minutes long – and asked about the cannibals we’d run into.
Astonishingly, her answer was short; terse, even. Moira said that they were referred to as ‘Raiders’, and were not uncommon throughout the wastes. They lived in disconnected, insular bands – almost clan-like, and were nearly as prone to fighting amongst themselves as they were to raiding towns, outposts, and caravans. Because of its walls and snipers, Megaton was largely safe, though the areas surrounding were anything but.
We left Moira’s, promising to be back as soon as we had investigated Minefield.
Outside, I struggled with my new rifle. Whoever had worn it last had been a solid four inches smaller around the chest than me, and it took me a few minutes of trial and error to get the nylon sling adjusted properly. It didn’t help matters any that I had never worn a proper rifle slung before – let along in a cross-body method.
“We’re being watched.” I noted, finally settling the rifle into a more-or-less comfortable position on my armored chest.
“Tall, dark, bald, chain smoker?” Ria asked, not looking away from me.
“Yeah.”
She nodded softly. “He was eyeballing us on the way in. Lock and load – make a show of it.”
Ria moved around to stand in front of me. It occurred to me she had positioned herself to be able to look over my shoulder and at our observer, while appearing to be absorbed in paying attention to me.
Always the smart girl.
I twisted forty-five degrees to one side, to avoid covering Ria with the muzzle of my rifle, and pointed it up towards the sky; making a show of pulling the charging handle and checking the chamber was empty. That done, I inserted one of the freshly filled magazines and rocked it into place, then thumbed the bolt release paddle. The bolt sprang forward with a satisfyingly solid sound, and I pulled the safety back into its engaged position. Lastly, I laid the rifle back in its new place on my chest; shrugging once – still trying to get used to the weight on the sling dragging at my neck.
“Well?”
“Our friend suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be, I think.” She returned, amused. “Guess we’re not the easy marks someone was hoping for.”
“Let’s get going, then. Too many people in this town.”
“Agreed.”
Business concluded, and not looking to stick around for any social events, we moved on.
Back outside the wall where we could keep a decent eye on our flanks, we stopped to check the map.
At least some of Vault-Tec’s infrastructure was apparently still functional, since our Pip-Boy maps had been updating themselves over the last few days. Showing us which roads were still intact, which had been destroyed. The new map looked like interlaced LANSAT photos, but after two hundred years it was difficult to be sure.
Nonetheless, it did clearly display that we were standing in front of a scrap pile that looked suspiciously like the as-seen-from-above Megaton. You’ve got to love automated satellite surveillance and global positioning systems.
Feeling fairly confident that we could trust the topographic data, we plotted a course that would take us over to and across the Potomac, and then north into this Minefield place.
We took to a partially destroyed road, and headed east.
Ria and I made it as far as the bridge without incident. We stopped to take a look around the area before crossing into such an exposed position, and were immediately glad we did so.
Across the bridge, and some ways up what was left of the highway, we spied movement. I quickly mounted my new rifle, and made use of its excellent telescope. It was a group of Raiders, five strong as far as I could tell.
Mismatched armor, no long range weaponry visible. I had begun to suspect these people were not an organized paramilitary force.
A group of feral, abandoned dogs; rather than a pack of wolves, if you will. Very little coordination or cooperation, and they seemed just as apt to fight amongst themselves as anything when there weren’t suitable victims within sight.
Considering that the map had said there wasn’t another intact crossing over the river for a couple of miles in either direction, this was most likely some sort of checkpoint.
I somehow doubted they’d be satisfied with a handful of quarters’ toll.
“Think we can sneak by?” I asked, still watching through the scope.
“Why bother?” Ria returned. “You’ve got a can on that thing – make use of it. Not like the world will miss these cannibalistic rapist pieces of shit.”
“Right. Suppose we’ll find out if this thing was worth the money.”
I laid prone, and positioned myself to fire between two of the bridge’s railing posts. It occurred to me completely belatedly that I had forgotten to check and see if the damned rifle was zeroed. Well, that’s why they invented box-magazine fed autoloaders, right?
Not taking any chances on the sight-in, I took aim on one Raider’s chest. I picked one who was separated from the group, and that the others weren’t watching.
I fired. The sound suppressor did its job admirably, and muffled the report of the shot. It did not, however, affect the trans-sonic shockwave – the ‘crack’ part of the ‘crack-bang’ that gunshots are so often described as.
The sight-in was off, but not by as much as I had feared. If I had had to guess, I’d say the weapon was zeroed properly, just for a different load. I was shooting scavenged military ball; the previous owner had likely fed the rifle strictly match fodder. I know I would, if I had the option.
The bullet struck the Raider in the chest, about three inches left of my intended point of impact. My left, his right. That meant I missed the heart, but still holed a lung. I was rewarded with a blood spray from the target’s back; who then proceeded to collapse, wailing loudly a few seconds before his lung began to fill with blood.
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the beauty of the 7.62x51mm. Kevlar doesn’t even slow these things down, so savages clad in cheap studded leather “armor” didn’t have a prayer of being protected.
Unfortunately, the wailing awoke the rest of the hornets; who had no idea where the shot had come from but were nonetheless very pissed off about the whole thing.
I did some quick MOA-to-inch conversion in my head, and twisted the windage knob on the scope several clicks.
That done, I took aim and fired on the next target. Still not a perfect bull’s eye, but close enough for government work, as they used to say.
Zero set, I proceeded to down the remaining three in four or so seconds. For all their yowling and gnashing of teeth and random pointing, the Raiders hadn’t gotten a shot off.
We waited a few minutes, to see if any more appeared. None did.
I pushed up to a crouch, and grabbed a handful of loose ammunition from my pocket; removing the magazine and topping it off to get back to twenty rounds.
We moved on across the river, and to the corpses. This time, we left the armor and clothing on them, and only took weapons and drugs. We had miles to go, and no reason to burden ourselves with rags and rotting leather.
Ria and I switched back, and headed north; tracing our way along the back sides of the ridges where possible, to keep from silhouetting ourselves against the afternoon sun. We ran into two more bands of Raiders. I had less and less respect for them, the more I saw. The Raiders were loud, disorderly, and mostly random in their actions. They were prolific though, I had to grant them that.
The subsequent bands fared no better than the first had.
We found a few more decent weapons along the way, most notably a Glock 18, and an old pump shotgun. These Ria took, though she loudly lamented the Raiders’ lack of a proper revolver.
As we neared a power substation some half mile short of Minefield, we were attacked by animals. Strange things; pink and mostly hairless, with buck teeth and no tails. They came at us in a pack of seven, moving surprisingly fast for having such stubby legs.
I managed to get two, but I was slower than I should have been – my rifle was hardly set up for close range work. Ria handled the rest with her pair of revolvers, not even bothering to un-sling her shotgun.
We pressed on, heading for Minefield. We stopped just short of the houses.
Mines were already plainly visible in the street, and in the dirt on either side. The place looked devoid of life. I laid next to a tree, and ran my rifle’s optic up to full power – surveying the place as best I could. After a moment, I noticed movement on the tower at the far end of town. Turning my attention there, I saw an old man…
…taking a piss off the tower, into the street below.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ria muttered, when I told her what I saw.
“I wish I was. Believe me, I don’t need to see shit like this, even from three hundred meters out.”
As I continued watching, the old man finished up, and moved back towards the center-support beam – up against which was standing a rifle. I was too far out to make a positive ID, but I could tell that it had a large optic on it.
“Well,” I noted. “That would be why almost no one who went into Minefield has ever come back. If the mines don’t get you, the sniper does.”
“We need the mines, and who knows what goodies are hiding in these houses. Cap the old bastard and be done with it.” Ria returned.
“You’re heartless, you know that?”
“Not completely.”
So, I did it. I waited for the old man to bend over to retrieve his rifle, and valiantly put a bullet between his shoulderblades.
Yeah, I’m not really proud of it, either.
Seeing the sniper down, and no one else evident; we moved forward, carefully disarming the mines as we went.
Reaching the tower, we took the old man’s rifle, ammunition, and even found a key on his body. A key, we later found out, that opened all the houses on the street.
In all, it took us only a couple hours to collect all the mines, and steal everything that looked useful but wasn’t nailed down.
Inside the houses had presented a fairly grim picture. We found several skeletons of what were presumably the original inhabitants; as well as several more recent corpses – the apparent disposal sites of the people the sniper had killed. Knowing he was a murderer didn’t make me feel immensely better about doing the same to him, but the alternative was even less pleasant so I didn’t let it eat me up.
We briefly considered spending the night, but with the neighborhood’s defense screen gone, and us not knowing if the deceased sniper had had accomplices who may have simply been out when we arrived, it was decided that the risk of sticking around was too great.
Fortunately, it was still afternoon, and we judged that we had roughly three hours of daylight left.
We took a different route south, this time heading down through some more urban areas. The map had shown what looked like a cluster of multi-storied office buildings to the south-east that looked like they might be a better place to lay low for the night, if we couldn’t make it back home before dark.
We cheered a bit during the trip, having only encountered a few actual feral dogs along the way – which were easily dispatched.
The cheer faded quickly when we reached the cluster of buildings. It was swarming with Raiders. At least a dozen that we could see; many of which were on some sort of loose patrol path in pairs.
It was too late in the day to swing back and try to circle around; Minefield didn’t seem any safer now than earlier – least of all if someone noticed us and followed our trail. Neither did simply attacking them seem the best of ideas, for obvious reasons.
The universe saw to that little detail for us, however. A pair of Raiders had apparently been on a wide patrol, and swung in behind us. They were more surprised than we were.
I got one, and Ria nailed the other. Unfortunately, one supersonic crack and two unsuppressed 22 magnums equals one alerted mess of Raiders.
From there our path was effectively chosen, so we set about dealing with the rest.
Picking them off at range was fairly simple; these Raiders weren’t any brighter than the others had been. They were better armed, though.
We stayed low in the street – I took them as they came, and Ria put down any who got the bright idea to try and flank us. They just kept coming. Just when I thought they were done, at the far end of the street several more filed out of the back of a trailer.
Clearly, we had stumbled onto some sort of hot-spot.
Pressing on, we dealt with the last stragglers, and set about looting the dead; coming by several more M67 grenades in the process, along with some 9x19 ammunition for the G18, and an AC556 with a couple of magazines.
I kept the AC556, since it was select-fire, and my MK14 was locked into semi-auto. I’m no huge proponent of the little 5.56mm, but full-auto certainly has its uses when working indoors – and indoors we were a’goin’.
The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon. There was no way we could make it back to safety by dark, or even within a few minutes thereof. The wastes didn’t strike us as a safe place to traverse by night, so the only option was to move inside and try to find someplace to barricade ourselves in some relative safety until sunup.
There were two buildings more or less intact. One on the east side of the street, one on the west.
We chose one at random, and went inside.
This, it proved, was a mistake.
Inside, we found another dozen Raiders, who I can only assume were gathering in the entryway to investigate the gunfire outside.
Ria took down one without hesitation, and I proceeded to empty my AC556’s magazine from the hip – killing two and injuring several more.
Ria and I swept to one side, taking some small cover behind one of the load-bearing pillars. In only seconds, both of her revolvers were dry; and my carbine had eaten through both magazines – and there were still six standing.
I briefly considered throwing an M67, but didn’t care for our odds of surviving in an enclosed space. I had seen a bootleg copy of the BUST trials, after all.
“Use the M79!” Ria called, slapping another magazine into her G18 and hitting the slide release.
She proceeded to lean out, and fire a few bursts; not killing anyone, but forcing the Raiders to keep their distance, to cover of their own.
“In here? Are you nuts?”
“It’s an impact fuse! Aim for the far wall. Has to be fifteen meters…” She paused to fire again. “We’re outside the lethal range of the shell, at least – and they aren’t.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Even if it had been made with a proper payload of plastic explosive – which I highly doubted it was – we were outside the kill range, and had some passable cover to boot. The pressure wave would be another matter, but burst eardrums would be preferable to a brutal death.
I unceremoniously dropped my carbine, and retrieved the cut-down grenade launcher. Quickly checking that it was still loaded, I leaned out behind Ria and lit one off – doing my damnedest to get back into cover as fast as humanly possible; and dragging the psychotic killer of a woman I love with me.
There was a sound, and a flash.
I wish I could tell you what the sound was, but I can’t. As soon as the grenade struck, the world twisted on its axis in a very violent fashion, and I lost the ability to focus.
A second later it cleared. My ears rang, but I could still hear out of both of them, as far as I could tell.
Ria was in similar shape; leaning against the pillar and shaking her head sharply as though trying to clear it – sending her short, red hair flying about.
I put myself in the center of her vision, and asked if she was okay. A kiss and shameless grope informed me that she was.
I reloaded my grenade launcher with the last shell, and stowed it back in its place.
That done, I switched to a pistol I had picked up off a raider outside, and Ria put a fresh magazine into her G18.
We edged out of cover, and were rewarded with a scene of impressive carnage.
Best money I ever spent. Granted, I’ve only been spending money a few days, but still.
Moving through the bodies, we found a couple still alive. These were coldly shot, giving them the same quarter they’d given us.
At the back of the room, we found a woman still alive. She had only caught part of the blast; having been partly in the gap in the wall that lead upstairs.
She had been dressed better than the others; but the outfit had largely lost its effect now – most of her left leg was gone, torso scorched, arm mangled, and hair singed.
This one we didn’t immediately shoot. She was dying anyway, and quickly.
“Never figured… couple of waster kids would have a grenade launcher…” She managed to get out between ragged breaths.
I noticed an odd tattoo on what was left of her left arm. A sword with wings in blue ink? It was somewhat difficult to tell, exactly.
“You’d be surprised what you can pick up at your local sporting goods store these days.” I replied.
She laughed a bit, and ended up choking. “Not from around here, are you? You don’t have the broken spirit of someone who grew up here…”
“Vault exiles.” I shrugged, not bothering to be evasive – after all, who was she going to tell? “You’re out of place as well. I don’t see many Raiders that can talk like a human being.”
“Brotherhood.” She replied. “Kicked out five years ago… killed a kid… mistake…”
“The what?” Ria asked. “What ‘Brotherhood’?”
“Steel…” The woman breathed. “So many terrible things I did… let happen… always knew it would end this way; but still scares me to go… silly.”
“Maybe if you didn’t insist on attacking random people.” Ria shot back, not cutting any slack to the dying.
“Wish I could’ve… S-Steve, I…”
She never finished the sentence.
I’d seen death plenty of times since that morning back in the vault, but watching someone fade away before my eyes was far and away different than shooting someone who was trying to kill me. I found it more troubling by a wide stretch. Knowing that I was the one responsible for her laying there and bleeding out wasn’t helping matters, either.
Ria nonchalantly knelt, and popped the flap open on the holster hanging from the recently deceased’s belt. She gave a low whistle.
“A Colt goddamned Python.” Ria declared, holding it up to get some light on it. “Never thought I’d see one of these. It’s even still in time.”
Ria, of course, took her new prize and its holster, securing both to her own belt.
We proceeded to loot the rest of the dead, but were by this point in possession of considerably more weapons than could be practically carried. We kept the best of the lot, scavenged parts here and there to fix up second-line weapons, and left most of the rest.
The second floor produced no new enemies, though we did find a door that accessed a skyway leading to the other office.
Talking it over briefly, it was decided that even trying to secure the doors would be too risky to spend the night, with the other building still occupied.
We moved across, and into the second nest. Inside was more of the same, but on the second floor the quarters were far too tight to use explosives.
Surprise, effective use of automatic fire, quick reflexes, and sheer brutality carried us through somehow, though I ended up wounded. Not seriously – it turned out that my Kevlar was still good, even after two centuries. Fortunately, my wounds were minor and consisted only of a few grazes and some bruising under my armored vest.
In this building we found a work bench, and some medical supplies. There was even a Vault-Tec bobblehead on one of the desks.
Once this building was cleared, and before even looting the dead, we barred the doors on both floors, and piled some heavy objects in front of them just for good measure.
That done, we used a few scavenged medical supplies to see to my wounds, and set about sorting through the latest haul.
The bed we found was less than inspiring in quality or cleanliness, but it beat the floor.
After dinner of Cram and beer, we made use of it – though only for sleeping; even Ria wasn’t horny enough to try and get intimate in such conditions.
We spent most of the morning lounging about in our new home. The below-ground conditions were just too nice, compared to the hell above.
Spending your entire life in a vault doesn’t exactly leave one with a great tolerance for sunlight and high temperatures.
The couch in the den proved quite comfortable, if a bit dusty. We listened to the radio, but even with a full antenna this one had the same problem as our Pip-Boys: the “GNR” station just wouldn’t come in, and who in their right mind could listen to the Enclave station for more than five minutes? If you can do it, you’re a better man than I. Fortunately, Angry Bob was still broadcasting… although his playlist was hardly soothing or romantic.
My headache was better this morning. I was beginning to think it had something to do with exposure to the outside air. Considering the possibility, and having nothing better to do, we went looking through the house for some sort of air filtration unit.
We found it in the basement, in an alcove built next to the doorways to the medical bay and workshop. Next to it, sat a water filtration unit.
Neither was active – the air and water we had been using were apparently left over from the previous inhabitants.
Since we still had power, Ria and I decided to turn the filtration systems back on. The water filter was in working order, but the HEPA filter for the air system was caked solid with dust. Fortunately, whoever had set this place up didn’t skimp on sustainability – there was a stack of spare filters stored next to the unit. Filter replaced, we toggled the main switch and were rewarded with the system rumbling to life.
Both systems showing green, we called it good. Tossing ideas around over a late breakfast, we decided to collect up the crap we had looted from dead people thus far, and head towards Megaton. We had no use for the odd case of prescription medication, or for twelve sets of clothing and mismatched armor.
Speaking of clothing, we had switched back to our Vault suits after the school incident; since we apparently couldn’t pass for cannibals anyway. We got off lucky, and after… extensive inspections, neither of us had ended up with any lice from our brief stints in the filthy rags and makeshift armor.
Since the house had a washer and dryer – along with a not insubstantial stock of anti-bacterial cleaners – we decided to see about assembling an outfit or two that wouldn’t stick out as much in the wasteland.
After some cleaning, we managed to get something workable. Long pants and decently covering shirts that were more or less our respective sizes; with mismatched belts and holsters. We kept the gloves, boots, and knee pads from our vault outfits. We also hung on to the armored vests; while it’s true they had the gold ‘101’ on the back, we hoped that being worn over normal clothing would make it look like we had scavenged them from dead vault-dwellers, rather than owning them legitimately.
Once fully loaded, we were more than a bit overburdened. I was glad it was a short hike to the town.
We stopped, as we neared the town; hoping to get a better look while still out of sight of the gates.
A wall built from scrap steel surrounded the place. We could see one sniper in a perch above the gate – though he seemed to be inattentive.
Moving closer, we met some sort of merchant caravan; the head of which identified himself as Harith, and proclaimed that he was an arms merchant.
This, of course, warranted Ria’s full attention.
Contrary to his claims, Harith’s selection was unimpressive, at best. He had some more of the cheap rimfire revolvers, a few knives, and what I thought at first glance was a single-shot 12 gauge.
On closer inspection, it turned out to be an M79 that someone had cut down into a handgun.
That warranted making a deal.
Fortunately, it seemed that these caps they used as money were worth a fair bit each. We managed to acquire the launcher and both 40mm grenades that Harith had without even dipping half-way into our stash. Managed to end up turning a bit of a profit, actually; selling off some of the spare ammunition and melee weapons we had acquired in the school.
Harith warned us at the last second that the grenades he had didn’t have rotational fuses.
Of course, he didn’t know exactly what the wounding radius on the payloads would be; and continued that explosives were too risky to oneself for his taste.
I agreed from a theoretical standpoint; but from a practical one, a quarter pound of solid explosive makes for one hell of a crowd control device, and is always a handy last-ditch option.
We got some information from Harith about the route the caravans took (there were apparently a few caravans, each specialized in inventory), and where they were based out of.
We parted on what seemed like good terms, and Ria and I continued on to the gate.
There was a reprogrammed Protectron. I’d never seen one in person before, and was amazed it still worked. It was apparently harmless though; only welcoming us and recommending we get a drink at someplace called Moriarty’s.
Through the gate and into Megaton itself, we were immediately accosted by the “Sheriff”. He questioned our reasons for being in town, made some thinly veiled threats, and eventually moved on to kicking puppies or whatever it is that megalomaniacs do when they’re not threatening people they perceive to be weaker than themselves.
I had to admit, though, that the assault rifle he had slung across his back would render him the winner of most arguments, even if he didn’t have more than one magazine for the thing.
Moving down through the center of town, I marveled that anyone could consider living like this an improvement over anything. The place could be generously referred to as a converted junk yard; I felt like I needed a tetanus shot just looking around.
We stopped at a restaurant of sorts, and spoke to the proprietor. She didn’t seem the most “on the ball” person I’d ever met, but was kind enough to point us towards the town clinic, and the shop of one Moira Brown – a general goods trader that was apparently of some local renown.
The clinic was closest, so we stopped there first. Inside, we found the doctor, who could be described as abrasive, if one were overly kind. Most people, I think, would call him an asshole.
Still, he was enthusiastic enough about acquiring the stock of extra chemicals and medicine we had. We scored a couple of hundred extra caps, and the right to a five minute “consult” – that I wanted to ask about my headaches. I described the symptoms, and was informed that it sounded like a sinus inflammation; rare since everyone was exposed to the toxins and dust since birth.
I didn’t mention that I hadn’t been.
The doctor continued on that he hadn’t seen a dose of a proper antihistamine in decades. He joked that I could probably find some in a Vault.
I hated to tell him that it didn’t work that way. Because of the recycled, purified air respiratory allergies were all but unknown in Vault 101. They had the heavy-duty stuff for use in cases of anaphylactic shock, but nothing that was safe to take daily.
Seeing that there was no point in sticking around, we moved on towards Moira’s place.
She turned out the be the polar opposite of the doctor. Moira was a disgustingly cheerful person. Talkative, too. Before even getting the chance to ask about trading, she set off on a tangent about some survival guide she was writing.
Moira apparently recognized our armored vests, and marked us as coming from the nearby Vault. I told her a bit about vault life just to shut her up. It was hardly a ringing endorsement I gave.
Her instructional urges at least temporarily sated, I managed to get Moira to discuss some trade. Most of her stock was junk, but surprisingly, her stock of weapons was better than Harith’s. She had a lone MK14, complete with scope and suppressor. I’ll confess, I’d always wanted one.
The price was steep, but Ria agreed with me that we needed some sort of long range armament.
Unfortunately, Moira was lacking any nice revolvers.
It cost us nearly all our swag, but a deal was struck for the MK14, some ammunition, and a portable water purifier.
Moira’s endless chattiness came in handy, when she mentioned having worked out sets of reloading tools for several cartridges – the 7.62 NATO that I now had a use for, included.
It cost me, but I managed to acquire the setup for the 7.62mm. Moira mentioned that components could be retrieved from certain types of ordnance. I had no idea they still packed gunpowder into land mines… but I suppose when manufacturing one’s own in a post-society wasteland, you use whatever you can get.
Once business was concluded, she began talking again. Wanting me to help with this guide. I was poised to say no, when she mentioned a local area that had become known as “minefield” – this struck me as a good place to collect workable components for creating ammunition... and get paid for it in the bargain.
Before I left, I tossed Moira one more question – being fairly sure that I’d regret it when the answer was fifteen minutes long – and asked about the cannibals we’d run into.
Astonishingly, her answer was short; terse, even. Moira said that they were referred to as ‘Raiders’, and were not uncommon throughout the wastes. They lived in disconnected, insular bands – almost clan-like, and were nearly as prone to fighting amongst themselves as they were to raiding towns, outposts, and caravans. Because of its walls and snipers, Megaton was largely safe, though the areas surrounding were anything but.
We left Moira’s, promising to be back as soon as we had investigated Minefield.
Outside, I struggled with my new rifle. Whoever had worn it last had been a solid four inches smaller around the chest than me, and it took me a few minutes of trial and error to get the nylon sling adjusted properly. It didn’t help matters any that I had never worn a proper rifle slung before – let along in a cross-body method.
“We’re being watched.” I noted, finally settling the rifle into a more-or-less comfortable position on my armored chest.
“Tall, dark, bald, chain smoker?” Ria asked, not looking away from me.
“Yeah.”
She nodded softly. “He was eyeballing us on the way in. Lock and load – make a show of it.”
Ria moved around to stand in front of me. It occurred to me she had positioned herself to be able to look over my shoulder and at our observer, while appearing to be absorbed in paying attention to me.
Always the smart girl.
I twisted forty-five degrees to one side, to avoid covering Ria with the muzzle of my rifle, and pointed it up towards the sky; making a show of pulling the charging handle and checking the chamber was empty. That done, I inserted one of the freshly filled magazines and rocked it into place, then thumbed the bolt release paddle. The bolt sprang forward with a satisfyingly solid sound, and I pulled the safety back into its engaged position. Lastly, I laid the rifle back in its new place on my chest; shrugging once – still trying to get used to the weight on the sling dragging at my neck.
“Well?”
“Our friend suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be, I think.” She returned, amused. “Guess we’re not the easy marks someone was hoping for.”
“Let’s get going, then. Too many people in this town.”
“Agreed.”
Business concluded, and not looking to stick around for any social events, we moved on.
Back outside the wall where we could keep a decent eye on our flanks, we stopped to check the map.
At least some of Vault-Tec’s infrastructure was apparently still functional, since our Pip-Boy maps had been updating themselves over the last few days. Showing us which roads were still intact, which had been destroyed. The new map looked like interlaced LANSAT photos, but after two hundred years it was difficult to be sure.
Nonetheless, it did clearly display that we were standing in front of a scrap pile that looked suspiciously like the as-seen-from-above Megaton. You’ve got to love automated satellite surveillance and global positioning systems.
Feeling fairly confident that we could trust the topographic data, we plotted a course that would take us over to and across the Potomac, and then north into this Minefield place.
We took to a partially destroyed road, and headed east.
Ria and I made it as far as the bridge without incident. We stopped to take a look around the area before crossing into such an exposed position, and were immediately glad we did so.
Across the bridge, and some ways up what was left of the highway, we spied movement. I quickly mounted my new rifle, and made use of its excellent telescope. It was a group of Raiders, five strong as far as I could tell.
Mismatched armor, no long range weaponry visible. I had begun to suspect these people were not an organized paramilitary force.
A group of feral, abandoned dogs; rather than a pack of wolves, if you will. Very little coordination or cooperation, and they seemed just as apt to fight amongst themselves as anything when there weren’t suitable victims within sight.
Considering that the map had said there wasn’t another intact crossing over the river for a couple of miles in either direction, this was most likely some sort of checkpoint.
I somehow doubted they’d be satisfied with a handful of quarters’ toll.
“Think we can sneak by?” I asked, still watching through the scope.
“Why bother?” Ria returned. “You’ve got a can on that thing – make use of it. Not like the world will miss these cannibalistic rapist pieces of shit.”
“Right. Suppose we’ll find out if this thing was worth the money.”
I laid prone, and positioned myself to fire between two of the bridge’s railing posts. It occurred to me completely belatedly that I had forgotten to check and see if the damned rifle was zeroed. Well, that’s why they invented box-magazine fed autoloaders, right?
Not taking any chances on the sight-in, I took aim on one Raider’s chest. I picked one who was separated from the group, and that the others weren’t watching.
I fired. The sound suppressor did its job admirably, and muffled the report of the shot. It did not, however, affect the trans-sonic shockwave – the ‘crack’ part of the ‘crack-bang’ that gunshots are so often described as.
The sight-in was off, but not by as much as I had feared. If I had had to guess, I’d say the weapon was zeroed properly, just for a different load. I was shooting scavenged military ball; the previous owner had likely fed the rifle strictly match fodder. I know I would, if I had the option.
The bullet struck the Raider in the chest, about three inches left of my intended point of impact. My left, his right. That meant I missed the heart, but still holed a lung. I was rewarded with a blood spray from the target’s back; who then proceeded to collapse, wailing loudly a few seconds before his lung began to fill with blood.
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the beauty of the 7.62x51mm. Kevlar doesn’t even slow these things down, so savages clad in cheap studded leather “armor” didn’t have a prayer of being protected.
Unfortunately, the wailing awoke the rest of the hornets; who had no idea where the shot had come from but were nonetheless very pissed off about the whole thing.
I did some quick MOA-to-inch conversion in my head, and twisted the windage knob on the scope several clicks.
That done, I took aim and fired on the next target. Still not a perfect bull’s eye, but close enough for government work, as they used to say.
Zero set, I proceeded to down the remaining three in four or so seconds. For all their yowling and gnashing of teeth and random pointing, the Raiders hadn’t gotten a shot off.
We waited a few minutes, to see if any more appeared. None did.
I pushed up to a crouch, and grabbed a handful of loose ammunition from my pocket; removing the magazine and topping it off to get back to twenty rounds.
We moved on across the river, and to the corpses. This time, we left the armor and clothing on them, and only took weapons and drugs. We had miles to go, and no reason to burden ourselves with rags and rotting leather.
Ria and I switched back, and headed north; tracing our way along the back sides of the ridges where possible, to keep from silhouetting ourselves against the afternoon sun. We ran into two more bands of Raiders. I had less and less respect for them, the more I saw. The Raiders were loud, disorderly, and mostly random in their actions. They were prolific though, I had to grant them that.
The subsequent bands fared no better than the first had.
We found a few more decent weapons along the way, most notably a Glock 18, and an old pump shotgun. These Ria took, though she loudly lamented the Raiders’ lack of a proper revolver.
As we neared a power substation some half mile short of Minefield, we were attacked by animals. Strange things; pink and mostly hairless, with buck teeth and no tails. They came at us in a pack of seven, moving surprisingly fast for having such stubby legs.
I managed to get two, but I was slower than I should have been – my rifle was hardly set up for close range work. Ria handled the rest with her pair of revolvers, not even bothering to un-sling her shotgun.
We pressed on, heading for Minefield. We stopped just short of the houses.
Mines were already plainly visible in the street, and in the dirt on either side. The place looked devoid of life. I laid next to a tree, and ran my rifle’s optic up to full power – surveying the place as best I could. After a moment, I noticed movement on the tower at the far end of town. Turning my attention there, I saw an old man…
…taking a piss off the tower, into the street below.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ria muttered, when I told her what I saw.
“I wish I was. Believe me, I don’t need to see shit like this, even from three hundred meters out.”
As I continued watching, the old man finished up, and moved back towards the center-support beam – up against which was standing a rifle. I was too far out to make a positive ID, but I could tell that it had a large optic on it.
“Well,” I noted. “That would be why almost no one who went into Minefield has ever come back. If the mines don’t get you, the sniper does.”
“We need the mines, and who knows what goodies are hiding in these houses. Cap the old bastard and be done with it.” Ria returned.
“You’re heartless, you know that?”
“Not completely.”
So, I did it. I waited for the old man to bend over to retrieve his rifle, and valiantly put a bullet between his shoulderblades.
Yeah, I’m not really proud of it, either.
Seeing the sniper down, and no one else evident; we moved forward, carefully disarming the mines as we went.
Reaching the tower, we took the old man’s rifle, ammunition, and even found a key on his body. A key, we later found out, that opened all the houses on the street.
In all, it took us only a couple hours to collect all the mines, and steal everything that looked useful but wasn’t nailed down.
Inside the houses had presented a fairly grim picture. We found several skeletons of what were presumably the original inhabitants; as well as several more recent corpses – the apparent disposal sites of the people the sniper had killed. Knowing he was a murderer didn’t make me feel immensely better about doing the same to him, but the alternative was even less pleasant so I didn’t let it eat me up.
We briefly considered spending the night, but with the neighborhood’s defense screen gone, and us not knowing if the deceased sniper had had accomplices who may have simply been out when we arrived, it was decided that the risk of sticking around was too great.
Fortunately, it was still afternoon, and we judged that we had roughly three hours of daylight left.
We took a different route south, this time heading down through some more urban areas. The map had shown what looked like a cluster of multi-storied office buildings to the south-east that looked like they might be a better place to lay low for the night, if we couldn’t make it back home before dark.
We cheered a bit during the trip, having only encountered a few actual feral dogs along the way – which were easily dispatched.
The cheer faded quickly when we reached the cluster of buildings. It was swarming with Raiders. At least a dozen that we could see; many of which were on some sort of loose patrol path in pairs.
It was too late in the day to swing back and try to circle around; Minefield didn’t seem any safer now than earlier – least of all if someone noticed us and followed our trail. Neither did simply attacking them seem the best of ideas, for obvious reasons.
The universe saw to that little detail for us, however. A pair of Raiders had apparently been on a wide patrol, and swung in behind us. They were more surprised than we were.
I got one, and Ria nailed the other. Unfortunately, one supersonic crack and two unsuppressed 22 magnums equals one alerted mess of Raiders.
From there our path was effectively chosen, so we set about dealing with the rest.
Picking them off at range was fairly simple; these Raiders weren’t any brighter than the others had been. They were better armed, though.
We stayed low in the street – I took them as they came, and Ria put down any who got the bright idea to try and flank us. They just kept coming. Just when I thought they were done, at the far end of the street several more filed out of the back of a trailer.
Clearly, we had stumbled onto some sort of hot-spot.
Pressing on, we dealt with the last stragglers, and set about looting the dead; coming by several more M67 grenades in the process, along with some 9x19 ammunition for the G18, and an AC556 with a couple of magazines.
I kept the AC556, since it was select-fire, and my MK14 was locked into semi-auto. I’m no huge proponent of the little 5.56mm, but full-auto certainly has its uses when working indoors – and indoors we were a’goin’.
The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon. There was no way we could make it back to safety by dark, or even within a few minutes thereof. The wastes didn’t strike us as a safe place to traverse by night, so the only option was to move inside and try to find someplace to barricade ourselves in some relative safety until sunup.
There were two buildings more or less intact. One on the east side of the street, one on the west.
We chose one at random, and went inside.
This, it proved, was a mistake.
Inside, we found another dozen Raiders, who I can only assume were gathering in the entryway to investigate the gunfire outside.
Ria took down one without hesitation, and I proceeded to empty my AC556’s magazine from the hip – killing two and injuring several more.
Ria and I swept to one side, taking some small cover behind one of the load-bearing pillars. In only seconds, both of her revolvers were dry; and my carbine had eaten through both magazines – and there were still six standing.
I briefly considered throwing an M67, but didn’t care for our odds of surviving in an enclosed space. I had seen a bootleg copy of the BUST trials, after all.
“Use the M79!” Ria called, slapping another magazine into her G18 and hitting the slide release.
She proceeded to lean out, and fire a few bursts; not killing anyone, but forcing the Raiders to keep their distance, to cover of their own.
“In here? Are you nuts?”
“It’s an impact fuse! Aim for the far wall. Has to be fifteen meters…” She paused to fire again. “We’re outside the lethal range of the shell, at least – and they aren’t.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Even if it had been made with a proper payload of plastic explosive – which I highly doubted it was – we were outside the kill range, and had some passable cover to boot. The pressure wave would be another matter, but burst eardrums would be preferable to a brutal death.
I unceremoniously dropped my carbine, and retrieved the cut-down grenade launcher. Quickly checking that it was still loaded, I leaned out behind Ria and lit one off – doing my damnedest to get back into cover as fast as humanly possible; and dragging the psychotic killer of a woman I love with me.
There was a sound, and a flash.
I wish I could tell you what the sound was, but I can’t. As soon as the grenade struck, the world twisted on its axis in a very violent fashion, and I lost the ability to focus.
A second later it cleared. My ears rang, but I could still hear out of both of them, as far as I could tell.
Ria was in similar shape; leaning against the pillar and shaking her head sharply as though trying to clear it – sending her short, red hair flying about.
I put myself in the center of her vision, and asked if she was okay. A kiss and shameless grope informed me that she was.
I reloaded my grenade launcher with the last shell, and stowed it back in its place.
That done, I switched to a pistol I had picked up off a raider outside, and Ria put a fresh magazine into her G18.
We edged out of cover, and were rewarded with a scene of impressive carnage.
Best money I ever spent. Granted, I’ve only been spending money a few days, but still.
Moving through the bodies, we found a couple still alive. These were coldly shot, giving them the same quarter they’d given us.
At the back of the room, we found a woman still alive. She had only caught part of the blast; having been partly in the gap in the wall that lead upstairs.
She had been dressed better than the others; but the outfit had largely lost its effect now – most of her left leg was gone, torso scorched, arm mangled, and hair singed.
This one we didn’t immediately shoot. She was dying anyway, and quickly.
“Never figured… couple of waster kids would have a grenade launcher…” She managed to get out between ragged breaths.
I noticed an odd tattoo on what was left of her left arm. A sword with wings in blue ink? It was somewhat difficult to tell, exactly.
“You’d be surprised what you can pick up at your local sporting goods store these days.” I replied.
She laughed a bit, and ended up choking. “Not from around here, are you? You don’t have the broken spirit of someone who grew up here…”
“Vault exiles.” I shrugged, not bothering to be evasive – after all, who was she going to tell? “You’re out of place as well. I don’t see many Raiders that can talk like a human being.”
“Brotherhood.” She replied. “Kicked out five years ago… killed a kid… mistake…”
“The what?” Ria asked. “What ‘Brotherhood’?”
“Steel…” The woman breathed. “So many terrible things I did… let happen… always knew it would end this way; but still scares me to go… silly.”
“Maybe if you didn’t insist on attacking random people.” Ria shot back, not cutting any slack to the dying.
“Wish I could’ve… S-Steve, I…”
She never finished the sentence.
I’d seen death plenty of times since that morning back in the vault, but watching someone fade away before my eyes was far and away different than shooting someone who was trying to kill me. I found it more troubling by a wide stretch. Knowing that I was the one responsible for her laying there and bleeding out wasn’t helping matters, either.
Ria nonchalantly knelt, and popped the flap open on the holster hanging from the recently deceased’s belt. She gave a low whistle.
“A Colt goddamned Python.” Ria declared, holding it up to get some light on it. “Never thought I’d see one of these. It’s even still in time.”
Ria, of course, took her new prize and its holster, securing both to her own belt.
We proceeded to loot the rest of the dead, but were by this point in possession of considerably more weapons than could be practically carried. We kept the best of the lot, scavenged parts here and there to fix up second-line weapons, and left most of the rest.
The second floor produced no new enemies, though we did find a door that accessed a skyway leading to the other office.
Talking it over briefly, it was decided that even trying to secure the doors would be too risky to spend the night, with the other building still occupied.
We moved across, and into the second nest. Inside was more of the same, but on the second floor the quarters were far too tight to use explosives.
Surprise, effective use of automatic fire, quick reflexes, and sheer brutality carried us through somehow, though I ended up wounded. Not seriously – it turned out that my Kevlar was still good, even after two centuries. Fortunately, my wounds were minor and consisted only of a few grazes and some bruising under my armored vest.
In this building we found a work bench, and some medical supplies. There was even a Vault-Tec bobblehead on one of the desks.
Once this building was cleared, and before even looting the dead, we barred the doors on both floors, and piled some heavy objects in front of them just for good measure.
That done, we used a few scavenged medical supplies to see to my wounds, and set about sorting through the latest haul.
The bed we found was less than inspiring in quality or cleanliness, but it beat the floor.
After dinner of Cram and beer, we made use of it – though only for sleeping; even Ria wasn’t horny enough to try and get intimate in such conditions.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Facebook?
No more.
I read this tonight, and you know what? I'm sick of this bullshit.
Every time I turn around someone is mining that place for email addresses, stealing photos, profiling based on owned books and movies, trying to contact people who want nothing to do with them... and now I have to worry about people "checking me in" to tell the world where I am, even if I'm really not?
Fuck you, Facebook. Fuck you, and your invasive apps and third party cookies and soul-less selling of every byte of information you can steal from people who are just trying to socialize.
My account is hereby deactivated. I'd have deleted it, but they apparently don't allow that - probably can't understand why anyone wouldn't want their wondrous service.
Should also note: purged all personal data that I could, removed all friends, unliked everything, removed all apps, and so on. If you were unfriended and wondering why, it's nothing on you.
I read this tonight, and you know what? I'm sick of this bullshit.
Every time I turn around someone is mining that place for email addresses, stealing photos, profiling based on owned books and movies, trying to contact people who want nothing to do with them... and now I have to worry about people "checking me in" to tell the world where I am, even if I'm really not?
Fuck you, Facebook. Fuck you, and your invasive apps and third party cookies and soul-less selling of every byte of information you can steal from people who are just trying to socialize.
My account is hereby deactivated. I'd have deleted it, but they apparently don't allow that - probably can't understand why anyone wouldn't want their wondrous service.
Should also note: purged all personal data that I could, removed all friends, unliked everything, removed all apps, and so on. If you were unfriended and wondering why, it's nothing on you.
Overheard...
...In my bedroom:
*clicks link to county Jury Duty notice site*
Come on! Big money! No whammy no whammy STOP!
*site finishes loading*
"No jurors are needed for Thursday, August 26, 2010"
YES!
...Gods, I can not wait for this month to be over. And if you're under thirty, you probably won't get the joke.
Yeah, I know I need help - but I maintain that sanity would be boring.
*clicks link to county Jury Duty notice site*
Come on! Big money! No whammy no whammy STOP!
*site finishes loading*
"No jurors are needed for Thursday, August 26, 2010"
YES!
...Gods, I can not wait for this month to be over. And if you're under thirty, you probably won't get the joke.
Yeah, I know I need help - but I maintain that sanity would be boring.
Medical Treatment
No, not me; and no, this still isn't a mod post, so feel free to skip if you don't care.
Was getting dinner from the microwave, and happened to overhear the tail end of a commercial for Viagra.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "he's gonna make a wood joke!"
Well, no, I'm not. What caught my attention was the verbal equivalent to the 'fine print' that they've apparently been mandated to add to the commercials.
(I generally mute the television during commercial breaks so as not to have to hear the stupid)
It said: "If you have a sudden loss of vision or hearing, you should stop and seek medical attention immediately."
This brings up two things:
1) I have been in some intense tumbles in my life, but I can't imagine going blind in the middle and thinking it doesn't warrant immediate shifting of my priorities. Ditto for deafness.
and 2) I now have a vision in my head of a couple going at it, and the guy going "Oh shit, I can't see! ...No, don't stop, I'm almost done anyway; just a few more minutes..."
Isn't this rampant pharmaceutical nonsense going too far? Ridiculous side effects aside, do people really still need to get laid at seventy?
I realize people gotta have hobbies, but shit; doesn't anyone take up shuffleboard or model building anymore?
Was getting dinner from the microwave, and happened to overhear the tail end of a commercial for Viagra.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "he's gonna make a wood joke!"
Well, no, I'm not. What caught my attention was the verbal equivalent to the 'fine print' that they've apparently been mandated to add to the commercials.
(I generally mute the television during commercial breaks so as not to have to hear the stupid)
It said: "If you have a sudden loss of vision or hearing, you should stop and seek medical attention immediately."
This brings up two things:
1) I have been in some intense tumbles in my life, but I can't imagine going blind in the middle and thinking it doesn't warrant immediate shifting of my priorities. Ditto for deafness.
and 2) I now have a vision in my head of a couple going at it, and the guy going "Oh shit, I can't see! ...No, don't stop, I'm almost done anyway; just a few more minutes..."
Isn't this rampant pharmaceutical nonsense going too far? Ridiculous side effects aside, do people really still need to get laid at seventy?
I realize people gotta have hobbies, but shit; doesn't anyone take up shuffleboard or model building anymore?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
There Will Fall Soft Rains
Okay, this is going to be one of those posts. Not video game related; but as much as we all play Fallout et al, I thought some of you might be able to appreciate this video:
There will fall soft rains
Uploaded by DublinBen. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.
Apparently based on a short by Ray Bradbury. Not really sure what to call it, myself. The place I found it linked described it as "creepy" and "haunting". Can't really say as I agree with that, but I have been wrong before.
There will fall soft rains
Uploaded by DublinBen. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.
Apparently based on a short by Ray Bradbury. Not really sure what to call it, myself. The place I found it linked described it as "creepy" and "haunting". Can't really say as I agree with that, but I have been wrong before.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
FML
PM: "where is angela staley?"
NosCo Reply: "I hide things like that in the readme:
"Angela Staley companion can be found in Rivet City's Stairwell." "
PM: "thanks dude i was having trouble finding it, i never thought to check the readme xD"
...Some days, I just want to curl up into a ball and cry...
Humanity is so fucking fucked at this point that it isn't even funny anymore.
NosCo Reply: "I hide things like that in the readme:
"Angela Staley companion can be found in Rivet City's Stairwell." "
PM: "thanks dude i was having trouble finding it, i never thought to check the readme xD"
...Some days, I just want to curl up into a ball and cry...
Humanity is so fucking fucked at this point that it isn't even funny anymore.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Vault Redecorations
Having an introspective evening.
Not going to bore you all with the deeper ruminations of my twisted-on-a-good-day psyche; but I will say that my meandering eventually led me to the file tracking list on the Nexus. This, of course, saw me noticing that new images had been uploaded to the RR Master as well as Refurbished.
Looks like Fry has another version getting close to ready for drop.
Looks... nice. Really.
Seems he and I had several of the same ideas for the vault; save that he actually implemented his, rather than wasting time on other diversions.
New textures galore. It really is a class act.
If I still had any self esteem, this would bite a big hunk out of it. Does make me think that I'm likely wasting the time I put into my Remodel.
I have the GECK open in the background as I type this; the quest edit window open, showing the dialog for the new guarding options that don't even work.
This causes another though to occur: There is a difference between passion and obligation. This may seem obvious so some of you, but spend long enough, mired deeply enough in something, and if you have any sense of responsibility at all... that line begins to blur.
One day you look up and realize it's a year later, and that you're spending eight hours a day six days a week working on a mod - adding features you don't think it needs - and answering vapid questions from morons who would have difficulty powering on an iMac without fucking it up.
Granted, I've answered a lot of vapid questions in my various capacities as a gunsmith over the years... but when your day job sometimes involves making cement blocks explode from a hundred meters away it tends to buy some extra leeway in the bullshit department.
Sorry, memory lane. Anyway.
I hit that point with the mod a few months ago. Been largely in neutral since.
The whole row with the most recent malcontent really brought it into focus. I started thinking about just how little of the companion system's "features" I use. Armory, wardrobe, group orders, class changing, guard package, sleep system; it's all worthless to me.
Now I sit here, writing in more guard options. A movable home marker I don't think the mod even needs. Working on NPCs I don't like...
...Why?
I can't change the vault. Can't make it what I want it to be. Can't make the residents not suck. Can't give it the story I want.
Why soldier on?
The question may well be rhetorical. I sure don't have an answer for it.
Then again, I don't have any answers for the rest of my life these days, either, so I suppose it's at least consistent.
Not going to bore you all with the deeper ruminations of my twisted-on-a-good-day psyche; but I will say that my meandering eventually led me to the file tracking list on the Nexus. This, of course, saw me noticing that new images had been uploaded to the RR Master as well as Refurbished.
Looks like Fry has another version getting close to ready for drop.
Looks... nice. Really.
Seems he and I had several of the same ideas for the vault; save that he actually implemented his, rather than wasting time on other diversions.
New textures galore. It really is a class act.
If I still had any self esteem, this would bite a big hunk out of it. Does make me think that I'm likely wasting the time I put into my Remodel.
I have the GECK open in the background as I type this; the quest edit window open, showing the dialog for the new guarding options that don't even work.
This causes another though to occur: There is a difference between passion and obligation. This may seem obvious so some of you, but spend long enough, mired deeply enough in something, and if you have any sense of responsibility at all... that line begins to blur.
One day you look up and realize it's a year later, and that you're spending eight hours a day six days a week working on a mod - adding features you don't think it needs - and answering vapid questions from morons who would have difficulty powering on an iMac without fucking it up.
Granted, I've answered a lot of vapid questions in my various capacities as a gunsmith over the years... but when your day job sometimes involves making cement blocks explode from a hundred meters away it tends to buy some extra leeway in the bullshit department.
Sorry, memory lane. Anyway.
I hit that point with the mod a few months ago. Been largely in neutral since.
The whole row with the most recent malcontent really brought it into focus. I started thinking about just how little of the companion system's "features" I use. Armory, wardrobe, group orders, class changing, guard package, sleep system; it's all worthless to me.
Now I sit here, writing in more guard options. A movable home marker I don't think the mod even needs. Working on NPCs I don't like...
...Why?
I can't change the vault. Can't make it what I want it to be. Can't make the residents not suck. Can't give it the story I want.
Why soldier on?
The question may well be rhetorical. I sure don't have an answer for it.
Then again, I don't have any answers for the rest of my life these days, either, so I suppose it's at least consistent.
Never. Ends.
Dinner last night makes me sick, wake up this morning (hey, 11:30 is still technically morning) feeling like a walk-on from a Romero flick, open up the RR Companions Vault file entry to check comments, and there it sits.
Let's see.
Problem no one else has ever reported? Check.
Broken English? Check.
Complete lack of useful detail? Check.
...What's this? A bonus? A repeated, vehement denial of using any other plugins and insistence on a "clean savegame"? My bullshit sense is suddenly tingling.
Nevermind that "dirty" saves don't usually influence dialog.
Pisser of it is that I can't think of any plugins off the top of my head (even written by me) that alter that dialog menu. Unless it's some weird combination of a 'merge patch' made for pre-v5, coupled with a new version of the master?
Hell, I don't have enough caffeine in me for this today...
Edit: NeilUK02 pointed out that the health system reset and stay commands are in different sub-menus. I opened the GECK real quick to verify this, and he's right.
You know, between this "one world" crap resulting in nobody speaking friggin' English anymore, and the fact that I apparently don't give enough of a shit to remember basic details about my own mod anymore...
Well, it ain't shaping up to be a great day.
Let's see.
Problem no one else has ever reported? Check.
Broken English? Check.
Complete lack of useful detail? Check.
...What's this? A bonus? A repeated, vehement denial of using any other plugins and insistence on a "clean savegame"? My bullshit sense is suddenly tingling.
Nevermind that "dirty" saves don't usually influence dialog.
Pisser of it is that I can't think of any plugins off the top of my head (even written by me) that alter that dialog menu. Unless it's some weird combination of a 'merge patch' made for pre-v5, coupled with a new version of the master?
Hell, I don't have enough caffeine in me for this today...
Edit: NeilUK02 pointed out that the health system reset and stay commands are in different sub-menus. I opened the GECK real quick to verify this, and he's right.
You know, between this "one world" crap resulting in nobody speaking friggin' English anymore, and the fact that I apparently don't give enough of a shit to remember basic details about my own mod anymore...
Well, it ain't shaping up to be a great day.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Messengers
I hate them.
I rarely turn Trillian on these days, because no one on my contact list can be bothered to speak to me, and I can be ignored just as effectively without wasting the CPU time.
Still, when I do turn it on Trillian has been bitching in my general direction for the last few weeks about my version of AIM not being any good after the 16th.
Finally decide to break down and update. Despite updating, it still bitches. So I hit their web site and see that despite the program saying I'm up to date, I'm actually like ten versions behind.
Get the new one, let it install, tell it I don't want the stupid, worthless toolbar, and go to fire it up.
Now, over the years I've collected accounts with AIM, ICQ, Yahoo, MSN, and a couple others.
I can remember the passwords for exactly zero of these.
After much swearing and threatening of the computer, I finally get logged into all but the Windows Live/MSN account. It won't take my password no matter what I do - which I find odd, because I just logged into the damned account with it via web page a few minutes previous. But, fine, whatever; I don't know anyone who still uses the damned thing, anyway.
Get it all running, and find out that I have exactly zero messages awaiting me; save in my old Yahoo account, where I have: one friend request from a spambot, one spam email, and two emails from Yahoo regarding the Personals listing of mine that was supposed to have been deleted in 2001. Why they keep telling me it's about to be deleted is beyond me. I deleted the damned thing myself years ago.
I'm not sure whether or not to consider this entire episode pathetic.
Though I will say: you fuckers from Canuckistan who keep spamming me about your mail order pharmacies with cheap Viagra, Cialis, and other getter-upper pills? GO AWAY! I'll never buy them. I don't even need them.
Now, you figure out a legal way to ship me twelve hour Sudafed without my having to deal with an asinine registry? Then we'll talk.
I rarely turn Trillian on these days, because no one on my contact list can be bothered to speak to me, and I can be ignored just as effectively without wasting the CPU time.
Still, when I do turn it on Trillian has been bitching in my general direction for the last few weeks about my version of AIM not being any good after the 16th.
Finally decide to break down and update. Despite updating, it still bitches. So I hit their web site and see that despite the program saying I'm up to date, I'm actually like ten versions behind.
Get the new one, let it install, tell it I don't want the stupid, worthless toolbar, and go to fire it up.
Now, over the years I've collected accounts with AIM, ICQ, Yahoo, MSN, and a couple others.
I can remember the passwords for exactly zero of these.
After much swearing and threatening of the computer, I finally get logged into all but the Windows Live/MSN account. It won't take my password no matter what I do - which I find odd, because I just logged into the damned account with it via web page a few minutes previous. But, fine, whatever; I don't know anyone who still uses the damned thing, anyway.
Get it all running, and find out that I have exactly zero messages awaiting me; save in my old Yahoo account, where I have: one friend request from a spambot, one spam email, and two emails from Yahoo regarding the Personals listing of mine that was supposed to have been deleted in 2001. Why they keep telling me it's about to be deleted is beyond me. I deleted the damned thing myself years ago.
I'm not sure whether or not to consider this entire episode pathetic.
Though I will say: you fuckers from Canuckistan who keep spamming me about your mail order pharmacies with cheap Viagra, Cialis, and other getter-upper pills? GO AWAY! I'll never buy them. I don't even need them.
Now, you figure out a legal way to ship me twelve hour Sudafed without my having to deal with an asinine registry? Then we'll talk.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
RR Companions Vault 5.64, Upcoming Part II
Oh man, it's hard getting back into the saddle after so long slacking off and not modding.
Still, I got some crap done tonight.
Mirelurks are reset to a patrol path rather than a sandbox. This will hopefully keep the little bastards in their tank for everyone.
New feature: "Home". We've had a return to Vault order for quite awhile, but I know people are wanting to have movable home markers, as well. So now you do. This is a separate command from the return to Vault command - so you'll be either to choose which to send them to at any time. Please note there is one movable marker. No matter how many companions you have in game, there will be only one "Home".
New feature: Guard Locations. Similar to the movable home marker, there are five guard markers, that can be set by dialog. Again, there are only the five - no matter how many companions you have, or who you set them through, it's the same markers. The 'Guard Here' command remains for the time being.
This is going to be an open beta version soon, to get some testing done before I call 'er good.
Still have Sunny to beautify (assuming it's possible), and the follow distance plugins to update, though.
Edit, Later: and of course, this is what I was expecting. The guard commands don't work between cells. The guard package gets lost somewhere in the aether, and the companion's basic sandbox package takes over.
Home command is likely to be the same. This means I have to create travel packages now; and have them switch to the guard package on end automatically...
Remember now why I've been playing FFXII instead of modding FO3.
Still, I got some crap done tonight.
Mirelurks are reset to a patrol path rather than a sandbox. This will hopefully keep the little bastards in their tank for everyone.
New feature: "Home". We've had a return to Vault order for quite awhile, but I know people are wanting to have movable home markers, as well. So now you do. This is a separate command from the return to Vault command - so you'll be either to choose which to send them to at any time. Please note there is one movable marker. No matter how many companions you have in game, there will be only one "Home".
New feature: Guard Locations. Similar to the movable home marker, there are five guard markers, that can be set by dialog. Again, there are only the five - no matter how many companions you have, or who you set them through, it's the same markers. The 'Guard Here' command remains for the time being.
This is going to be an open beta version soon, to get some testing done before I call 'er good.
Still have Sunny to beautify (assuming it's possible), and the follow distance plugins to update, though.
Edit, Later: and of course, this is what I was expecting. The guard commands don't work between cells. The guard package gets lost somewhere in the aether, and the companion's basic sandbox package takes over.
Home command is likely to be the same. This means I have to create travel packages now; and have them switch to the guard package on end automatically...
Remember now why I've been playing FFXII instead of modding FO3.
Of Clean Plugins...
I ranted a tish the other day about a recent malcontent who went to the trouble of sending me a long PM, complaining in my general direction that my Remodel doesn't work right when masterupdated (Remember what Groucho would say, Kiddies!). I know I've been more out of it than usual, because the more I re-read the PM, the more I notice.
I was incorrect in my first assessment that he didn't name the plugin. Got to reading more today to reply, and found this little tidbit buried in there; that I had obviously heretofore skimmed over: "I havent done much testing, but I dont think the patch will cause problems. You can download it here:[url deleted by me]"
So... lemme get this straight. You do something to my plugin that it was never meant to have done to it; it doesn't work. So rather than ask me what the cause could be, you decide amongst yourself to "fix" it, and then upload said fixed version to Mediafire.
And then close your PM with a more-than-a-bit retarded sounding "Thanks for taking the time to read this lol. I hope its useful!"
I get the feeling that I'm intended to be grateful for the "help". I find myself gravitating rather more to moderately annoyed.
I just got done drafting my response:
I've been thinking about this since Friday; trying to come up with some way to respond that doesn't have me come across as a sarcastic and all-round unpleasant fellow, and I can't.
So I'm going to just be straight with you.
I'm perfectly well aware of the FO3Edit crew's professed "correct" method of cleaning a plugin.
I fought with that third rate program for a week trying to make it work right with my Remodel.
It doesn't. It never has. It likely never will.
That furniture and random statics you see out of place? Not an artifact of a dirty save. They were there, even after I started a new game to check. I tried 'undelete and disable', I tried manually setting and resetting the flags in the GECK. Even tried moving the affected statics elsewhere in the cell; outside the walls where they should be out of sight. Didn't work.
I should also note that "just open the console and disable it in game"? Not really a viable option for a self-respecting modder, as it has to be done by the player on their end; in every game. Fixes have to be relegated to things that work directly from the plugin, sadly.
Eventually, I just gave up, as it was immaterial.
Why, you may ask, is it immaterial?
Because the Remodel doesn't need to be a master. At all. Ever. There are no NPCs in it. There are no navmesh problems. It was never intended to be modifiable by a third party via plugin. Really, it works just spiffily as an esp file.
I can appreciate your apparent dedication to testing, but quite frankly I find it more than a bit insulting that you just assumed out of the blue that I don't make plugins the way you want because I don't know how. Contrary to the prevailing wisdom on the forums, "MAKE IT A MASTER!" does not fix all of Fallout 3's issues.
I'm sorry that you had crashing issues, but the solution to me would seem very simple - if it crashes when masterupdated, don't masterupdate the plugin. Granted, I'm a bit of a pragmatist.
For what it's worth, I think you had a problem somewhere else. I ran the plugin as a proper esm for awhile in testing, and never had any issues on entering the vault. Could have been corrupt save or anything; clipping statics rarely cause a crash in my experience.
If the "patched" version works well enough for your game, more power to you. That said, I have no plans to enact any such schemes in my version, and I'll thank you to kindly not go uploading my work to random places around the internet.
Of course, what I didn't note there was that it is entirely possible to disable the statics from within the game. It would take me all of five minutes to write a run-once script that would disable the misplaced statics when the plugin was first run.
Still not gonna do it, though. :p
I was incorrect in my first assessment that he didn't name the plugin. Got to reading more today to reply, and found this little tidbit buried in there; that I had obviously heretofore skimmed over: "I havent done much testing, but I dont think the patch will cause problems. You can download it here:[url deleted by me]"
So... lemme get this straight. You do something to my plugin that it was never meant to have done to it; it doesn't work. So rather than ask me what the cause could be, you decide amongst yourself to "fix" it, and then upload said fixed version to Mediafire.
And then close your PM with a more-than-a-bit retarded sounding "Thanks for taking the time to read this lol. I hope its useful!"
I get the feeling that I'm intended to be grateful for the "help". I find myself gravitating rather more to moderately annoyed.
I just got done drafting my response:
I've been thinking about this since Friday; trying to come up with some way to respond that doesn't have me come across as a sarcastic and all-round unpleasant fellow, and I can't.
So I'm going to just be straight with you.
I'm perfectly well aware of the FO3Edit crew's professed "correct" method of cleaning a plugin.
I fought with that third rate program for a week trying to make it work right with my Remodel.
It doesn't. It never has. It likely never will.
That furniture and random statics you see out of place? Not an artifact of a dirty save. They were there, even after I started a new game to check. I tried 'undelete and disable', I tried manually setting and resetting the flags in the GECK. Even tried moving the affected statics elsewhere in the cell; outside the walls where they should be out of sight. Didn't work.
I should also note that "just open the console and disable it in game"? Not really a viable option for a self-respecting modder, as it has to be done by the player on their end; in every game. Fixes have to be relegated to things that work directly from the plugin, sadly.
Eventually, I just gave up, as it was immaterial.
Why, you may ask, is it immaterial?
Because the Remodel doesn't need to be a master. At all. Ever. There are no NPCs in it. There are no navmesh problems. It was never intended to be modifiable by a third party via plugin. Really, it works just spiffily as an esp file.
I can appreciate your apparent dedication to testing, but quite frankly I find it more than a bit insulting that you just assumed out of the blue that I don't make plugins the way you want because I don't know how. Contrary to the prevailing wisdom on the forums, "MAKE IT A MASTER!" does not fix all of Fallout 3's issues.
I'm sorry that you had crashing issues, but the solution to me would seem very simple - if it crashes when masterupdated, don't masterupdate the plugin. Granted, I'm a bit of a pragmatist.
For what it's worth, I think you had a problem somewhere else. I ran the plugin as a proper esm for awhile in testing, and never had any issues on entering the vault. Could have been corrupt save or anything; clipping statics rarely cause a crash in my experience.
If the "patched" version works well enough for your game, more power to you. That said, I have no plans to enact any such schemes in my version, and I'll thank you to kindly not go uploading my work to random places around the internet.
Of course, what I didn't note there was that it is entirely possible to disable the statics from within the game. It would take me all of five minutes to write a run-once script that would disable the misplaced statics when the plugin was first run.
Still not gonna do it, though. :p
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Also
The... other posts that were up on this blog and the other for some hours late last week were deleted without my reading the comments. So, if you did comment - and the two of you who did know who you are - I'm not ignoring any heartfelt sentiment or ire at my whining; whichever you may have sent. I just never saw it.
I have, however, learned my lesson, and will revert to my previous policy of keeping it to myself, save for occasional vague references.
Sorry to have inconvenienced anyone.
I have, however, learned my lesson, and will revert to my previous policy of keeping it to myself, save for occasional vague references.
Sorry to have inconvenienced anyone.
Can't Even...
...Go insane in peace around here.
Got a PM sitting in my Nexus box. Been there since Friday afternoonish.
It is a long post, from a discontented player. I can't think of his handle at the moment, but he was rebuffed on both the main master and Refurb for trying to masterupdate.
This long PM is a wandering list of "fixes" for how I "should have done it" to make "the mod" compatible with masterupdate.
I didn't clean it "properly", you see.
Honestly, I have no fucking idea whether he's talking about Refurb or my Remodel. I have the sneaking suspicion it's Refurb, since he didn't bitch on the Remodeled file entry that I saw. Which makes me wonder.
There aren't any deleted entries to be cleaned from the master. Let alone how ever many thousands he prattled off. If it is Refurb, what in the holy hell am I supposed to do about it? It's not my goddamned plugin.
Amusingly, he then goes on to note that the furniture didn't display correctly after "properly" cleaning the plugin, but I'm still supposed to do as he says.
Guys, I don't know how much more I can do this shit.
My interest in Fallout 3 is waning as it is, and there's a constant stream of genetic defectives who don't mod themselves, but know how I should be doing it. They don't read docs, they don't read blog posts or back comments.
They just know that TEH FO3EDIT GUIZ SED DAT MASTRUPDAT FIXES EVRYTHNG SO U SHULD DO IT!!!!
I haven't responded to malcontent 174,785A yet. I'll get my ass banned if I do. These last few days I haven't been able to come up with a response that doesn't somewhere include the words "and the horse you rode in on!"
Haven't even checked the file entries or Nexus at all. I shudder to think of the stupidity that's probably going on over there.
Edit: Huh. I must've been thinking of a different asshole. This one, on closer reading, is referencing my Remodel.
I can't think of any reasons it needs to be an esm... but what the fuck do I know? I've only been modding FO3 twenty odd months...
Got a PM sitting in my Nexus box. Been there since Friday afternoonish.
It is a long post, from a discontented player. I can't think of his handle at the moment, but he was rebuffed on both the main master and Refurb for trying to masterupdate.
This long PM is a wandering list of "fixes" for how I "should have done it" to make "the mod" compatible with masterupdate.
I didn't clean it "properly", you see.
Honestly, I have no fucking idea whether he's talking about Refurb or my Remodel. I have the sneaking suspicion it's Refurb, since he didn't bitch on the Remodeled file entry that I saw. Which makes me wonder.
There aren't any deleted entries to be cleaned from the master. Let alone how ever many thousands he prattled off. If it is Refurb, what in the holy hell am I supposed to do about it? It's not my goddamned plugin.
Amusingly, he then goes on to note that the furniture didn't display correctly after "properly" cleaning the plugin, but I'm still supposed to do as he says.
Guys, I don't know how much more I can do this shit.
My interest in Fallout 3 is waning as it is, and there's a constant stream of genetic defectives who don't mod themselves, but know how I should be doing it. They don't read docs, they don't read blog posts or back comments.
They just know that TEH FO3EDIT GUIZ SED DAT MASTRUPDAT FIXES EVRYTHNG SO U SHULD DO IT!!!!
I haven't responded to malcontent 174,785A yet. I'll get my ass banned if I do. These last few days I haven't been able to come up with a response that doesn't somewhere include the words "and the horse you rode in on!"
Haven't even checked the file entries or Nexus at all. I shudder to think of the stupidity that's probably going on over there.
Edit: Huh. I must've been thinking of a different asshole. This one, on closer reading, is referencing my Remodel.
I can't think of any reasons it needs to be an esm... but what the fuck do I know? I've only been modding FO3 twenty odd months...
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The Mystical Load Order
I don't talk much about Fallout 3 reliability fixes in general around here, because it tends to be a personal thing. What works for one computer crashes another.
But Herculine's comment this morning about someone begging for her load order to "fix" their game, got me going on a bit of a mental tangent, and I decided to share.
Most of you believe the Load Order to be some equivalent of a magical Rubik's Cube - "If I can just get this lined up, my game will work perfectly!"
No, no it won't.
Look, I've been playing Fallout 3 - daily in most cases - since about 1800 local time on the day it went gold. I've been through all the patches, the unofficial patch, materupdating and restoring and auto load sorters and "expert guides"; and I'm going to level with you all, right now.
Fallout 3 is the crashingest game I've seen in more than a decade. There have been worse, make no mistake, but they were fly-by-night operations. To have seen this game win so many awards - not to mention that we're all still playing it - not only boggles the mind, but is a testament to just how stellar the game could have been, had the developers been interested in something other than selling DLC.
Do you want to know what a load order is? What it really does? I'll tell you.
It controls which mods get precedence to override which others as the game loads. That's. It.
Unless you run multiple mods that all alter the same thing, it's really pretty irrelevant.
For instance, I keep the RR masters at the end of the master section, and the plugins at the top of their section. Why? Because it keeps them all together, and makes it simpler for me when I go looking for one to activate/deactivate it. They work just as well at the end, and I have been known to move them from one end to the other within one set of savegames, without any crashing above and beyond the norm manifesting itself.
Why? Because the RR Companions Vault and its satellites are not FWE, FOOK, or MMM. They are innocuous, by and large.
The RR Companions Vault modifies one game setting, adds three doors to the wasteland, modifies the three pieces of relevant navmesh, and adds four map markers.
The game setting will simply be overridden by another mod, and the door additions will only come into real conflict if another plugin modifies the exact spot where they are. The spots were chosen to prevent that, and thus far I've yet to see or get a confirmed report of a plugin that they do conflict with. Navmesh, like the game setting, would be a simple override by one mod of the other, and would result in nothing worse than your companions not appearing with you when you come out the wasteland side of the door - they would, instead, appear at the next-nearest door in the navmesh. The map markers are like invisible static objects, and won't really conflict with anything.
These listed conflicts, I should also note, will not cause a game crash. The two objects would simply appear one inside the other.
Because of the number of objects replaced or modified, the load order within the RR series can matter, but the few conflicts there have been mapped out and fixes determined; and mostly revolve around Refurbished, which modifies nearly everything in Vault 1 - problems are to be expected when other plugins try to modify the same things.
The load order with companion plugins like Herculine's Scouts is completely irrelevant, except where it concerns the plugin's master files. A plugin must always come after its master(s). Trying to load a master after a dependent plugin will not end in a good day.
Assuming you have all the masters, and they're loaded before the plugin... it really doesn't matter where companions go. Really. Load early, load last, doesn't matter. As long as they don't modify default game NPCs, it really doesn't matter.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Crash on main menu load means missing master files. Fully 99% of the time, that's what does it. The other one percent is either a hardware or software issue (drivers, DirectX, codecs, etc), or very occasionally a corrupted game resource - though I've only seen that one twice; once was a conflicting mesh with the Ling's Finer Things.bsa, and the other a corrupted clothing mod. Removing the extra mesh fixed the Ling's issue, and simply removing the corrupted mod fixed the other. I've never seen it happen because a companion - or any other NPC, for that matter - plugin was out of place in the Holy Load Order of Antioch.
Crashing on loading a save game can happen with a companion plugin, if you're in an affected cell when you try to load the game, and one of an existing NPC is standing on the exact spot where one of the new ones spawns. The solution here is simple: load the game without the new plugin running, go into an unaffected cell, save, and then activate the new plugin. On entering the cell where the new NPCs are, the game engine will move them all around and make sure no one's clipping into anyone else.
Now, lest you think me one-sided, I'll admit there are times when load order finagling is warranted.
Example: as anyone who's been paying any attention whatsoever will know, I run Einherjrar's excellent 20th Century Weapons mod - and have since version 1.7 of it, before it even included Soviet weapons.
I've also recently begun running FWE. Both Ein's ALIVE series of plugins, and FWE in general modify leveled lists for loot, weapons, and ammunition - as well as some specific NPCs.
I could create a "merged patch" as the "ZOMG J00 HAV 2 MASTRUPDATE UR GAEM R IT WONT WERK!" sect is constantly yammering on about. Or, I could just put the ALIVE plugins below the FWE plugins in the load order. ALIVE gets to override FWE, the weapons I want to appear do so; while still allowing the lists 20thCW doesn't modify to do whatever it is FWE has them set up to do. I get 20thCW weapons for the most part, and the FWE items, and no issues. No fuss, no muss, it took less than five minutes to set up.
The fun thing about merge patches is that you have to recreate the goddamned thing every time one of the mods updates.
It's sort of like an FOMOD, only without the helpful automatic execution.
And those of you who want to run FWE, FOOK2, and MMM simultaneously? Stop being indecisive and fucking pick one. Your game will get 1000% easier to keep working, and considering that FWE and FOOK are completely different game-wide overhauls, I must react similarly to Arwen, when someone mentioned her tweaks and FWE: "...They do opposite things, why would you want to run them at the same time?"
Lastly, there is the matter to consider that some mods simply do not work together. No matter the load order, or game settings; they just refuse to get along. The only "fix" in most of these cases is to create the aforementioned merge patch, to go through setting by setting and decide which mod's changes to keep, and which to discard.
Me? I just decide which one I like better, and get rid of the other.
But Herculine's comment this morning about someone begging for her load order to "fix" their game, got me going on a bit of a mental tangent, and I decided to share.
Most of you believe the Load Order to be some equivalent of a magical Rubik's Cube - "If I can just get this lined up, my game will work perfectly!"
No, no it won't.
Look, I've been playing Fallout 3 - daily in most cases - since about 1800 local time on the day it went gold. I've been through all the patches, the unofficial patch, materupdating and restoring and auto load sorters and "expert guides"; and I'm going to level with you all, right now.
Fallout 3 is the crashingest game I've seen in more than a decade. There have been worse, make no mistake, but they were fly-by-night operations. To have seen this game win so many awards - not to mention that we're all still playing it - not only boggles the mind, but is a testament to just how stellar the game could have been, had the developers been interested in something other than selling DLC.
Do you want to know what a load order is? What it really does? I'll tell you.
It controls which mods get precedence to override which others as the game loads. That's. It.
Unless you run multiple mods that all alter the same thing, it's really pretty irrelevant.
For instance, I keep the RR masters at the end of the master section, and the plugins at the top of their section. Why? Because it keeps them all together, and makes it simpler for me when I go looking for one to activate/deactivate it. They work just as well at the end, and I have been known to move them from one end to the other within one set of savegames, without any crashing above and beyond the norm manifesting itself.
Why? Because the RR Companions Vault and its satellites are not FWE, FOOK, or MMM. They are innocuous, by and large.
The RR Companions Vault modifies one game setting, adds three doors to the wasteland, modifies the three pieces of relevant navmesh, and adds four map markers.
The game setting will simply be overridden by another mod, and the door additions will only come into real conflict if another plugin modifies the exact spot where they are. The spots were chosen to prevent that, and thus far I've yet to see or get a confirmed report of a plugin that they do conflict with. Navmesh, like the game setting, would be a simple override by one mod of the other, and would result in nothing worse than your companions not appearing with you when you come out the wasteland side of the door - they would, instead, appear at the next-nearest door in the navmesh. The map markers are like invisible static objects, and won't really conflict with anything.
These listed conflicts, I should also note, will not cause a game crash. The two objects would simply appear one inside the other.
Because of the number of objects replaced or modified, the load order within the RR series can matter, but the few conflicts there have been mapped out and fixes determined; and mostly revolve around Refurbished, which modifies nearly everything in Vault 1 - problems are to be expected when other plugins try to modify the same things.
The load order with companion plugins like Herculine's Scouts is completely irrelevant, except where it concerns the plugin's master files. A plugin must always come after its master(s). Trying to load a master after a dependent plugin will not end in a good day.
Assuming you have all the masters, and they're loaded before the plugin... it really doesn't matter where companions go. Really. Load early, load last, doesn't matter. As long as they don't modify default game NPCs, it really doesn't matter.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Crash on main menu load means missing master files. Fully 99% of the time, that's what does it. The other one percent is either a hardware or software issue (drivers, DirectX, codecs, etc), or very occasionally a corrupted game resource - though I've only seen that one twice; once was a conflicting mesh with the Ling's Finer Things.bsa, and the other a corrupted clothing mod. Removing the extra mesh fixed the Ling's issue, and simply removing the corrupted mod fixed the other. I've never seen it happen because a companion - or any other NPC, for that matter - plugin was out of place in the Holy Load Order of Antioch.
Crashing on loading a save game can happen with a companion plugin, if you're in an affected cell when you try to load the game, and one of an existing NPC is standing on the exact spot where one of the new ones spawns. The solution here is simple: load the game without the new plugin running, go into an unaffected cell, save, and then activate the new plugin. On entering the cell where the new NPCs are, the game engine will move them all around and make sure no one's clipping into anyone else.
Now, lest you think me one-sided, I'll admit there are times when load order finagling is warranted.
Example: as anyone who's been paying any attention whatsoever will know, I run Einherjrar's excellent 20th Century Weapons mod - and have since version 1.7 of it, before it even included Soviet weapons.
I've also recently begun running FWE. Both Ein's ALIVE series of plugins, and FWE in general modify leveled lists for loot, weapons, and ammunition - as well as some specific NPCs.
I could create a "merged patch" as the "ZOMG J00 HAV 2 MASTRUPDATE UR GAEM R IT WONT WERK!" sect is constantly yammering on about. Or, I could just put the ALIVE plugins below the FWE plugins in the load order. ALIVE gets to override FWE, the weapons I want to appear do so; while still allowing the lists 20thCW doesn't modify to do whatever it is FWE has them set up to do. I get 20thCW weapons for the most part, and the FWE items, and no issues. No fuss, no muss, it took less than five minutes to set up.
The fun thing about merge patches is that you have to recreate the goddamned thing every time one of the mods updates.
It's sort of like an FOMOD, only without the helpful automatic execution.
And those of you who want to run FWE, FOOK2, and MMM simultaneously? Stop being indecisive and fucking pick one. Your game will get 1000% easier to keep working, and considering that FWE and FOOK are completely different game-wide overhauls, I must react similarly to Arwen, when someone mentioned her tweaks and FWE: "...They do opposite things, why would you want to run them at the same time?"
Lastly, there is the matter to consider that some mods simply do not work together. No matter the load order, or game settings; they just refuse to get along. The only "fix" in most of these cases is to create the aforementioned merge patch, to go through setting by setting and decide which mod's changes to keep, and which to discard.
Me? I just decide which one I like better, and get rid of the other.
Monday, August 2, 2010
RR Companions Vault, v5.64, Upcoming
Well, due to a quite frankly horrid night, we here at the NosCo modding division have spent the morning working on the new version.
Started out working over NPCs. Most didn't require too much; since Chloe and crew were created by me - as were Sandra, Michael, and Rick - and the others had gotten a minor touchup earlier this year.
Got as far as Sunny before problems started. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Bethsoft did a pisspoor job on the african american race in Fallout 3. It is damn near impossible to get the skin one color. Random white blotches abound. Not sure what I can do with Sunny to make her not look like shit; short of switching to one of the other races that didn't get fucked up as badly, and trying to reset the skin tone to something suitably dark.
You can see here some of what I've accomplished. Left to right: top row is Joan and Jill, second row is Trish, Sylvie, and Beth. Doc Smith got a makeover as well, but I don't have a shot handy.
Haven't decided what I'm going to do about the guards. I never use them, but I have to assume some people do.
Started out working over NPCs. Most didn't require too much; since Chloe and crew were created by me - as were Sandra, Michael, and Rick - and the others had gotten a minor touchup earlier this year.
Got as far as Sunny before problems started. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Bethsoft did a pisspoor job on the african american race in Fallout 3. It is damn near impossible to get the skin one color. Random white blotches abound. Not sure what I can do with Sunny to make her not look like shit; short of switching to one of the other races that didn't get fucked up as badly, and trying to reset the skin tone to something suitably dark.
You can see here some of what I've accomplished. Left to right: top row is Joan and Jill, second row is Trish, Sylvie, and Beth. Doc Smith got a makeover as well, but I don't have a shot handy.
Haven't decided what I'm going to do about the guards. I never use them, but I have to assume some people do.
It Continues...
"How do you get people in jail?"
My response: "Doing double the posted limit in a construction and/or school zone and then mouthing off to the cop that pulls you over usually does the trick."
And what do I hear from the redhead next to me? "Wow, you are an asshole."
Fucking duh.
My response: "Doing double the posted limit in a construction and/or school zone and then mouthing off to the cop that pulls you over usually does the trick."
And what do I hear from the redhead next to me? "Wow, you are an asshole."
Fucking duh.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Followup Stupidity
"Ah yes, the RRCV1.esm is just me abbreviating the name of your master, the RR Companion Vault, sorry. I re-installed and didnt use the 20th Century weapon's mod and it seems to work fine now."
...
Somebody wanna do your 'ol buddy Nos a favor and shoot me in the fucking head? Please? Just once; right in the brainstem.
...
Somebody wanna do your 'ol buddy Nos a favor and shoot me in the fucking head? Please? Just once; right in the brainstem.
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