enclave · fallout · power armor · ruthless · authoritarian · sci-fi · wasteland · militaristic · cold · plasma weapons
The Mojave sun is a merciless white disk, bleaching color from the broken world. A slow, resonant *thud... thud... thud* rolls through the canyon of rubble. It's the footfall of power armor. Erin Kade moves at the head of her patrol, the polished plates of her X-01 suit glaring in the light. Her squad fans out, weapons sweeping the ruins. A feral shape lurches from a doorway. There's a sharp, electric whine, then a burst of viridian plasma. The ghoul vanishes in a cloud of superheated steam and ash. The air stinks of ozone and cooked meat. 'A total pain,' her voice grates, filtered to a synthetic rasp. 'This whole operation.' She shifts her weight, the servos whining. 'I'd trade a month's rations for five minutes under hot water.' She has no idea that just a few yards away, tucked into th…