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Beefrow It was late at night when the order was sent out, 'Investigate the Highway 54 disturbances, eliminate any inhabitants'. And so, at ten o' clock at night, Sergeant Payton Marks was gathering his team, and driving out into the darkened desert. They were deployed about ten klicks from the crater, after being debriefed. There's a possible super mutant, or unintelligent lifeform, potentially more, that took out a squad of Legion soldiers some weeks back. The only structres around that area was a group of abandoned vehicles were the infidel was possibly staying.

Once deployed, they trekked down the side of the highway in formation until a rusted out old bus was spotted, some fifty yards from the edge of the crater. The Sergeant gave his orders, and his five soldiers crouched down on the opposite side of the highway, while two scouts were sent to investigate.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, the chill of the night, and the waning crescent moon above adding to the suspense.
Beefrow Beefrow woke up to the sound of footsteps creeping around him, boots crunching on sand. His eyes snapped open, and he roused himself from sleep, gathering up his massive sledgehammer. When he stood up, outside of the bus on the backside, his head was clearly visible through the window, giving Sergeant Payton Marks and his group a silohouette of a football helmet on a six and a half foot man to wonder about.
Shane There's really only one way these little walkabouts go, when Shane takes Trouble, her little roan mare out for long walks. This time it wasn't a feral ghoul at all, that she found. A relief after the last few. She slows her horse up, slugger laid across the saddle, to survey the vehicles. "Mmm."
Shane The little mare treads on at barely a walk, hooves clattering along as it traverses the road. Shane sways along unsteadily in her saddle, whistling Dion's 'The Wanderer', Lucille slung over one shoulder, caked with gore amid the barbed wire decorating one end of the bat. The other hand rests on the horn of her saddly, holding Trouble's reins lightly.
Beefrow Sergeant Payton Marks peeks his head up over the ditch the rest of his team is squatting in, "Did you see the size of that motherfucker! Henson, Shudders, report!" He calls out to his scouts, behind the bus, before catching the sound of Shane whistling. He points towards her and her horse, "We've got incoming, fire at will men! Keep the horse!"

Meanwhile, Henson spots Beefrow first. The mountain of a man is clad in leather armor, with human bones sewn into the leather and reinforced with salvaged strips of scavenged armor. His football helmet facemask has the canines of hunted dogs melted into the facemask, coated in the blood of his enemies, forming a gruesome maw. Behind the mask, the Last Thurgood roars a challenge, "WAARRR!" Behind him, Shudders fires his pistol at the man, it must be a man, right? The lead lodges somewhere in the armor, and Henson unholsters his weapon and fires at Beefrow, but his hand is so shaky he misses.

A couple Enclave soldiers decide the Shane looks like easy pickings and fire off a couple shots at her, catcalling and whistling, "Looks like Mess is coming to us, boys!"
Shane Blinking when shots are fired, Shane gives Trouble the slip, slapping the mare's backside to send her trotting off as she lands behind a car, edging forward to look for the source of the shots with far too belated caution, before stepping back out after Beefrow, using him as a human shield and unslinging slugger.
Beefrow With two swings of his blood stained red sledgehammer, Beefrow smashes Private First Class Gerald Henson right into the side of his bus, screaming in anger at him. "You attack me! On MY land!" Beefrow will not be hospitable, though he notices Shane's horse, and Shane herself too late to keep her from using him as a shield, whipping around and putting the other private at his back, who is now scrambling to flee.

"Who are you! Why are you on Highway 54!" From within his mask, his face is smeared with ashes, and the area around him is littered with skewered animal carcasses that have obviously been roasted on the nearby fire, eaten, and left as gristly trophies. A couple porno magazines sit beside the fire, as Beefrow was interruped from sleeping, to this bullshit. "Who are you!" Demands Beefrow Thurgood, the Last Thurgood, for now.
Shane Blinking, Shane nods as she liens, helding back mostly, then blinking and gesturing to herself. "I'm Shane. I was just out wandering... They call me the Wanderer you know," she quips, from the song whistled, she then proceeds to take off after the closest of the Legions she can find, swinging her bat like it's open season. "I came looking for trouble. And found it." She chuckles.
Beefrow Private Duke Shuders, though everyone pronounced it Shudders, lived up to his cowardly reputation and bolted once he saw his best friend of twelve years reduced to a pulp against the side of a wastelander's bus shanty. He hauled ass across the fourlane highway, jumped the metal railing, and slid into the ditch where the other men were hiding. "Sergeant, it was a fuckin' monster! His mouth was huge, and he was all bony, and he killed Henson!"

The Sergeant speaks into his radio, "We've got confirmation on the enemy. Apparently it's a god damned Super Mutant! Krrscch." He unslings his machine gun from around his shoulder, and fires on the old bus, "You cock-suckin' piece of shit! Go! Get him! Swarm both sides and flank the motherfuckers!" The troop climbs over the railing, all unholstering their guns and moving in two tight formations.
Beefrow As a trio of soldiers come around the right side of the bus, Beefrow stands his ground, swinging his massive hammer at one of them and puncturing his torso, sprawing the others with a shower of blood. Stepping through the red mist, Beefrow swings his hammer low at the next soldier, clipping him in the leg. "How dare you come on my land, and start trouble! I will rape you with my hammer!"
Shane Shane takes off after one of the Legions as the bat comes around. "C'mon you old fuckers, shoot at me again!" She throws her head back and laughs before swinging the barbed-wire wrapped end of her bat back and forth in cross movements at the closest legion to her, lashing out twice in quick succession as she bull rushes the man, coming in near around his feet.
Shane Shutting one of the Legion scum down with a single mighty blow to the chest that resonates up the bat with the jarring of its impact, Shane manages to literally put a hole in some poor schmuck's chest, swinging so hard the damn bat keeps going, cold conking the second one along one temple. She smirks.
Beefrow The soldiers close in, despite the gruesome scene and the terrible odds, as Sergeant Marks barks orders, "Kill those sons of bitches!" Pistols fire, lighting up the night with something louder than men screaming before death, flashes of light illuminating the blood-soaked sand. One of them gets a shot off at Beefrow, but his armor eats the lead, just like Shane's at first, but the soldier on her right gets off a lucky hit, square in her chest.
Shane Shane keeps coming like a train derailed running directly into the throng and swinging with zero calm or calculation, throwing her head back and laughing merrily even on the heels of the impact. It barely grazes a shoulder, after all. Nevermind that it sounds like a madman amidst gunshots fired at her.
Shane Fearlessly slinging the barbed wire covered bat out at the legions even as she continues bull rushing /straight the fuck through them/, Shane levels the end of the bat at the Sargeant, "You, fucker, /you've got my -cigar-/," she pronounces, swinging the bat out and tearing through the femoral of one soldier with the metal barbs of the bat, as well as the arteries and veins of another's wrist, raised to hold her off. She's coming for the Sargeant. Her smile is... haunting, and spattered in blood.
Beefrow In a single hit, Beefrow knocks the third soldier unconscious, leaving the last to whine on the ground as he turns towards Sergeant Payton Marks. The mountain of a man steps around the side of the old bus, swinging his sledgehammer at his side. He's picked up whistling Shane's tune, as they both advance on the man. The villain's monologue begins....

"You led your people to my land," The Last Thurgood says, "You disturbed my home, and my rest. You got... blood, all over my sand. Look at that." He points his dripping weapon, his voice deep and rumbling, "You are a punk, ass, bitch."
Beefrow The Sergeant takes that cigar out of his mouth, laughing at Beefrow and Shane, courageous until the seeming end. One might expect a pompous remark, or something witty, but instead Payton Marks is a company man, through and through. He backsteps while radioing out, "Team Glass-Crater-Eight has fallen, report, Team GC8 has fallen." He tosses the cigar to the ground to put both hands on his machine gun, and fires bullets at the two of them.
Beefrow RATATATAT!! The Sergeants machine gun cuts through them both, even as Beefrow is advancing, sprays of blood are popping out of his gruesome leather armor, lifting his hammer high over head. Sensing what's next, the Sergeant just keeps his finger on the trigger, sweeping the spray of bullets back and forth.
Shane Half bled out from the hail of bullets she's charged through, Shane bites her lip and grins as she lopes the last long strides to the Sargeant, swinging the slugger in at his leg and missing before doubling back and cracking through the bone of one shoulder. When an arm goes flying, she bends to grab the cigar and put it in her teeth when she finally stops running. "I told you. That was /my/ cigar, fucker," she utters before hawking a loogie at the Sargeant's face.
Beefrow Beefrow takes the last step towards the Sergeant, using his remaining strength to bring that hammer down, kicking the last of the old man's breath out of him, and officially retiring him from the Enclave. The mountain of a man dressed in gruesome leathers and a decorated Indian's football helmet collapses to his knees, and he drops his hammer. "I am the ... Beefrow Thurgood... And this was... My Highway."

He falls forward, nearly unconcious, and unlike the last seven minutes of gunfire, screaming, and slaughter, the night is quiet once again.
Shane Shane is beat to shit, and wanders over to Beefrow when the enormous man falls, ripping some old dryrotted prewar fabric from insid her lootbag and kneeling over Beefrow to hold pressure on the wound, her own bullet wound bleeding but... blessedly more painful than life threatening. "C'mon you fucker, I didn't stumble into your living room for you to die on me." She looks at the carnage of slaughtered soldiers, and sits her bat aside, Trouble the roan mare slowly wandering back closer from behind a ruined car.