[b][i]The Minuteman[/i][/b] [b]Venom Incorporated Base of Operations, Undisclosed Location, Terra[/b] [i]He had spent all day working in that hangar on his armor. Welding, retooling, planning, painting, modifying, building, tearing down, repairing, he'd run the gamut of what to do with the power armor. Wilson had made a trip up to Boston to see what was going on in the Commonwealth, and he was pleased with what he had brought back. The best, heaviest, newest power armor on the market. T-60. A post-war creation from the Brotherhood, he had stolen a set from some lousy gearheads on the coast. The helmet however, wasn't T-60, rather, X-01, the familiar MKII Advanced Power Helmet made by the Enclave. He had bought it off of a merchant with the Brotherhood, and had put it with the T-60. His new set of gear was more terrifying than his last. With upgraded internals, better armor, and a more powerful chassis, the T-60 was nigh unstoppable. Wilson had also installed all of his own aftermarket changes, like Venom Inc's tytritium power system, to keep the armor's power source more protected. All the gaps and joints had been reinforced, and all the hoses covered or hardened. His .50 caliber M2HB had been installed in the right shoulder on its mount, and his deathclaw skull had been put onto the left. Because his new armor was bulkier, the jetpack wasn't his best bet, and thus he installed more powerful servos to allow for sprinting and bursts of speed. The lack of a jetpack also allowed him to install a larger feed for the M2. It also gave him more space for all of his other weapons. Looking at the armor, he stood standing by the table with all of his weapons. Unannounced, but not surprisingly, Blackjack had appeared before him, and stared dead at the new armor, and then at Wilson, who was wearing new clothes. [/i] So that's where you've been.... [i]Wilson laughed.[/i] Yep. Went to Boston, killed some people, stole some shit, the usual. And you brought back... That? Uh-huh. Jesus Christ.... I can't -blam!-ing wait to take this out and have a little fun... [i]Blackjack simply looked on as Wilson walked over to the armor, and climbed in. It closed around him, and aligned itself, the eyes of the helm lighting up as the armor came online. The Deuce swung down into combat position, and Wilson walked forward, more terrifying than ever before. His voice was metallic, deeper, almost distorted through the helm.[/i] How do you like me now? [i]He walked over to the table where all his weapons lay, and one by one, he picked them up. Grabbing a sizable serrated combat knife, he slid it into a sheath on the inside of his left leg. He grabbed his magnums next, sliding each into his hip holsters. He then picked up both of his bandoliers and slung them on, over his armor. From there, he lifted up his shotgun, and slid it into its holster on his back. Next to it, he hefted his salvaged bolter, locking it on his back with mag lock. Finally, he lifted a serrated machete, and slid it directly into a sheath on his back, and he turned away from the table.[/i] This is going to be waaaaaaaay, waaaay too much fun... [i]With that, he walked over to one of his Vertibirds and climbed in. Telling the pilot where to go, the aircraft spooled up and headed out of the base, and into the Golden City. The trip took no longer than 30 minutes, and once the Vertibird reached the city, Wilson jumped. He fell free for a good 1000 feet, and landed with a tremendous slam, leaving an impact crater. As the dust cleared, he stood up, and set off, hunting for something to slaughter. Within about five minutes, he had found a group of cultists, and so, he set about in his ways. As he turned a corner, he happened upon a group of cultists, all overjoyed over some woman they had all just killed. Beneath his helmet, Wilson smiled as his Tesla shield came on. Things were about to get really fun. One of the cultists spotted the man in the hulking suit of armor.[/i] Over there! Get him! [i]Several began to fire off rifles at him, as a few others rushed him with melee weapons, pipes and bats. He walked forward towards them, drawing his machete, and twirling it in his hands. His Browning automatically targeted the rifle men, and began firing, the sound intense as it sprayed .50 caliber API rounds at the cultists. He let the men with melee weapons rush him, he needed a good fight. The first one swung, and the baseball bat simply bounced off of his armor. Wilson brought the machete down into the man's skull with a sickening crunch, and yanked it back, covered in blood. The man's head had been cut right down the middle to his upper jaw, and undoubtedly, he was dead. Wilson let the body fall, and turned as the second one had reached him. The cultist had gotten close enough to swing, and Wilson ran him through, the edge of his machete poking out from the man's back. Laughing, the Courier twisted his blade and ripped it back, the cultist keeling over and trying to scream as he bled out. Meanwhile, every single one of the riflemen had been ripped apart by the Deuce. Bloody bits of limbs and skulls lie splattered over the side of the building where the cultists had been shooting from. The third cultist rushed just as the Deuce stopped firing, and just as Wilson pulled his machete free from the second cultist. Going in for the swing, he was met with an elbow, and immense voltage, to the head. Falling back to the ground, his body convulsed as Wilson lifted him up, his hand around the man's head. Then he squeezed. The man flailed around helplessly for a moment, then there was a wet crunch, and he was still. Opening his hand, Wilson dropped the man, and admired his handiwork. [/i] [spoiler]Open.[/spoiler]