Fallout Game Merchant 2.0

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The man's attention snapped back to Twig, but there was something new in his tone now, an unsettling edge.

"And the girl?"

He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"What about her? Does Leon want her, too?"

Twig froze, glancing back at the man. His face was pale, but he held his ground, eyes wide, aware that something was shifting, something darker. He knew why they were asking. They all did.

The prophecy.

The old story that had passed through countless hands and whispers in the shadows, carried like a burden, had finally reached its moment of truth. She was the girl—destined by the prophecy to bear a child who would one day rule the world. And Leon, always one step ahead, knew it. He wanted her for that reason, to fulfill a fate none of them were prepared for.

Twig stammered, his voice shaky.

"Leon... he thinks—"

"The nutjob believes in the prophecy, but we don't, OK man! We don't follow him. We're not part of that madness."

Six answered ridding Twing from the stress.

But the scarred man's smile widened.

"Oh, I'm sure you don't. But she... she's part of it, isn't she? It's her the prophecy speaks of."

Scar felt a shiver as the strangers' gaze locked onto her, full of calculation. The weight of her destiny seemed to press in from all sides. The travelers' concerns extended beyond the town's recent events; they were aware of her, and they sought her, just as Leon did.

"It's not solely about the explosion."

The other gruff men in the group declared, his grip on his knife tightening.

"It's the prophecy. That's the true issue here."

Six's voice was laced with sorrow.

"We have no ties to him, I promise. Please, let us leave. We wish for no involvement."

Yet, the expression of the man with the scar remained impassive.

"No, you cannot simply walk away from a matter like this. Not when the future of a child who might dominate the lands hangs in the balance."

His eyes shifted back to Scar, then to Twig, his voice a menacing rumble.

"Leon may be in pursuit, but it appears we are the ones who have found her first."

The implication was unmistakable. They would not exit this place unchallenged—not with her in tow.

"Therefore, we are escorting you and the girl to the Lockre to ensure Scar's safety."

The travelers declared, revealing their noble intentions to Six's group.

"Huh, one of you is injured. Penelope, patch him up; we're taking them with us."

The group's leader commanded.

"Sure thing, Rob."

The female doctor responded, approaching Twig with a syringe in hand.

"Uh, I don't want to get a shot."

Twig protested, attempting to wriggle away from her.

"If you let me give you the shot, you'll get a Nuka-Cola."

Penelope bargained, producing a bottle from her medical bag.

"Give me!"

Twig exclaimed, snatching the Nuka-Cola with his injured arm and guzzling it down.

"Be careful with your arm."

She cautioned.

"Hmmm... Oh, God, that's the best thing that's happened in days."

Twig sighed in relief as he drank the whole bottle.

"That didn't hurt?"

Penelope inquired, intrigued by Twig's reaction to his injury.

"No, not really."

He replied.

"Fascinating."

She murmured, stowing her syringe as Twig evidently did not require the Med-X.

Led by their newfound allies, they arrived at Lockre, a vast ammunition factory now in ruins, a faint echo of its once mighty existence. The factory had seen its glory days; now, its walls were marred with fissures, and the iron skeleton was corroded in many areas. Yet, despite its deterioration, the atmosphere was dense with history, as if the factory still bore the significance of its original intent.

The walls of the factory moaned as the wind whistled through the gaping holes, and the weathered sign was hardly discernible after enduring years of neglect. As they neared the entrance with caution, the doors creaked open, unveiling the immense and silent expanse within.

An elderly man awaited them at the entrance—Ron, the caretaker of this forsaken establishment. His visage was carved with the trials of time, his white hair disheveled, and his build robust despite the passage of years. His eyes, weary yet vigilant, betrayed a keenness that belied his age. Adorned in a jacket replete with patches, evidence of many years of toil, he welcomed them.

"Welcome to Lockre."

Ron uttered in a gravelly yet assertive tone. He relied heavily on his aged right leg, likely afflicted by a past injury.

"This facility once forged armaments for conflicts now consigned to history, and today... it shelters something entirely different. It's now the refuge of my kin."

Ron surveyed the assembly, his gaze pausing on each individual before settling on Six and Rebecca.

"You've come with a purpose."

He declared.

"Yet, I must ascertain—are you here to restore or to ravage what remains?"

"RON!"

Scar cried out as she ran towards Ron and hugged him.

"Scar it's been a while."

Ron said surprised at Scar's appearance, as he hugged his surrogate daughter back.

"I didn't know this was all about you."

"Sorry for the trouble."

Scar said hugging the man who taught her how to survive in the waste.

"Nah, Leon's been doing ass beatings for far too long."

"Wait, you two know each other?"

Said Twig, making a moment awkward.

"God damn it, Fatty, you just had to open your mouth."

Uttered Ben annoyed.

"Mister Ron, we're here to evacuate your population to Goodsprings and teardown the facility for parts."

Said Six, his voice calm but firm.

Ron, with a solemn expression, looked at Six's determined gaze with his tired eyes.

"We're a peaceful people... Mostly elderly, those too weak to fight on their own. We keep the raw materials here safe from raiders, slavers, anyone who wants to hurt others with it."

"You can't just walk in here and strip away what we've built."

Ron replied, his voice calm but carrying a weight of resistance.

"This place has been our home, our last stand. You can't just dismantle everything we've built here, Six. This facility... it's all we have left."

Six's gaze was steady with a mix of pity and impatience flickering in his eyes.

"I understand that, but the resources here are more valuable in Goodsprings than locked up in this place. It's not about what you've built, it's about survival now. Goodsprings is safer for your people, and the raiders won't stay off your back much longer. You know the deal—Goodsprings is fortified. You'll be safer there."

Ron sighed, glancing at the rusted walls of the facility, and back at the peaple behind him—people who had trusted him to keep them safe. They were silent, anxious, waiting for his word. His hand hovered over Lockre's walls, a symbol of the life they had carved out here.

"And what about the facility? You're just going to tear it apart for scraps?"

Six nodded.

"This tech could save lives elsewhere. It's time to let go, Ron."

Ron clenched his jaw, but deep down he knew Six was right.

"And what about us? My people? Some of them won't make the journey."

Six's expression softened slightly.

"You have my word, Ron, we'll get everyone out safe to Goodsprings."

"What do you need from me?"

He asked, his voice heavy with reluctant acceptance.

Inside the building, the air felt heavier. The faint smell of rust and gunpowder lingered as the Super Soldier's group stepped past a heavy metal door that creaked ominously. They were greeted by an open factory floor littered with the remains of outdated machinery and bullet casings.

Six, placed storage containers on the floor with a thud, his boots echoing in the cold, steel-plated room. Stepping forward, he met the wary eyes of the crowd, scanning the anxious faces of the small population that had called this place home for years. The weight of his words pressed down on the room like a leaden fog.

"We don't have much time to waste."

Six said, his voice steady but urgent.

"You need to pack all your things—clothes, tools, anything essential. Load up enough provisions into these containers, as quickly as possible. By the end of the day, this building will be dismantled, and we'll be on our way to Goodsprings."

There was a murmur in the crowd, uneasy glances exchanged between them. Some hesitated, unsure of what to do, while others stared at the containers, calculating how little they could take with them.

Ron stood at the back, arms crossed, his face tight with frustration. His eyes flicked from Six to his people, seeing the fear, the uncertainty. He cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the anxious silence.

"Listen up, everyone."

Ron began, his voice steady despite the tension.

"We've held out here for a long time. Built a life out of this wreck. But..."

He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what came next.

"The slavers know we're here. They're planning an attack. If we stay, they'll take us—turn us into property. We can't hold them off this time."

The crowd gasped, whispers turning into a low buzz of fear. Some looked to Ron for reassurance, but there was none to give. His grim expression said all they needed to know.

"Six is right."

Ron continued.

"Goodsprings is our best shot for us. It's fortified. We've made arrangements for shelter, and food. But we need to go now."

Six watched Ron, the tension between them still palpable. They didn't agree on much, but the looming threat of the slavers united them in this moment.

"If you want to survive."

Six added, taking a step forward.

"Start packing."

The room fell into a flurry of activity as people rushed to gather their belongings, fear spurring them into action.

Level: 7

NAME: Six XI

GENDER: MALE

STRENGTH: 10

PERCEPTION: 10

ENDURANCE: 10

CHARISMA: 10

INTELLIGENCE: 10

AGILITY: 10

LUCK: 10

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BARTER: 42

ENERGY WEAPONS: 27

EXPLOSIVES: 30

GUNS: 100

LOCKPICK: 27

MEDICINE: 27

MELEE WEAPONS: 27

REPAIR: 98

SCIENCE: 42

SNEAK: 30

SPEECH: 27

SURVIVAL: 27

UNARMED: 30