//------------------------------// // Prologue -- Introduction of the New York Wastes // Story: My Little Fallout: New York // by MrDenim //------------------------------// A cracked radio turned on in a rundown bar, an ensemble of trumpets blaring through the speakers. A man’s voice started singing, Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is, so delightful. Since we’ve no place to go… Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. The scene widened out to reveal what seemed to be the aftermath of a warzone. Buildings were crumpled and in utter disrepair. Cars were scorched and overturned. All the while, snow and ash covered the ground, with more snow falling lightly, finally letting up after 200 years. It doesn’t show signs of stoppin’. And I brought some corn for poppin’. Lights are turned down low… Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. The scene focused on a pack of snow white canines, feeding on a group of unlucky travelers. One of their members looked up, a chunk of meat still in its mouth, when suddenly, its head exploded. The other canines stopped their feast and stared at their fallen comrade. Another of their heads exploded, soon followed by another and another. The final canine started running towards the closest cover: an overturned charter bus. This proved worthless, as its head exploded as well. The scene transitioned on the still smoking barrel of a silenced sniper rifle with winter camouflage coloration. The wielder moved it to a more comfortable position. By the form of the armor, it was apparent that the sniper was male. The next scene showed the entirety of a ruined city. In the distance, on an island, was a giant torch still held by a green hand, almost entirely covered by snow and ice. =-=-=-=-= War. War never changes. When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across the ruins of the old world to build new societies, establishing villages, forming tribes. As decades passed, what had been New York united under three different banners: a Viking helm, a halo, and a duo of crossed shotguns. These three tribes maintained dominance over their own personal slice of New York. As they grew, so did their needs. Land was taken and lost in bloody conflict, resulting in a three-way war between the tribes. This chapter of mankind’s blood filled story is centered on a sniper that is a member of the Hunters tribe. He’s led a semi-normal life, that is, until she came. Who was this mysterious companion of his? She would have to be seen to be believed… =-=-=-=-= The sniper sighed as he sat back down in the rusted chair. He rested his sniper rifle across his lap and reached into a pocket. With a little bit of rummaging around, he pulled out a slightly burnt wooden case, a picture, yellowed with age, of a long lost island nation on top. He opened the box with little difficulty and pulled out a cigar. Laying the box to the side, he sniffed the cigar. Reaching to the side of his left boot, he pulled out a combat knife. With it, he cut the head of the cigar. He put the knife back into his boot and pulled out a flare. He popped the cap off of it and stroked the flare against the wall, lighting it. With the lit flare, he lit his cigar and threw the flare out into the snowy street below. Taking a couple puffs of his cigar, the man leaned back in his chair and laid his feet on top of some bricks that made up a short wall, a frame on the sides that use to house a window. When he was about to fall asleep, a bright flash of light and a loud bang echoed from nowhere. The sniper flew to his feet and brought his rifle to his eye and looked around. He panned left to right, in the windows of buildings to the streets far below. Until he saw it… It appeared to be a runt Brahmin with an unusual growth on its head. It was even more unusual due to the fact that it was a bright shade of purple, a color that was very rarely seen in any of the wastes nowadays. His stomach rumbled. And with a lick of his chapped lips, the sniper took aim… …and pulled the trigger.