Since before the Great War, there has existed Deathclaws. Genetically engineered to alter the field of battle for defeating the Reds and their cunning technology, the States felt it was best not to throw lives away needlessly as much. Thus, it was decided to create an entity in which they could control. Something to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. Something brutal. Something not human. They were made to be killing machines; Death incarnate, with their ravenous claws of terrible strength.
In times of old, they were trained, more so controlled by collars. Those that broke free killed their captors, for man has, of course, not learned that they cannot play God. Their scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could; they didn’t stop to think if they should. They shouldn’t have. Long since the end of the Great War and the times of when the bombs fell, Deathclaws have evolved. Some are still savage, clinging to the way they were never intended to be. While others have grown to be more sophisticated and share, nay, want no part of their racial counterparts. They long to be something more than just killing machines.
In the times since then, the one responsible has also evolved. He has since replaced his body, augmenting body parts, subbing organic matter with robotic. Creating new creations, he dubs as his “toys.” He is known as the Toymaker. To others, he was known as Dr. Frankenstein Gero.
Since the sudden rise of the Anti-Bear God, the Toymaker has been employed by the dastardly foe of the Bear God. He has been assembling an army of machines, synth hybrids, Mecha Radscorpions, and even Mecha Deathclaws. We begin here.
“No, no, it’s all wrong!” the Toymaker shouted, slamming his fists down on the control console.
A guard rushed in and stood at attention while giving his report. “Sir, unit 009 has broken free and is killing our soldiers and destroying parts of the base.”
The Toymaker growled to himself. “Do you know how many years it has been since I had a Deathclaw turn on me? Years! Hundreds of years!” He sighed to himself. “I was hoping he could be the one too.” He looked down on the ground, then at the screen which depicted a mechanized hulking Deathclaw that tore out several guards’ throats in one fell swoop. “Oh well,” he shrugged and flipped a switch. The Deathclaw clenched its throat, dropped to one knee, and then collapsed on the ground. “I can always build a new one; harder, better, faster, stronger!” he cheered, raising his arms in the air.
“Excellent, sir. Permission to return to post?” the guard inquired after his praise.
The Toymaker turned around and walked over to his work desk. “Granted, and clean that mess up, will you? Be sure to dispose of 009 correctly. We wouldn’t want anything coming back to bite us in the ass now, would we?” He waved the guard off.
* * *
“Did you see the size claws? They could have torn a tank to shreds!” a guard remarked to another as the Disposal Team carried the remains of Mecha Deathclaw 009 to its final resting place.
“Yeah, it’s hard to believe that the old doc created those things way back in the day too. He’s so…old and weird.” The other guard replied.
* * *
At the disposal bay, where all things were disposed of: failed experiments, failure of creation, discarded ligaments, appendages…memories.
“Alright, strap it up, and then we’ll let the crusher take care of the rest.” A Disposal Team member ordered.
“Relax, Jerry, we’ve done this plenty of times. It’s another walk in the park for us.” Another team member replied.
“Let’s just hurry, Mike. I have a bad feeling about this.” Jerry hastily remarked.
“You always have a bad feeling about everything.” Mike sighed as he strapped the mechanical body up to the lift.
Soon enough, standard procedure and practices came and went. 009 hovered in the air, ready to be dropped into the crusher.
Jerry prepared his hand to push the release button that would send 009 to its final resting place. “Sayonara, sucker,” Jerry smiled as he pushed the button.
Then it happened. 009 dropped and in an amazing display of agility fell to the floor, and dashed past the guards, sending them to their asses. 009 ran through the bays and slashed open a door that led to the outside world.
Freedom it thought.
Alarms sounded, and lights started to search for the escaped mechanized Deathclaw that was 009. The deadliest of the Toymaker’s creations so far. And it was free in the Wasteland.