Chapter 2: Chapter Two: I LOVE New York
Raiders had an unfounded arrogance with guns, from shitty pipe pistols, to rusted combat rifles. It was almost pathetic when approached from a perspective that couldn't be reasonably killed with such weak weapons. Ivan could be buck-naked and 10mm rounds would deform on his skin, while higher calibers would get caught up in his quickly regenerating muscle. His regeneration factor being insane due to several facets of his biology, only hastened by drugs and medical know-how.
While Ivan would never claim the same amount of endurance to a powerful Super Mutant, like say an Overlord, he'd seen Super Mutants done in with less wounds than he himself had survived. His Endurance was a solid 9 in his SPECIAL stats, and those same stats scaled with Race, meaning he was on the very edge of enduring for a Glowing One Ghoul, which was massively different from a Human with an Endurance of 9.
Although, to be fair to the raiders, he never revealed his nature as a Glowing One as if he did they'd undoubtedly be shitting themselves. Ferals were already talked of with tones of fear by even the most grizzled of survivalists in the Wastes, fearful of the feral hordes that could tear through even the strongest of armor and take unreasonably large amounts of damage to stay dead. Stronger versions of Ferals like the Charred, Rotting, and Reavers, and Stalkers were seen as Menaces to powerful Raider Gangs and Factions who'd send their elite and powerful to go deal with them if they were mucking about.
Glowing Ones on the other hand were practical legends whispered about by exploratory survivors, and as a unique Glowing One with his mind intact? Well, it wouldn't surprise the Ghoul if his mere appearance would spark some-kind of Ghoulish Cult.
Glowing Ones were feared due to a number of reasons. The most logical of those fears were of radiation poisoning and the aura they give, leaking the same poison to all of those around them. Ivan could control and harness that aura, toggling it on and off while also being able to somehow control how radiation mutates his body, able to use the energy to somehow enhance -and at rare times in his life generate completely new- mutations.
How he controls what is for all intents and purposes a barrage of DNA sized bullets and energy rocketing through his body, before using said 'energy' to destroy his DNA. In this exceptionally risky move, he somehow destroys bad, junk, or even enhance existing DNA! He hadn't even the slightest of clues how this worked. And he was a Nuclear Physicist, he could build a fucking Fusion Reactor with his eyes closed and this shit still didn't make sense!
Moving on, for the non-recreational drugs, like Stim-Packs, Anti-Biotics, Rad-Away, Rad-X, and the works, he peddled to various settlements and survivor camps stationed around the Wastes. Ivan in his long life surviving in the Wastes has kept a good grasp on emerging powers that rise in the settling nuclear snow that followed the climactic end to civilization.
In the Eastern Common Wealth and the remains of West Virginia, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York various factions rose, and in the 100 years of him living in this shithole he'd made sure to keep an eye on any rising powers that could become either a force of good for the wasteland, or a dangerous threat. Neither of those options were exclusive to being good or bad for him in the long run.
New York isn't much more than a massive steel forest, it's skeletal remains deadly to anyone who takes so much as one false step. The area is also plagued by unnaturally frequent radstorms, forcing most to take cover unless they want to be bombarded by radioactive winds and rain, or be struck by its lightning.
However, people still live within the massive city, despite it being a bombed out ruin. One-hundred years was a long, long time. The concrete towers of old have been overgrown, mutated vines, mosses, and growths creeping up through the concrete and the sewers were filled to the brim with mutant rats. The ocean grew its own hellish creatures, and even Ivan for all his time in the Wasteland dreads setting out to sea and braving the horrors underneath the waves.
There were a few large factions inside this realm, of which one hates his public identity with a raging passion.
They were a group known as the Patriots. Initially a rag-tag group of US Army, National Guard, Navy, and other branches that slowly over the course of time gathered and regrouped within the Dockyards. They held a strict code of conduct, yet broke out of the old nineteen fifties military conduct and were more inline with a more Vietnam era adjacent United States Military from Ivan's Origin Earth. Y'know, war is hell, this war stinks, mama forgive me, yadda yadda. Anti-War sentiment brewing inside a depressed and repressed group of people waging an eternal war against a now hostile environment that wants nothing more than to kill them.
Sadly, Fortunate Sons didn't exist in this reality, and would've likely been branded as 'Commie', so Ivan was sad.
The mash-pit of military branches eventually blended altogether into a surprisingly well-rounded and exceedingly skilled group that collectively branded themselves as the Patriots.
The Patriots were a saving grace to anyone willing to work for their cause, always needing more people and man-power to throw at projects drafted by surviving engineers and builders who were constantly inventing and repairing old and new world technology to fund their expansion. Because, y'know, people weren't stupid. The average person knew how to crack open a book and figure out how to repair a gas generator and how to build actually stable structures not out of rusting scrap. Knowledge was lost for sure, but the Patriots were a shining example of how fast humanity is clawing its way back.
The Patriots were the strongest of all factions, using both robotic and man-driven power to carve out a claim to the remains and remnants of a modern America.
Some of the cons to the Patriots was their Anti-Mutant stance, largely critical of those that showed mutations and were stand-offish at the best of times with Ghouls, an attitude dependent on the tolerance of officer one was interacting with. Ivan would suspect Enclave interference, but his memories as a scientist was merely aware of their existence and a few hacks into surviving corporate networks he'd found over the years connected more than a few dots into this whole mess of nuclear devastation.
That 'tolerance' combined with a gruff meritocracy chained by obeying orders from superiors; it was a very militaristic faction as could be expected by one formed by the wastes. At least they cared for survivors, as in their eyes everyone save the muties were still American. The rest could go die for all the brass cares.
It was the same Patriots that were less than happy with Ivan, seeing him as both a dirty ghoul, and as a filthy drug dealer.
To be fair, he was both, but it didn't change the fact that a certain racist officer caught his voice in a Patriot Outpost, and started needling him with insults. Ivan wasn't exactly in the greatest of moods back then, and put a laser round in that same officer's kneecap, before booking it.
That led to a manhunt, which led to several Patriots dead in the pursuit, leading to a large bounty being put on 'The Chem Ranger' or The 'Red Cross'. Having The Chem Ranger title due to his Riot Gear and drug dealing career, and the Red Cross painted on his helm.
This then lead to the various Raider Clans dotted around New York, living it up in the high-rises and skyscrapers of concrete hell. A safe place to live once cleared of Ghouls and checked thoroughly for structural weaknesses, of which Ivan was getting worried about as steel usually only had a life span of fifty years.
However, these were Raiders. They wouldn't check for structural weaknesses even after the third new-guy fell through a hole and got impaled by rebar.
Raider Clans were divided, obviously, but were more interconnected and formed a crude network of communication between gang leaders. Trading supplies, chems, slaves, and information was a common theme between the clans, as was fighting for more territory and renown.
Lastly were the non-affiliated, often just called city-states or settlements.
From the ever expansive Subway Station Ratways, to the hidden away villages and shelters carved out of still standing apartment buildings and concrete monoliths much like the Raiders. New York became a city of expansive catwalks and bridges connecting various buildings together, with each of those same buildings weathering the harsh storms and rains that pelted the city non-stop. It was a blue moon when the sky stopped weeping, and it was a blessed day when it wasn't a rad-storm.
Then there were the more foreign factions, like the new Brother Hood of Steel forming up in West Virginia. Although, they were a distant factor, and less known than the northern and oft whispered about boogie-men of Boston, The Institute.
Ivan had in fact been up to Boston, and more specifically Bar Harbor where he learned from local chemists and doctors how to cook some nasty chems.
Giving his cigar one last puff, Ivan let out a cloud of smoke and moved over to his robotics workbench. A mass of robotic arms hovering over a singular pad, and nearby were all kinds of precise tools needed to modify and manufacture robotic components and machinery.
Inside the assembly mound of the main assembler was what he assumed those Institute nerds called a 'robot' or 'synth'. Fucking Cambridge sociopaths, that place was a Vault-Tech scientist breeding ground.
Why they were so obsessed about creating humanoid robots, he wasn't exactly sure. Perhaps they were aiming for a far off 'bio-bot' that could invade and integrate itself into human populations seamlessly for espionage? At least, that was what he could gather from the title and mechanics of the bot, being crude imitations of the human form in a mechanical format. Before him was what they called a Mark 2.5, which was far better than the piece of scrap called the Mark I that he used for actual scrap in repairing the Mark II.
Why did he carry a Mark II all the way down from Boston back to New York?
Because he was artistically interested.
To Ivan, science was art. An ironic view-point, but one that with his natural abilities was all them more evident.
Ivan at a mere glance could see a thousand and one ways to improve the android, a thousand and one ways to improve in a thousand and one different ways which in and of itself would lead to more and more constant improvements and optimizations. Sadly, Ivan's SCIENCE! was limited by materials.
Even after raiding a New York based ROBCO lab and corporate branch for scrap, information, and admin authorization in all ROBCO locations, he was a locked by the fact that ROBCO was based in a frustratingly distant and secure Las Vegas, of which Robert House was last located by the branch's systems and the fact that much of the West Coast's manufacturing capabilities were rendered into null and void via tactical and strategic nuclear blasts.
In his ventures to ROB CO and General Atomics locations, the most he obtained was crappy Protectron, Securitron, and Mr.Handy model parts, along with a plethora of secret information that in the old world would be worth tens of millions in the espionage world.
New York was so bombed out that finding any real goods was going to be a real struggle, which led to his ventures up to jolly Boston.
'From the files and data, it seems that Robert was building a sort of life-support system to keep him on air. He should still be alive and kicking, fielding those abominable securitron bots to manage his shitty city.' Ivan thought distantly.
With the nukes clearing out many of the centers of quality resources for he needed to build any bots, he had to venture to far out and distant places.
Sadly, even with his mysterious inventory ability, he was limited in his carry capacity and couldn't just find any old place to stash massive amounts of rare goods.
He'd found many valuable forms of tech, from Sentry Bots and Assualtrons, however he'd only been able to salvage part data and critical and rare components rather than the entire robot frame itself due to him hauling back a much rarer Synth model he'd salvaged up north in Boston. That, and in the ninty years of roaming the wasteland, it'd only been recently he'd managed to set up a base of any worth or value. His Inventory was better spent lugging around massive amounts of water, food, ammo, medical supplies, chems, and valuable knickknacks than a heavy piece of tech that he couldn't even use.
Previously he'd been either too busy surviving, or getting chased out by deadly hordes of monsters and generally living to the next day without any place to kick up his feat and tinker.
'Now that changes.' Ivan Balor smiled a lipless smile as he stared at the drawn out designs for various bot parts.
He had a plethora of parts, components, tools, benches, basically all of the hard stuff was out of the way what with his pack-rat life style. However, he needed a surprisingly difficult means of securing enough high-quality materials to either make a frame, or salvage an intact high-quality Assualtron or scrap a Sentry Bot.
Then came the fun part: Designing a robot!
Ivan glanced at the synth frame set up in the Robot Assembler.
'Scratch that, I'm making that an android. It time I made a friend.'
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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