Coda - The last pretense of continuity.

[Gatac]

The revolution proved to be a major turning point in the history of the NCR. While the old order was swiftly restored after Gaudosi's fall and the removal of his supporters, the newly elected President Kyle Joyce proposed a number of reforms that swiftly passed through a parliament almost exclusively manned by ex-members of the revolutionary militia.  The government became less centralised as every state regained some measure of independence, and the revised constitution included a number of ways for the general public to more readily influence government policy - among it the power to hold a popular vote before engaging in any sort of conflict with other entities.

October the 21st became a new national holiday in honor of those who had lost their lives in the uprising. The great Museum of History & Pre-History in Shady gained a new revolution wing, which contains weapons and other equipment recovered from the fight at the WestTek facility. It also contains the only photo of the intrepid group of adventurers that instigated the revolution, plus drawings of those who had not been around for taking pictures. In the history books, the involvement of the adventurers was however reduced to a more passive role, and the emphasis shifted to the fact that the revolution was primarily carried by the common people - all by the request of the very adventurers. The group also sponsered a fund for those who had lost family in the revolution, and had a few public appearances together before they agreed that their days of adventuring together were finally over. The group disbanded in harmony, but never again marched together in it's final configuration.

The populace, with the memory of Gaudosi still fresh, petitioned for a number of safeguards against tyranny, among them a clause that required all laws pertaining to basic freedoms to be approved only by two thirds of the population, plus the ability to repeal the law at every four years by a similar vote. Some would-be tyrants, believeing to have found the flaws in Gaudosi's plans, rose to the occasion of proving the safeguards ineffective, but none made it far enough to require another violent uprising.

The rangers underwent a thorough review, and while many were charged with war crimes, most of them were found to have had only little part in Gaudosi's schemes. The reformed command structure meant that many former civilians who had risen by field commission were allowed to apply for a position with the rangers and exchange their field rank for the equivalent regular one after some additional training. The rising quality standard of training meant that the average ranger would require almost 50% more time and money in training, but the improvement in performance silenced the critics. Over time, the rangers regained and built upon their reputations as lethal, but just force of order, and eventually, defense pacts with adjacent territories became assimilations.

The Brotherhood of Steel eventually regrew to it's former size and entered into a technology exchange pact with the NCR. Though cautious and slow to trust, the bond eventually became stronger, and by the turn of the next century, had become an alliance that sought to refertilize the wastes - a mammooth project that wouldn't be finished in over five generations, but once and for all ended the reign of the sand.

Motor City recovered to it's former size, but was eventually offered the opportunity to join the east-spreading NCR. They accepted, and within decades, the secrets of construction unearthed from the ruins enabled the city to shed it's war-torn face and regrow into a bastion of steel and light - New Chicago was born.

The Knights were granted recognition as religious group and spread over the wastes to teach their ideals. Their contact with the similar ideas of the NCR led to a softening of the somewhat violent dogma, and by the next century, all that remained of their fighting spirit were dojos and training centers where they taught once-forgotten martial arts.

Airtown violently resisted assimilation, and eventually became an enclave of the past - a past that was rapidly superceded by actual scientific progress beyond the state of the world before the war. The city slowly choked on it's isolation, but a trade and defense pact with the NCR saved the relations and prevented outright hostilities. Nearly two-hundred years later, Airtown still remained small and fiercely independant, but what was once violent rivalry now amounted to a bar joke.

Vaults all over the mainland were rebuilt into military bases first, but eventually, war became a distant memory, and the military mostly iconic in it's function. Some vaults were thus abandoned, while others were carefully restored to their original configuration and went on to serve as memorials for the great war.

Out of the mist of time, the secrets of matter/anti-matter energy generation were revealed. It remains to be seen whether this promethic fire will be used for creation, or if it will begin the cycle anew.

As for our heroes - well, they have their own stories to tell.
_________________
Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.

[Gatac]

Matthew "Gatac" Schaefer declined to take on any official position in the reformed NCR, although he occasionally acted as civilian advisor to the Rangers. Sick of the eternal wandering, he used his pull with some old friends to purchase an old house at the beach of Southern California, and spent the next few years restoring the wreck of a nearby boat to working condition. His relationship with Zero was, as usual, strained from time to time by flashbacks of his past, but eventually, he agreed to get psychiatric help to get over it. Although it was not an easy road to choose, nor an easy one to travel, progress was good, and after two years, he walked out of it with his peace of mind.

Zero, who had lived the wandering lifestyle just long enough to get a taste for it, never really got over the restless feelings. On her impetus, the two joined a few expeditions into the wastes - again, as advisors. Finally, as Matt had silently predicted, she too grew sick of the feeling of being far away from much of what she knew, and eventually, the travels grew more and more infrequent until they stopped alltogether.

Her energy instead went to helping the last victims of the war. Knowing that they could never have a child of their own, the pair adopted a young orphan of the revolution. The girl was christened as Anja Schaefer. This finally pinned the pair to their home, and for a few decades neither of them left it.

Shortly before the adoption, Matt was surprised to find Zero proposing marriage - all the more so because he had just intended to do the same thing. The two opted for a quiet ceremony, but the official in charge of the marriage - and the naturalisation of Zero - mistook some of the scribble of the forms, and subsequently, Zero was surprised to find herself officially being called Zoe Schaefer. The archives of the relevant departments record no attempt to change that.

Matt had known that the happiness would not last eternally. The years slipped away, and their love never ceased, but eventually, time prevailed. Anja, unwise to the history her name possessed, had secretly signed up with the Rangers as soon as she became 18 - knowing very well that Matt would not approve, but seeking a way to make him proud of her. The surprised father was, of course, proud to hear that she'd been accepted, but he found it hard to let his little girl go - for she was the only one aside from Zero that he had. Consequently, Matt and Zero had to live with the additional burden of their daughter risking her life.

Life displayed it's ugly cruelty in a different way - Anja, who had grown up shielded and instructed to follow the highest principles of her foster parents, found the world around her not matching up to them. Instead of accepting that not everyone was as idealistic as she was, or even turning back when she realized that she could not handle the stress, she pressed on, and in the process became bitter, a woman of strong opinions and strong prejudices. Matt watched this development with particular worry, and often tried to talk his daughter out of it, but in the end, this only accelerated the process. Anja had gained her independance and freedom at the cost of violently breaking away from her family.

Matt and Zero took comfort in each other, but neither of them knew what to do about the situation. The question was taken out of their hands, however, when Anja was found guilty of drug abuse. Although Matt had used his pull once more to shield her from the investigation for some time, he had finally given up on that, convinced that he was not doing her a favor. The confused mind of Anja felt betrayed by her father, and the chasm of hate grew too deep for any light to reach the bottom.

The day before the trial, Anja was found dead in her cell, having used her name to smuggle a knife into it.

Matt didn't cry at the funeral, although Zero shed enough tears for both of them. Matt, however, had taken another heavy hit to his emotional control, a hit he would never really recover from. He grew reclusive, and focussed his affection on Zero once more. New love and intimacy grew out of desperation, but Zero did not miss that her beloved had grown overly protective and paranoid. That, in turn, was noticed by Matt, who now carefully controlled his behaviour. Zero was of course happy that her mate returned to normal, but she also knew that it was only a change at the surface. The scars on his soul would take more time to heal, but it was time they had.

Things never really reached the high spot of the young family life again, but the two still loved each other, and in talking about their pain, eased it. Still, life had demanded a high price in proving them both naive. The sadness never went away fully, but the two shut out the outside and lived together happily, if secluded. Matt took up farming, and after a few years, they were self-sufficent, their only contacts to the outside being the semi-regular visits from wandering traders. The pair that was not out of this world eventually disappeared from sight as those who remembered their deeds passed away, and those who grew up to the stories were not told the full truth.

Matt had no pretenses that time made amends for them, and he sensed that Zero was aging at a more rapid pace than he was. Their days crept away at a leisurly pace, and whole weeks would go without either of them saying anything, or even doing anything beyond the most needed tasks - instead, the years passed the two lovers embracing each other, holding onto their love as the only anchor for each other.

Zero passed away at an age of 76, silently and peacefully as she had lived the last 20 years. Matt felt no pain at the loss, thankful for the years they had had, but the house he was living in felt too empty without her. Alone and bitter about his artificially enhanced lifespan, he buried Zero next to a small olive tree in his garden, and marked her grave with a simple wooden cross.

Aware that another period of his life had ended, he rummaged through the basement and retrieved his old equipment: weapons, armor, survival gear and food. The next day, he was seen in Shady for the first time in 15 years, and as nameless stranger bartered some of his fruit for cloth. When he made his way by the Ranger encampment, he spotted a young couple in uniform, laughing together. He did not need to ask them how long they had been together; he knew that their love too ran deeper than they themselves believed, and invited them for a drink in the historic Dusty Cantina.

There, he offered them to give them his house and land for free, under the conditions that they'd take care of the garden and the grave. The two were a bit taken aback by the offer, but decided to accompany him on the way back. On this journey, he retold his story, and the couple listened, several times worried that the man might be overpowered with the emotions as his voice trembled from time to time. He finished it as they neared the house, and upon the first look at it, the two agreed to the deal. Matt invited them to sleep there; he said it would be better of the formalities waited until the next day, and also that he wanted to know the feeling of life in his home once more.

On the next day, however, the two found the man gone, and, on a desk downstairs, all forms already carefully filled out for them. They also found a small handwritten note by him, telling them that he had finally finished the sail on his boat, and was now heading out into the ocean to find new adventures.

We, Thomas and Sarah Hardy, are the couple he sold the house to. We never heard from him again, but we both are sure that he found the new adventures he was looking for - whether it was another revolution somewhere else, or the final end of his journey.
_________________
Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.

[Vendor]

Adrian Calloway found himself in a vast world without anything to fight for anymore. He had convinced himself that he was over his past, and with the defeat of the tyrannical Rangers, he had nothing left to do. Deep inside of him, inside of his very soul, Adrian felt a vast black hole that tried to be filled - but no matter great enough could fill the insatiable gap. Adrian spent the first few weeks after the victory healing and hanging around the local town, telling stories in the bar to those who were willing enough to listen. People regarded him as a war hero, but he sure didn't feel like it. Adrian still felt hurt to kill other people, but somehow, he felt empty without the action.

A longing soon developed for his brothers in arms as they each went their seperate ways, a longing to get to know people whom he knew little about. The pasts of his comrades intrigued him, and when he finally realised he would never know of them, he was extremely discouraged. He always sensed a kind of brotherhood among the long time veterans that he would never be a part of. He worked very hard to uncover as much information as he could but discovered little more than vague stories that he didn't even believe to be true. Adrian soon gave up trying to get to know the people who he had fought along side with, and wondered back across the country to his home.

The east coast of the old United States had become little more than a warzone among raiders. What he found was a gigantic battle going on between rival clans and gangs. While order had been restored to the west, not even the great new NCR had reached out this far yet. Adrian soon found himself in battle with one of the gangs, although how he was drug in, he wasn't exactly sure. Life for the next couple of years was a gamble with death, and Adrian seemed to always win the favor of the dice. He soon aquired a lot of attention from enemy clans and a sizable bounty was placed on his head.

Adrian grew sick of hiding from bounty hunters and enemy raiders. He was sick of what he had become. He had fought so hard less than a decade ago to restore peace to the west coast, and now, he was fighting against all the principles what he believed in. He was a supporter of anarchy and disruption. Adrian ran. He ran far away. He ran for the longest time, away from what he had become, away from the battles and wars, away from people. He had almost given up when he come across a small town in Canada. The people had almost no defenses and they feared Adrian when they saw him.

But Adrian had no intention of killing. He had tossed away or sold all of his guns except one of his Sig pistols, never conquering the paranoia he felt when he traveled. He told the town his stories, and they were very interested in what he had to say. Nobody in the town was used to the action he had described, and he was regarded as a hero. Adrian felt sad to be regarded as a hero for killing. He always asked himself why he hated killing so much if he could never get rid of his weapons.

Adrian didn't open up to the people of the town, because he was afraid of growing close to them, regardless of his longing for friendship. He was destroying himself internally, because he feared losing the people that he loved, never forgetting the tragic losses of his past. Adrian was always looked at as the reclussive war hero, but he wanted nothing more than to open up the people in the town and show them what he was really like. He wanted somebody to be with. Finally, after a few years of living in the town, he did.

Her name was Allison, and Adrian had known her a long time before things got serious between the two. Adrian always thought about marriage, and he finally came to a decision. But when he was about to propose, the town was attacked by raiders who had apparently tracked him down after all those years of running and hiding. Unlike his harsh past, Adrian fought hard and protected the town, right up until the very last raider. It was only when he was done killing did he collapse in a bloody heap. He had sufffered severe organ damage and died almost on the spot.

Adrian's death left the people of the town wondering about where he went when he died. He had always told them that he believed everybody went to some place when they died, an idea he took from an ancient text that he had read. Stories were told that Adrian met his friends and family in the after-live, and instead of fearing death, the towns people grew to accept it, intrigued by his ideas and beliefs.
_________________
Kissle411: you on drugs or something
CallM3Desdinova: please, Vendor never does drugs
Kissle411: shyeah

[Infested Paladin]

[PLAY_SOUNDFILE=142.SamuelBarber-AdagioForStrings]

Brenden McGance, the Paladin, waited long enough to see the last of Gaudiosi's police state destroyed, then retrieved the broadsword of his youth and returned to the wastes.  He was searching for something that he had been seperated from while journeying with Gatac and the others: his unwavering sense of purpose.  Where Paladin journeyed before, fighting evil was straightforward:  shoot the bad guy, help the locals pick up the pieces.  Traveling with Gatac had exposed him to a different side of the struggle: sometimes the bad guys weren't all that bad, and sometimes the locals were the pieces.

Paladin felt emotions that he was no stranger to in moderate doses, but now they overwhelmed him.  Guilt.  Frustration.  Self-hatred.

Horrified at his new perception of the world, he struck eastward, carving a path of righteous anger.  He took out his self-loathing on gangers, slavers, and warlords with bullet, fire, blade, and power-mailed fist.  He searched desperately for the satisfaction that had once been his, the thrill of seeing evil tossed down and trampled under the sinless heel of justice.  The satisfaction and thrill eluded him; instead he earned the bitter, hateful stare of wasteland khans' widows and the angry, cheated reprimand of mayors whose towns' livelihood depended on forced labor.

Every bullet that Paladin fired, every thrust of his blade, every thermite grenade he rolled under a sleeping raider's tent flap seemed to suck something out of him.  Little by little, he spent himself until there was nothing left.  Even his newfound hatred for himself was expended itself.

One night, as he finished his slaughter in a cannibal king's hall, he emptied.  As he wrapped his fusion-powered gauntlets squeezed the neck of the king on his throne, surrounded by the bodies of the slaughtered cannibals, he locked eyes with the king's young son, who was hiding, frightened, behind the throne.  The little boy's gaze somehow pierced his armor's thick, polarized lenses and he felt the last of his spirit pour out of his own eyes and into the child's.  Beneath him, the king's body writhed with spasms as his body collapsed from lack of breath, and Brenden McGance, the Paladin, squeezed the life out his last human being.

Without a word, he gathered the child in his bloody arms and walked away.  Tracing his trail back westward, he returned to his bloodsoaked footsteps and, without a word, gathered his "pieces," silently beckoning to the survivors of his shortlived crusade.  They followed.  Bandits who encountered the silent entourage had only to meet Brenden's eyes and they turned away.  He continued west, wordlessly calling to the widows and orpahns of his destruction until at last they entered Junktown's gates, one hundred and forty-four strong.  He led them through the streets to Darkwater Park, then left them as wordlessly as he'd gathered them.  The city welcomed them, gave them homes and jobs, and Paladin was never seen in Junktown again.

Brenden remained silent until he joined Doc's exodus to Hawaii.  As the transport took to the sky and soared westward toward the Promised Land, he sank to his knees and wept, at last giving voice to the last of his heart's anguish, and the first of his newfound joy.  For the first time in his life, he felt true satisfaction.

After the exodus, Paladin's armor and weapons were found in the sands outside Junktown, sans the right gauntlet.  The survivors of his eastward rampage organized their assembly in Darkwater Park as part of a statue monument to the hero.  The statue is a modification of the cannibal king's son's earliest memory: Paladin standing, weapons slung away, his ungloved hand outstretched in invitation.

The New California Republic Rangers founded the Order of the Open Hand in Paladin's memory.  It is dedicated to ethical warfare and postwar reconciliations.
_________________
"Now, if you don't mind, I am somewhat preoccupied telling the laws of physics to shut up and sit down."
-Vaarsuvius, Elven Wizard (Order of the Stick)

[Infested Paladin]

Zeke, his work done, returned to the Great Lakes factories.  His niece and nephew both found great success in the NCR as municipal planners in the reconstruction following the revolution.  Years later, Zeke returned to the NCR to retire, settling in the historically rich city of Arroyo and marrying into the Vault Dweller's line.  Not content to let his skills lie idle, he opened a specialized distillery.  To the end of his days (and beyond in the hands of his children), Ezekiel Sanz's Swill Still, known as "Zeke's" to the locals, provided the purest water and finest liquor ever to be found in the Republic.
_________________
"Now, if you don't mind, I am somewhat preoccupied telling the laws of physics to shut up and sit down."
-Vaarsuvius, Elven Wizard (Order of the Stick)

[weaselboy]

weaselboy was a fighter.  He always tried to be active and never passive.  After the defeat of the corrupt Rangers, he took a vaction back to his home.  He was confronted with a mother dying to some pianful disease, his father, only sister, and one brother killed by raiders; and his last, and youngest brother, (named Aaron) talking of leaving home to wander the wastes.  He also took on a name he had never used in many years.  In truth, he had forgotten his *real* name.  All the years of using aliases and such, he had forgotten his original name and taken on another.

Now, Jason Boy assumed his old name, and for a while his old lifestyle.  He helped his frail mother farm, played games with his little brother (who, at the time, was only 12) and cooked dinner for the two.  He also went around the small community secretly looking for someone to take care of his mother.  He expected her to live long past his depature... if someone was there to care for her.  His brother, he knew, had dillusions of joining a "strong band of adventuring raiders" as the raiders often gave the community supplies in return for other... "services".  Those trades usually ended with the community paying in blood, or a few young girls' virginity.  Of course, Jason's brother had no idea of this, as his mom thought he was too young to know the truth.  She spoke with Jason and tried to find a solution to the problem.

Jason did.  He told Aaron about what the raiders did to Motorcity (OOC: I forgot, was that the city they destroyed?) and about the assault on Area: 51.  It had no affect on Aaron.  The "images" were not only distant to him, but so were the raiders.  Jason knew he was lost, already growing the ideological ideas that a few of the raiders he had spoken with had.

Jason found a caretaker for his mother and left soon after Aaron ran off.  The caretaker was Vulcan, which turned out to be his real name after all (he had told people it wasn't because he thought it was a strange name and would draw attention to him).  Vulcan had never really like battle, just the mechanics and science behind guns.  So, when he wasn't caring for Jason's mother, he would show the townsfolk how to make guns for hunting and defense.  He also made some to trade with the raiders, as it averted their attention from much more tender and valuable things.

Jason went back to the NCR.  He was, like many of his other companions, offered a position in the Rangers.  He decided against it.  He met up with Mike a while later, and they worked on plans to help keep the common person away from some of the more viscous battles that were happening with the Raiders.  While the NCR appeared to have no official stance on raiders other then "Protect the NCR from raider attacks", they agreed to give the funding to Jason and Mike (as long as it was reasonable) to create a group for defeating raiders, and hopefully expand NCR ideas (which would lead to hopefully gaining more territory without having to offer anything more then protection).

Jason and Mike eventually created a group that had the technology of the Brotherhood of Steel (by trading "confisgated" raider items for money, and combining that with the NCR funding to slowly build up it's technology) and a lethality that far surpassed the Rangers.  They would fight off raiders by using any tactic they could, then marched into the town or city triumphant, claiming the NCR cared for all (but, of course, when they met with the leader fo the town, they made it clear they wouldn't stay for long... that kind of protection required a direct treaty with the NCR).  Jason had his sights set on one particular group of raiders, the ones that had his home community in fear.

The group of raiders was relatively small, so the job was easy.  Move in when they were at a bar, and slowly take them out one by one.  When the remainders assembled, enough of them were killed that five men (including Jason and Mike) took out the group without the raiders firing a single shot.  Jason returned to his home town to find a mother enjoying a healthy life (the disease she had was cured by Vulcan, who used an old contact to get the right medicine directly from the NCR) and a little brother who had been badly injured in a raider fight, but nonetheless alive and home.

Jason, Mike, and their band of "Raider killers" as they were called by some of the local poplace, returned to the NCR.  During his time there, he fell in love and got married to a beautiful young woman.  She, like Jason, was about action and was a Ranger.  When the two were together, they traveled to different parts of the NCR to have fun.

More importantly, the two (in reality, Jason went and his wife followed) traveled to where Jason's comrades were last seen.  With his present line of work, he was ashamed to confront them (not knowing what they all did now that they were not required to fight for justice) but he did eventually see each and every one of them, usually from a distant sand dune, or a window in a building.  In time, he did run into a few of his former comrades, and they exchanged words and talked about what they had been doing lately, but of course Jason was never as much a part of that group as what some of the others were, so he never made any attempt to stay longer and chat then necessary... with one exception.  When he and his wife finally retired from the NCR military, they took a trip to "Zeke's" and had a good long chat with the man, and a good drink.

In the end, he heard about Paladin's and Doc's "exodus", and decided to make his own little escape.  He bought some land on the beautiful Oregon coast, with it's gentle waves, warm sun, and cool breezes.

So the two made their way to the coast.  They renovated the house that was already there, and still reside there to this day.  Vulcan eventually joined them, too, when I, Mike Johnson, told him of Jason's whereabouts.  Vulcan had kept Jason's mother company until she died of old age.  Jason's brother eventually joined the Rangers when, wanting to find some action that didn't involve raping girls and pillaging defenseless towns.  And as for me, I'm the head of the unit Jason and I started.  Though I'm too old to fight, someone needs to train the kids, just as Jason's brother's-in-arms trained Jason, Vulcan, and me, whether they meant to or not, as I'm sure they could have cared less whether any of us three live or died, just as none of us three felt anything when Punky shot himself.

(OOC: It was punky, right?)

(Edited by weaselboy at 5:05 pm on Jan. 8, 2003)


(Edited by weaselboy at 3:42 pm on Jan. 11, 2003)

[Gatac]

Commander Thomas "TA" Anderson returned to his home with a faint sense of dislocation. Always having considered himself a grunt, his temporary paralysation along with a more passive role in the final battles of the uprising had left him to conclude that he had become disenchanted with living as someone who just had to follow orders. Therefore, the logical course of action prevailed - Thomas, the once poor boy from the street and now a grown man, went to school again.

Although he had always considered his field rank of Commander as something of a transitionary ordeal, he was surprised to learn how much he already knew - and conversely, how much he had never known before - about being "brass". While working on qualifying for promotion, Thomas happened upon a most unusual topic: politics. Although generally apolitical, Matt's semi-regular monologues on the ideal government - or lack thereof - had stirred up a curiosity in him that could only be quelched by further study. Subsequently, when Thomas rose to the rank of Colonel, the early day had already been filled with the final exams for his studies, and a week later, the man with the still fresh rank insignia collected his certificate.

Doctor Thomas Anderson. He had to chuckle when he read it.

Although the popular press - which was sort of itching for a good story about one of the war heroes - portrayed him as a young and dynamic upstart into the terrain of establishing a new vision for the Rangers, Thomas himself never really aspired to rising any further. Still, recommendations and medals appeared to chase him as he went on to become the mastermind behind some of the more daring peacekeeping missions of the years after the catacalism. His hobby, politics, also didn't receive any sort of professional enthusiasm - eager though he was to discuss issues, the great run for office he was often asked about never occurred.

With the memories fading away, Thomas too faded into the quiet existence of military service. Eventually, his paralysation problems started resurfacing to a lesser extent, but despite the problems not being too severe, he decided to take it as sign to retreat from this venture and seek new horizons. Not content with simple retirement, he continued working for the Rangers as civilian advisor from time to time, but mostly indulged in his study of politics. At the age of 57, Thomas published his first written work, "Whether 'tis nobler", which mainly analysed the events leading up to Gaudosi's reign. As far as that was possible in a world where printing machines, paper and ink were in short supply, it became something of a bestseller and stirred up quite some controversy.

Thomas's book had managed to set something into motion that threatened to overcome the years of silent bliss; many of similar age who had already been adults at the time of the revolution did not take kindly to what was, in their eyes, Thomas extending his self-critic to the general population. That claim proved to be easily refuted - as evident to anyone who had actually read the book and not just the backcover synopsis -, but the talk that it was irresposible to upset people by talking about their perceived faults in something as painful as the Dark Age was not so easily quelled. Finally, Thomas, sick of following the heated discussion between those in favor of and those against his book, took to the stage once more, and in a speech that later on became the foundation of his next literary work, argued that the protest about what was a collection of facts hinted at a number of unhealed wounds that had been left behind by conveniently ignoring some unpleasant aspects.

Years of building patience and expertise worked in his favor as Thomas invited other witnesses and participants of the uprising for interviews, and calmly discussed their view of the events with them. The collected interviews - neither commented not edited - were published as "Staring at the black hole", and enjoyed considerable success even by the standards of it's distant cousin. The critics were silenced, and Thomas made his entry for the Aradesh Prize in the category of Political Research/Commentry, where he narrowly beat out "The second Renaissance" by Travis Hutlin.

It must perhaps be considered somehow mad that Thomas Anderson, who further reduced his sparse public contact in his last years, remained one of the more prominent revolutionary celebrities. However, the one thing that he could never ignore, but had channeled elsewhere over the years, was his fighting spirit.

On the way home, the 73-year old Thomas Anderson, a sympathetic grey-haired man walking with a cane, became witness to an attempted mugging in a nearby alley. The victim, a young Ranger, had been doing quite well up to now, but was still in grave danger as his adversaries had him surrounded and flashed knives at the fair man. Thomas, feeling the surge of adrenaline reviving his combat reflexes, could once more feel the power of his youth in his limbs. The cane lifted from the ground and transformed into an impromptu baton, and the old man hurled himself at the thieves with the ferocity of the young and spiteful TA. Together with the designated victim, he was eventually successful in repulsing the attackers, but not without receiving some blows. Rushed to the hospital, he died five hours later from severe internal bleeding.

The young Ranger he had saved went on to marry his girlfriend, but even though Thomas Boyle recognised his saviour from the talk with Matthew Schaefer later on, he didn't tell the mutant.

(Edited by Gatac at 12:45 am on Jan. 11, 2003)
_________________
Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.

[admiralducksauce]

Felix dedicated himself to the new NCR, finally realizing that government was something that was inevitable, so he might as well make sure it was one he could live with.  A steadfast member of Parliament for a few terms, Felix moved on to become a teacher.  When Doc planned his exodus to Hawaii, Felix remained behind.  Although still involved in politics to some extent, Felix preferred teaching to lawmaking.  For over two decades Felix taught the NCR's brightest children and instructed Rangers.

Felix didn't completely abandon his old ways, however.  To be certain, there were times of trouble, and a few despots snaked their way into the presidency, but for every one of  those short-lived dictators there were five who disappeared in their sleep.

One day Felix just left.  The last time anyone who knew Felix saw him was the morning of his departure, buying supplies for "a camping trip".  He was never seen again.
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"I come for the wuggas... but stay for the jiggy juggas."
Cheerleader

[Gatac]

Scarletto wandered the wastes for a few years until he decided that he would risk revealing his identity. To no small surprise of his, he was welcomed with open arms in the NCR (though that might have had more to do with the fact that he was part of the liberators), and eventually accepted a post as librarian in the Hub. There, he decided to write down some of the knowledge he had gained from the semi-sentient computer that had raised him, and through his books became a controversial, but ultimately highly treasured part of the reemerging scientific community. At an astonishing age of 134, he had the honor of officially activating the first non-experimental matter/anti-matter reactor. His legacy evermore persisting in the new promethean fire, he bade his farewell with silent dignity, and left the NCR under the mournful, but understanding looks of the public. It is presumed that he went out to search for and teach his lost brethren, and the thriving community of sentient deathclaws that evolved in the following years makes it quite likely that he succeeded.

Kiaed fought a losing battle against the emptiness inside, realizing now with every score settled that there was little satisfaction to be claimed from these victories. He decided to leave it be, sold his revolvers and led a quiet life as quasi-hermit, earning his livelyhood as cook, and always smiling weakly when someone mentioned the rebellion. Decades later, he died as he had lived - silent and peacefully, but ultimately alone.

The Stranger skimmed the edges of reality, truly an alien to the world where nobody really knew him. Nobody knows what became of him and reports of sightings occasionally flared up, but nowadays, most think he's just the product of someone's imagination run rampant.

Fallout was never heard from again, but rumors suggesting that he and a group of other strange-looking (for lack of tan) people wandered north to search for other survivors of the war persisted for some years. How exactly they'd go about that was a question no storyteller had a good answer for, however.

On a cloudy day in New York, a shadowy figure shopped for quite a number of weapons, paying in a wad of pre-war dollars. When he left town, there were precisely three things known about him: He dragged a tail, he had a tattoo on his right shoulder, and he called himself Tobias Rieper.
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Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.

[Threadbare]

From The Great Revolution: A Historical Overview

"The doc" was instrumental in helping to create the checks and balances of the new NCR government, and had a position of respect in the new government. Still, he remained restless in the months after. Several years after storming Gaudosi's stronghold, doc began work on what he claimed a "secret government project". Six months later, he disappeared, along with a number of prominent scientists, poets, philosophers, and warriors.

For years, the disappearance of key revolution figures remained a mystery for historians. The high degree of folklore, bordering on mythology, surrounding "the exodus" made it difficult to discern truth from wishful thinking. The single greatest source of legend lies in the anecdote that each missing person left a copy of a poem called "Ulysses" on their beds. In it, references to "seek a newer world," and "sail beyond the sunset" created the popular myth of an aged Doc sailing west to some unknown paradise.

While for very long this theory was derided as mythmaking, it has now gained credence with recent discoveries.  The accepted theory of the present draws from accounts of Dr. Thomas Anderson. In his memoirs, he recalled the doc discussing hawaii, and his aborted plans for flying there in a gigantic pre-war cargo plane. Most evidence seems to corroborate the account, and recent NCR expeditions to hawaii have revealed proof that the exodus did indeed land in hawaii, though by what method is unknown.

The anthropological expedition sent to the hawaiian islands last year yielded strange results. The members of the expedition were kept within a special quarantine area by the islanders in order to minimize cultural contamination.

The information they could glean was fascinating. Unfortunately, the member chosen to find out as much as he could about the island and it's people elected to stay behind, so little information is available at present.

In addition, they were allowed to look, but not touch, the founder's shrine. Mounted on the shrine were several artifacts that clearly belonged to the original members of the exodus. The researchers recorded several items, among them an old TK-421 Power Armor Gauntlet, the rusted remains of an incredible mechanical arm still holding a doctor's bag, an odd-looking spear, and curiously, a Colt firearm, model 1911. The reports do not indicatewhether he actually indeed reached the island, or if this was simply a tribute to the legendary Matthew Shaefer.  

While the scientific community is currently bustling with activity regarding the results of the hawaii survey, no further government expeditions are currently planned.


(Edited by Threadbare at 7:33 am on Mar. 23, 2004)
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DIMBER DAMBER: (n.) A top man, or prince, among the canting crew: also the chief rogue of the gang, or the completest cheat. from CANT.

[Gatac]

What was summoned is undone
The vision returns to the shadows
And the light of day destroys this phantasm
Dream a life, live a dream.
_________________
Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.

[Punkey]

The war may have been over, but One kept on fighting. His only desire was to keep on fighting, as it was only then did he feel anything inside. His life left him hardened, and he was more than willing to stay on with the Rangers. He created and lead the elite Special Operations Unit, designed for clandestine missions that the NCR itself did not want to be involved in, yet still knew needed to be done. Many rogue leaders of breakaway states, heads of dangerous local raider groups and clans, and other threats to the safety of the NCR and the peoples it governed died by their hands in the years after the war. After all, no matter how perfect a society, there will still be some problems best handled outside of the official channels, away from the scrutinizing eyes of the public, free from responsibility, and with total deniability.

However, the day came when he was replaced by a younger and (at least to the people in charge's eye) more capable person. There were some protests among his unit, but in the end he was reassigned to a desk job, where he worked for about two weeks before  he snapped the desk in half and stormed out of the building, leaving a note saying "I quit" on the front desk. He returned to his house, gathered some clothing, food, water, and a few weapons, then walked down to the nearest caravan center and went out with the first caravan out of town. He spent the rest of his days freelancing around the remains of the Americas, going as far south as what was Mexico City, as far north as New Anchorage, and everywhere in between. He died at 75, wandering the wastes, having never found peace.

Gaudosi quickly became a name that was equated with hatred and evil in the NCR, and the tale of his rise and fall slowly spread beyond it's walls. Details of his life and what he had done were recorded numerous times to ensure that future generations would not follow in his footsteps. Left out of recorded history was the fact that during his reign, NCR progressed radically in construction and establishment of infrastructure and production facilities, further testifying to the fact that people need a villian, someone wholely evil to blame to justify any mass sacrifice of life. However, over time, memory of the details surrounding him and the events he caused began to fade. Left standing was only the warning to not be like him, a hollow statement as any memory of what he had done had long since been covered up by the sands of history.

Punkey was finally interred in a large, but simple ceremony. Over 1,000 people atteneded the funeral, and the numbers of his devotees grew larger. People, it seemed, needed a hero, someone to lift above the rest as what the war was really all about, who represented both the atrocities of the enemy and the heroism of those who stopped them. Since he wasn't around to protest his exhaltations, he slowly became the representation of all that was right and ideal about fighting the war. Of course, the public cannot accept an imperfect hero, and his personal issues and anguish were slowly whitewashed out of memory. Left in the real man's place was an idealized version of him, a perfect hero who returned from afar to save them. A few people know about the actual man, and they wrote to that effect, but his memory, like the war itself, was slowly exchanged by the people for the war that they wish it was, an ideal war where right and wrong were clear cut. A fantasy that is very appealing and works well for the purposes of most people, but a fantasy nevertheless.
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Gatac: Disco Jesus is a dick.
Punkey: Yes.

[Gatac]

#Moderation Mode



<a href="http://headonastick.com/cgi-bin/ikonboard/topic.cgi?forum=4&topic=18" target="_self">Moved here</a>
_________________
Gatac: Just making sure you are aware of life-saving buttsex.
Punkey: I've always been aware of life-saving buttsex. Best Red Cross training weekend ever.