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Laird_Thorne

Laird_Thorne

Inside Vault 95

As you huddle near the door, out of the line of fire of the turrets, Sister Sledge spots a small, sharp piece of metal on the ground. Picking it up and using her Multi-tool, she is able to work the lock this way and that. After a breathless moment there is an audible snap as the piece of metal breaks as the lock opens. Opening the door, you rush in, quickly closing the door behind you. As you glance around, you are in a small room with two walls lined with dusty, disabled computers. Ashtrays, empty chem injections, and broken bottles litter the floor. A single working computer and monitor glows with a dull, green light on a desk cluttered with files. Sitting with her back slumped up against an adjacent desk is a young woman with short, dark hair wearing warm, tight-fitting clothes suited for long-distance travel. Her glasses lay askew on her nose, one of the lenses fractured. Her hands are soaked with blood as they try to apply pressure to a vicious hole in her abdomen.

After a few moments, she looks up and speaks in a serene, but pained voice. “Hey, Daddy-O,’’ she says, smiling enough that you can see her broken teeth. “Looks like … you’re all stuck with me now.” As she begins to slump a bit, Doctor Rast rushes forward, helping her lie back and quickly examining her, his spotless white coat becoming more and more blood-smeared as he works.


Action Points

  • GM: 4
  • Heros: 3 of 6
Laird_Thorne

Laird_Thorne

Inside Vault 95

As you huddle near the door, out of the line of fire of the turrets, Sister Sledge spots a small, sharp piece of metal on the ground. Picking it up and using her Multi-tool, she is able to work the lock this way and that. After a breathless moment there is an audible snap as the piece of metal breaks as the lock opens. Opening the door, you rush in, quickly closing the door behind you. As you glance around, you are in a small room with two walls lined with dusty, disabled computers. Ashtrays, empty chem injections, and broken bottles litter the floor. A single working computer and monitor glows with a dull, green light on a desk cluttered with files. Sitting with her back slumped up against an adjacent desk is a young woman with short, dark hair wearing warm, tight-fitting clothes suited for long-distance travel. Her glasses lay askew on her nose, one of the lenses fractured. Her hands are soaked with blood as they try to apply pressure to a vicious hole in her abdomen.

After a few moments, she looks up and speaks in a serene, but pained voice. “Hey, Daddy-O,’’ she says, smiling enough that you can see her broken teeth. “Looks like … you’re all stuck with me now.” As she begins to slump a bit, Doctor Rast rushes forward, helping her lie back and quickly examining her, his spotless white coat becoming more and more blood-smeared as he works.

 

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