Access to the Spoonfield Armory
"The year is 2342. Much has changed. The Enclave's power is demolished, non-existent. The Brotherhood now controls the North American continent. The Capital Wasteland is no more, its water purified, its land, a lush shade of green. After a bloody spat with the NCR, Brotherhood forces begin to scope out new lands, across the irradiated puddle once known as the Atlantic. Times were good. That was seventeen years ago.
Present day: 2359. Straight back to hell. Brahmin herds are dropping like Bloatflies. A mutated form of Mad Cow has seized the population. Calcium reserves plummet. Kidneys across the world fail. With no milk, no calcium, the people can't survive.
This where we come into play. The British Isles. Mr. Spoonfield, born into a life of luxury and science, is determined to synthesize milk, cheese, and restore the lifeblood of the world. And that's why we need you."
"A tiny, formerly frozen archipelago, to the north. There lies a massive, underground complex, the Armageddon Storeroom. Built by U.N. remnants shortly after the organization dissolved, the Storeroom contains records, information dumps, highly sensitive pre-War technologies. And cell samples.
Samples from every organism from before. Lions, tigers, bears, what have you. Even cows. We learned of the Storeroom from dealings with the Brotherhood. They were unable to open the massive container, and left it. We, with a few... uh... "borrowed" Vertibirds, easily opened the thing (regardless of casualties, of course) and grabbed everything that wasn't nailed down.
Then, we encountered a setback. Tribals. Miserable little vermin. On our cozy flight back, they heralded us as "sky-gods" or something, and celebrated as we flew over with bursts of surface-to-air missiles. We lost only one ship, the one with the cow cells, naturally."
"Get in, get the cell samples, and get back. Easier said than done. "The Order of the Holy Bacon", as intelligence has provided, is a real hornet's nest. Founded over three hundred years ago, by a legendary creature with an unusual lust for bacon, they worship the damn stuff. Approximately half a meter tall, they exhibit a very strange obsession with green things, and often mumble about a "Stone of Blarney". They have massive gold reserves, and eat the testicles of any who enter their domain.
Your reward will be personally awarded to you from Lord Spoonfield." -Nitpicker