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Half-Smile; {Black Tom, Blob}
Topic Started: Oct 14 2010, 07:28 AM (343 Views)
Buford Hollis
Member Avatar
Mechanical Hyper-Competence
Time of day: 3 AM
Place in the time-line: October 10th, 2010, after the immigration to Sanctuary


Sanctuary was great and all, but it was a constant work in progress. Just the nature of the beast. He could jimmy with it all day long, but there were hard and fast physical limits that he could push his machines to. He might be able to get more out of his machines than most any other man, but he could not do the impossible.

Sometimes, it wasn't even something that broke. He had noticed that one of the generators wasn't performing at optimal. For him to tune it up, he needed to do something to replace the juice on the line. So, while he was jimmying the one generator, he had to jury-rig something.

That's what this was. A pair of teleporters took Buford and his team to one of his warehouses. In the midst of building Sanctuary, he had also spent some time putting a few supply depots. Fuel, and more importantly trucks. Not Big Pigs, not nearly as fine tuned as his main mode of transportation was. But they were... acceptable. Half a dozen things wrong with them, that maybe only Buford would notice, but still, it was like someone had moved his nightstand in the middle of the night.

Once they got the Swine Rider out of the bunker in Pershing County, Nevada, he had them buckle up for a ride south. New Mexico. There was a civilian lab, Stark, that had a radioactive ore. Buford needed it for his jury-rigged back up.

Smashing shit up and taking it away are some of things that the Brotherhood did best.

"Y'all alright back there, Dukes?" Buford hollered back to the sleeper bunk. This back up trucks, he designed with the Brotherhood in mind. It could sit a couple Brotherhooders comfortably, or Blobbo once.

"We're here, cowboys," Buford said, as he powered down the engine, "Saddle up."
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Black Tom
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Tom’s mind drifted for a moment to Teresa. He had set up the bank account for her in an assumed name. He had passed along the information to Patrick who claimed that he had then passed it to Terry. Tom wasn’t certain of that fact but he was taking Patrick’s word for it. Tom hadn’t checked the status of the account for a while so he wasn’t sure if there was any activity at the moment. If Patrick had taken the account information and been able to figure it out to steal the money, the poor barman had served his last pint of that swill he called beer.

Tom, Razorback and Blob were on a trek to pilfer some highly valuable material for Sanctuary. The place was coming along nicely, he supposed, but it was still a work in progress. The community was well on its way to self-sufficiency though, but the Irishman was sure the rumors were saying that it was fully operational. Whatever the case, the trio had taken a couple of jumps thanks to some dedicated teleporting mutants and they had finally picked up one of Buford’s customized semi trucks to the lab in the New Mexico desert. The truck had been obviously overhauled if it was able to haul around Dukes’ girth that made Buford’s large stature seem bite sized in comparison.

"We're here, cowboys," Buford said, as he powered down the engine, "Saddle up."

The engine of the truck powered down and came to rest in silence, though with Razorbacks modifications the truck ran near silent. Tom could bet that if the petrol industries and automakers knew about the fuel efficiency mods that Buford had made, they’d put out a hit on him. Tom opened up the door of the truck and heaved his body outside. The mechanic would probably be pissed that his branches scraped the side of the truck but it couldn’t have been helped. They were near the fenced enclosure of the laboratory compound. Just because it was a civilian lab didn’t mean that it would be completely defenseless. Tom was sure that the security inside was already gearing up for their imminent attack. “Little pig, little pig. Let me in,” Tom chuckled as he flexed his arms.

With that he hunched over and broke into a trot. His large wood-like body grew in speed and he burst through the chain link fence into the compound interior. There was a strand of barbed wire trailing from his foot like some kind of kite tail. He shook it free. A couple of observation cameras turned in his direction. Tom raised his hands and fired the concussive bio-blasts from his hands. In a fashion of overkill, the cameras were disabled. “Point me in the right direction, my boyo. Don’t know which way to open a door, Razorback,” he called out.
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Blob
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Sanctuary was a hoot. Though there were things that struck the Texan the wrong way, the cramped spaces mostly, Freddie kept his minimal complaints to himself and mostly went with the flow. That was his nature. That was who he was. Buford had some errands to run. Sanctuary needed supplies and, much as was their nature as the Brotherhood, they were going to lift them. There was some science or technological garbage behind all of this. Sanctuary wasn't yet ready to be self sufficient and yada yada yada. All Freddie cared about was that he was going to be of use and he was going to get to smash stuff. If things went really well, so poor schmuck would get in their way and the enormous mutant would get to flatten him like a pancake.

The ride was smooth, it always was with teleporters. Blob wouldn't swear to it, but he was pretty sure he caught one of them straining when they were about to take him over. Pansies.

"We're here, cowboys," Buford said, as he powered down the engine, "Saddle up."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied to Razorback. "Let's get this pony show over with." Tom, the tree that he was, barricaded through the fence that was part of the lab's security. "Hey Greenleaf, you're stealing my shtick. All I got is barricades and meatball subs. Don't take away half of the things I love in the world." It was a joke, but was tinged in seriousness. For all of the time he had spent in the Brotherhood, Freddie was still shaky on what his role exactly was. He was big. He had muscle, but that described about half of the bastards in the group, so what made him stand out ?

"Oh this is gonna be fun," he said as he stomped through the grounds, creating little shockwaves in front of him.
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Buford Hollis
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
"You forget door knobs when God turned ya into a tree, Tommy-boy?" Buford asked, as he pulled the cord on his weaponized chainsaw. He felt kind of bad, that he hadn't been around for Tom after this whole turning into a tree thing. He had his own responsibilities, as an Acolyte. But Tom was one of the Brotherhooders that he felt a real kinship with. It was disappointing on a personal and existential level that Buford didn't make more of an effort. Had he really gone so far into their dark work that he couldn't be there for a friend? Maybe he wasn't as good a man as he thought.

Blob on the other hand. Blob was a soldier. Razorback was the commanding officer. Personal feelings toward the man were irrelevant. Blob stroke a chord between jovial and annoying. Buford couldn't be too hard on the man. He was lucky enough to go through high school as the 6'8 linebacker who got his name in the paper. Dukes probably had to be the fat kid his entire life. Stuff like that sticks to a man.

"Ain't hard boys. Target's in the south east corner, the third door in, 'ccording to the schematics Koen got us," Buford said, "Mosey on over there, take the ore. C'mon, we're on a time limit here. We need to get this quickly and get back to the Pig Sty before our teleportation guy leaves us high and dry."

The klaxon of the lab's security started blaring, and armed men were pouring towards them. Buford clenched his teeth and let loose a volley of electricity at them from his Pig's Head. He didn't feel like killing tonight.
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Black Tom
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"Hey Greenleaf, you're stealing my shtick. All I got is barricades and meatball subs. Don't take away half of the things I love in the world." Fred Dukes called out causing Tom to twist his face into a scowl.

Perhaps it was an easy thing to say that Tom had not fully come to terms with his transformation. It was always the elephant in the room and it stirred the Irishman’s ire to have it brought up, especially in a insulting fashion. Tom had once defined himself by his looks and his business and now he practically had neither. He wasn’t the most handsome man in the world and he wasn’t one to primp in the mirror for hours. It was largely the fact that he had been twisted into a wooden monstrosity.

Regardless of what Tom felt about the comment, Blob strode forward sending shockwaves through the ground. Tom didn’t know if it was from Blob’s gravity field or from his sheer girth. It didn’t much matter to him. They had a job to do. Buford called out the directions to the ore according to the directions their pet technopath had scavenged. At that same time security poured from posts all across the compound. They were armed and ready to defend their pricey tech. Tom might have wondered if they were paid well enough to protect material that didn’t belong to them, but that day he just didn’t care.

Tom shifted his direction and heading the appropriate way. He lumbered forward all the while picking up speed. A small team of men fell into a formation. Three men knelt in front of two more to fire a hail of gunfire his way. The caliber of their ammunition was small enough and Tom’s tough hide was able to protect him as he crossed his arms over his face. He barreled on and bowled over the men like tenpins. They probably weren’t hurt too badly but most likely taken out of the fight. A Jeep pulled out and tore along the tarmac. Tom raised one hand and fired a blast into the grille of the Jeep flipping it over.

Suddenly Tom was slammed in the side. He was knocked off his feet and slid across the ground a few feet. From somewhere across the compound a large caliber weapon had been leveled against him and the other Brotherhood members. “Oy! That actually hurt!” he bellowed. “Are they using anti-tank munitions?” he demanded and pushed himself stiffly up. He strafed the general direction with his glowing yellow blast. Buford was right, they had a short window of opportunity so they couldn’t allow themselves to be delayed.

“Help yourself to the honors there, Freddy. Tom says open sesame now make a door,” Black Tom said pointing a gnarled finger at the door that Razorback had indicated. Tom looked over his shoulder and saw the truck driver using his pig’s head to zap the human security into submission. Even if he hadn’t been promoted to the role of Acolyte, Tom would probably have deferred to his judgment. He was a trusted member of the Brotherhood and had a good head on his shoulders. He knew how to think in a tight spot.
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Blob
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Security poured into the area like insects. Damn ants spilled out everywhere as the men barreled their way closer to their goal. Freddie smiled a wide toothy grin at the aspect of the morose fun to be had. There was something great about guards, especially the ones who thought they were badass. Blob treasured those times. Throwing smug idiots back and forth like rag dolls was a helluva time. He gave Buford a sly wink as he marched toward them, rubbing his meaty paws and creating shock waves as he went.

Buford directed the other two mutants to the correct door. That punk little technopath had gave them a floor plan that was coming in handy at the moment. He continued, saying there wasn't much time. Freddie didn't really understand what the fuss was about. These punk guards obviously didn't stand a chance against the Brotherhood members. Hell, Blob himself could take 'em all down easy.

Tom was ahead of the gigantic man. He seemed upset, but whether that was because of the number of people attacking him or due to Blob's comments was a mystery. Eh, maybe that's the way a tree face was supposed to look. Who was Blob to say ?

Tom was hit, and actually taken down, by a blast that came from behind the men. These bitches weren't playing around.

“Help yourself to the honors there, Freddy. Tom says open sesame now make a door,”

"Hehe, you got it," he said chuckling, relieved to see Tom on hi feet again, though he wouldn't have admitted it. Making his way to the door, he gave it a sturdy kick. It sent the door flying from it's hinges and exposed the trio's goal. Suddenly, Blob was sent to his knees by a blast of loud concentrated sound waves aimed at his head.

"Damn little bugs," he said. "Buzzing everywhere. Anybody got a swatter ?"
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