Don't Feed the Yao Guai: Let's Play Fallout 3

[Wookieetank]

And now, dear readers, I need guidance! We've come to chapter three of the Wasteland Survival Guide questline. That means we have three options to chase: Robots, Towns, or Libraries!

What do?

Ferguson cares not for dusty rectangles full of mustiness and mold. Robots sound like bad news and/or more trouble than they're worth. With his current search for items and supplies, Towns sounds like the way to go.

[Balmas]

This chapter was more emotional than I thought it would be.

Spoiler

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I don’t think I'd ever been as tired as I was at the moment I parked the Explorer in front of Megaton, hauled a dozen assault rifles out of the saddlebags, and limped to my house. My head swam, the concussion making it hard to focus on anything but finding a safe spot to sleep. Every step was torture, my knee bending backward every time I moved.

I'd gotten most of the mines away from the little Pulowski preservation booth, but as I pushed a bit of rock into the coin slot, I heard a beeping from beneath my feet. Even the three bits of preserved, fresh water inside couldn't cheer me up. I remember screaming, batting away Dogmeat's attempts to lick the wound clean. Retracing my steps through the sewer was a much slower process than going through it the first time. More painful, too. And of course, the instant I got out of the sunken metro station, a super mutant with some kind of sniper-rifle-machine-gun decided to show up. I scrambled, fumbling with my drugs, anything to get the morphine flowing through my system and the stimpaks working. It's a good thing that muties are stupid; obviously, the dog chasing at it was the bigger threat than the man with the machine gun.

But, it was past. I didn't even bother pulling off the uncomfortable, constricting power helmet before flopping onto the mattress, dead asleep.

***

The pain woke me up in the late afternoon, and I hauled myself to the small closet where I kept my medical supplies. It took a while, but I managed to patch myself up to the level where I could function.

Now, wasn't this an interesting gun? I slid various calibers into the holes, until settling on 5.56 bullets. And it had a scope, to boot! I slid the little jury-rigged loop of wire on my hook-hand around the barrel, and cinched it tight. It was an ugly little gun; it made no pretenses of prettiness. It was a gun. It was built to kill, and anything that wouldn’t help that was ground down and sandblasted off so it wouldn't get in the way.

"This is a good gun," I told Dogmeat, slipping off the loop. Simple meant efficient, and that meant I didn't have to spend as many caps buying ammo. I chucked it into my sling, and set out to go talk to the bane of my existence.

***

My battered Outcast power armor clinked softly as I pulled off my helmet. "Right. What new form of torment have you devised for me?"

"The last chapter's a bit more esoteric. It's about the survival of humanity as a whole, and how to rebuild society. Deep stuff, huh?" No, deep stuff is something like a cliff, or scuba diving. "We need to know how large settlements are formed, how to harness the old technology, and I'll need you to get ancient history from a nearby library."

Huh? "Moira, I think you've missed something. None of these things sound like they'll wind up with me being shot full of holes!"

She had the gall to laugh. "Don’t be so sure."

Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine. Let's see… Libraries, robots and towns, oh my. "Large settlements seem like there'd be less bullets aimed at me. Let's do that first."

Moira nodded, pulling out a tray of bullets so I could bargain as we talked. "in this case, I'm talking about Rivet City. It's the most successful survivor settlement around, but no one here really knows how it started." Let's see, the .308s were good, but I could never find parts to repair my rifle. "Of course, that's why it's important to kno whow a place like that succeeded. So I need you to go there and do some researching!"

I looked up from my examination of a medical brace. "What's in it for me?"

"You mean, apart from making sure we don't repeat our tragic failures in a never-ending cavalcade of human pathos and suffering?" Whoa. Moira, when did you learn about polysyllabic expression? Have you been holding out on me? "Let's saaay… a big pile of Mentats. I just got a shipment of those in recently. Do a good job ,and maybe the people of Rivet City will reward you, too!"

Well, it wasn't bullets, but I supposed I could get rid of the mentats at Moira's shop once I was done. She usually had a good selection of junk. "Yeah, alright."

"Oooh, now I can't wait for what you find out down there! And check around o make sure you’re hearing the real deal!"

***

Rivet City was a lot more depressing by night than it is by day. The market was shut down, and all the cleaning crew came out.

The bums did, too.

"Who're you you? Got any psycho? I could really use a fix, but I'm broke! Hah! I run the chem shop, but I'm broke and can't buy chems!"

Paulie Cantelli was, in a word, strung out. His eyes twitched, and if his T-shirt tan is any judge, he spent most of his time on deck, away from the store. And, as his next comment showed, he was also utterly useless.



I was able to track down some of the cleaning crew. They had to know something about how the dumb place started, right?

Yeah. Christie, you're useless too. And your cleaning skills suck.

"Maybe if you ask Bannon. He's been simply wonderful on the council, so I'm sure he'd be glad to help with your question."

Maybe you're not useless after all. Bannon, huh? Wasn't he that pretentious jerk with the clothing shop?

I wandered the hall until I found a couch to sit on. Ten PM. I'd have to wait around a while if I wanted to talk to Bannon. Who else might know? City council members… Lessee, I think those were supposed to be Bannon, Harkness, and Doctor Li. Would they be up this time of night?

***

Doctor Li worked nights, it would seem. I'd stopped in the laboratory once before, but only in passing. I snagged an apple from a table, and munched it as I walked towards the woman in the labcoat.

She turned as I approached, eyes widening and clipboard dropping out of her hands. "My god… You're James' son, aren't you? What are you doing here?"

What. The ****. No really, what? "Who the hell are you? How do you know my dad?"

"You were way too young to remember, and I suppose James never spoke of me. Typical." Remember what? Who are you? How do you know my dad?

"When your mother died, your father decided to leave with you. He abandoned our work. We had no choice but to do the same."

A cold chill was seeping up my spine. I'd been born in a Vault. Until Dad opened the Vault, no one ever entered, and no one ever left. Right? "How do you know my dad?"

"It all seems like a lifetime ago, and I'm afraid I've had a lot of things on my mind since those early days. I worked with them for several years until…" She paused, looking away. "Until your mother died, and your father decided it was time to leave."

I felt numb, transfixed, as the lightning of revelation fried my brain. She… She knew my mom. "Can you… Please tell me about her."

"Your mother was… well, she was a good woman. A very dedicated scientist. Your father loved her very much." Which would explain his addition to morphine, and the constant petitions for greater whiskey allowances from the Overseer. My gosh, my life was a lie. "It was a shame that she died. She had been excited to meet you."

So many lies… Dad, were you ever going to tell me? Ever say to me what happened? "How did she die?"

"Complications from childbirth. None of us were expecting it. We weren't as prepared as we could have been."

"Complications?" I stared at the woman in disbelief. If I'd taken a step, I think I'd have tripped on my jaw. "My mom is dead!

"You have to understand. We were struggling with scavenged, derelict equipment. We did everything we could!" For the first time, she seems to be aware that she's talking to a man in power armor, with a nice, deadly grey assault rifle. "As I said, I am sorry. I'm afraid I can't go back and change the past."

I cleared a spot on the table, potatoes and hot plates tumbling to the ground. "My god… It's so much to take in."

Doctor Li sat down next to me and put an arm around me. That arm was my lifeline; I leaned into it as if I'd fly off without it. "What do you want to know?"

Everything. Nothing. My head was pounding. I felt so incredibly small, even in a bulky metal shell. I'd never really known my Mom before; now twenty years of loss was hitting me all at once. "Can you tell me about my dad? What was he like before… well, before?"

"James?" She stares across the room, seeming to lose herself in the past. "He was very driven. Determined to change the world. Well, we all were back then, I suppose." I look up, staring at her quiet smile. How could she smile about this? "He was focused on two things, really. Making Project Purity work, and your mother. When she died, I think…" The smile fades. "I think he gave up. I know he wanted to keep you safe, but I think part of what he did was run away."

Project Purity… The name seemed to be familiar. "What was Project Purity supposed to do?"

"It was simple, really. 'Fresh, clean water for everyone.' Such a simple idea, and yet so impossible to realize. The plan was to build a facility that could purify all the water in the Tidal Basin at once. No radiation, no muck, just clear water."

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. The old scripture on the wall of Dad's medical clinic suddenly made a lot more sense. Clean water would make it possible to grow crops that weren't tinged with radiation. It would make it possible for communities to spring up. Rebuilding would be possible.

Doctor Li continued, "It just turned out to be more difficult than we anticipated. We had the basic principles down; we understood most of the science behind it. But the radiation in the area is so pervasive… Small scale tests were fine, but any time we tried to test the process on a larger scale, it was just too much."

"So what happened to it?" My curiosity was becoming unbearable.

"You happened." The words felt like a slap to the face. Doctor Li seemed to notice my discomfort, and was quick to note, "It wasn’t just you; we had more problems than we could handle already, but your birth is what finally pushed it over the edge. Your father decided that you were more important than everything we'd been working for, and he left. He left all of us." The good doctor couldn't keep the resigned bitterness from leaking into her voice. "Once he was gone, the Brotherhood decided we weren't worth their time anymore. Without their protection, we had to abandon the purifier."

I just didn't know what to think, and the way my emotions were jumping around wasn't helping. Dad… gave all this up, this world changing project, to protect me. To keep me safe. The itching scars from where the stimpaks hadn't been quite enough suddenly felt that much worse. He'd told me to keep safe, and even if the overseer made it so I couldn't, he'd been acting with my best affairs in mind. "Do you know where Dad is?"

"You won't find him here. He's come and gone already. The last I knew, he was going back to the old lab. It's in the old Jefferson Memorial building, northwest of here." She must have seen the look that came over my face. "Please, don’t go after him. It was foolish of him to even think about going there alone."

Wait, what? "Why?"

"Super Mutants. Lots of them."

"I can handle super mutants."

She reaches out and hugs me again. "Don't go there. They'll kill you faster than you can blink. Your dad wouldn't want that."

Oh, now that was dirty pool. Effective, too. I grumbled an agreement, and stood up to leave. She grabbed my wrist, nimbly dodging the hook, and forced me to look at her eyes. "Really. Don't."

I nodded, and turned to head towards the stairs, when I heard a whine from a man in the corner. "You! You don't look like a scientist!"

Doctor Li rolled her eyes, and turned to inspect a set of test tubes, leaving me free to sidle up to the man. In all honesty, he reminded me of nothing so much as a weasel or a rat. "Who're you?"

"Are you by any chance… for hire?"

"Depends on the job, I suppose."

"I've misplaced some very sensitive property."

"What kind of property?"

The man pauses, seeming to consider. Already, I'm coming to hate that smug face. "Hmmm… how do I put this in a way you'll understand?" Yup. Definite hatred going on. "All you know of robots are those buckets of bolts. Those Mr. Handshakers and whatnot. Well, that's not all a robot can be. You see, in the Commonwealth, we've made artificial persons. Synthetic humanoids! Programmed to think and feel and do whatever we need. And occasionally, they get… confused, and wander off."

"What's it got to do with me?"

"You are to find this missing android. I've tracked him to somewhere here in the Capital Wasteland. He must have done something drastic, like facial surgery and a mind wipe, or else I would have found him by now. It will be no easy task. He may not even realize he's an android. Don’t upset him by talking with him. Just come get me immediately. I'll handle it."

"Difficult jobs require good pay." I wasn't sure I wanted to work for this sleazebag. Depending on what he had to offer…

"Of course! I have at my disposal advanced technology from the Commonwealth. Just think, yo--"

"Sooo… I said, considering. "You have the ability to make synthetic humanoids?"

"Yes!"

"How are you with prosthetics?"

He looked at me, and then at my hook-hand. The grin he came up with can only be described as predatory.

[Triaxx]

That was pretty awesome. Since you've got FWE now, keep an eye out for an uzi. Those things are awesome close in. Beats most shotguns.

[Forum Explorer]

This is cool. And since we have a shoulder devil I'll have to play the shoulder angel.

[Tychris1]

This is cool. And since we have a shoulder devil I'll have to play the shoulder angel.

Yeah, I really need to get back to my shoulder devil-ness. Just need to get back into the groove.

[Balmas]

It's good to have more instructions!

I'll finish up this quest line's chapter by tomorrow, so make sure to work up your best devil-angel impressions!

[Wild Zubat]

Go through town and raid every fridge! Pick up useless items and drop them off of Tenpenny Tower! The next time you kill an animal, use Home Run to tenderize the meat! For hours!

Yes, I am going to be the Shoulder Slaad.

[Balmas]

You know how I said I'd have the update up on Friday?

In case you hadn't noticed, I lied. Life gets in the way like that sometimes. I've got half a chapter done, just a couple paragraphs short of 1500 words. With luck, I'll be able to bang it out during my lunch break and after I get home from work tonight.

In other news, I have a question for y'all: Which would you rather read? One long chapter per week, or a series of smaller posts coming closer to every two-to-three days?

[Tychris1]

I guess 1 long chapter per week.

[dirtytricks]

I guess 1 long chapter per week.

Seconded. More time gives a better product. Keep up the great work!

[Wookieetank]

In other news, I have a question for y'all: Which would you rather read? One long chapter per week, or a series of smaller posts coming closer to every two-to-three days?

Yes! On a more serious note:

Seconded. More time gives a better product. Keep up the great work!

Thirded.

[Balmas]

At 5,404 words, this is the longest chapter yet. Here's to bigger and better things!

Spoiler

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BLAM!

I let out a soft breath as the ugly raider slumped over the counter of the little metro station ticket booth. None of his friends seemed to have noticed the shot--probably drunk or chemmed up. That was just fine with me. I'd need somewhere safe to patch myself up before I went any further.

I sat against a downed Nuka-Cola machine, letting the crisp feel of Stimpak nanobots wash over my shoulder. Those Talon mercs were getting trickier. I swear, they weren't there when I went towards the little subway entrance. My first hint that something was worse than usual was when Dogmeat yelped, and my EFS suddenly lit up with red. The captain had a better version of my own sniper assault rifle. Had is the key word there.

This was almost unfair, really. The next raider staggered back, knocking down a sheet metal wall, and I quickly snapped the rifle's sights towards the third raider. She growled, but before she could get any shots off with her massive pistol, my rifle turned her head to a mushy paste.

Sorry, Li'l Mac. In a fight of revolver vs. assault rifle, the assault rifle wins.

The raiders really didn't have much: a few ammo boxes full of small-caliber ammo, a table full of jet and buffout, and a Nuka dispenser. Li'l Mac rang out, and a raider in heavy armor jerked over his sandbag shield. I made my way through the station, killing raiders as I went.

One of them dropped a fantastic little toy. It fit right in the gap between my hand and my elbow, like it had been measured for me. Course, no scope. That was a minus. Still… Brrrratatataa The chewing whine it made as it mowed down raiders was a definite plus.

Two new guns, and both of them fantastic. Nothing could possibly get me down.

***

Do you ever feel like the universe exists purely because some sick, sadistic being finds enjoyment in your suffering? I hopped out of the other end, whistling a jaunty tune from that Enclave station, slid the grate shut behind me, turned, and saw the five super mutants grinning at me.

"I don't suppose you gentlemen would mind horribly letting me alone?"

My gosh. I think I could see the bits of yesterday's human stuck in those teeth as the grins got bigger. The biggest one thumped a nail board meaningfully against his scaly thighs, and chuckled. It was rather like hearing someone gargle with a jar full of marbles.

"Yeah, I didn't think so." I sighed, and then did my best impression of a rabbit running from a pack of wolves.

Almost made it through the grate before they started shooting, too.

I gasped as I ran, an angry storm of lead shooting past, around, and more often than not, through my body, stinging like hot metal wasps, if wasps went a couple hundred miles per hour in a straight line. Morphine? Yes, please! Stimpaks? Jab 'em in wherever there isn't armor! I screamed as a burst of automatic fire shredded a hole through my armor and burrowed into my shoulder. I wasn't usually one to take drugs, but right now, I needed anything, everything I could muster to survive.

And what a crock the drugs were! I hurled an empty syringe of Psycho around the corner, doing my best to keep chips of shattering tile out of my eyes as the bullets slammed around me. "Grenade!" The footsteps receded, giving me a chance to shove a second stimpak into the suit's dispensing system.

Man, when I got back to Rivet City, I was going to take all the drugs I'd been saving up, and see how quickly I could choke Cindi with them. No, forget that plan! I was going to steal her entire stock, and then choke her with them! In fact, forget everything!

The world dropped into a wonderful clearness, and I saw red. My dad had run out on me. I worked for the queen moron so she could tell other people to be a moron like her. In the--my gosh, was it really only two weeks since I left that hellhole? In two weeks, I'd gone from bored janitor to a murderous hobo, killing and looting even more murderous hoboes to stay alive and in a good supply of caps. Now, I'd finally caught my first lead to where my only family had gone, and these things thought they were going to get in my way, going to make me scream, make me cry, give me pain? Well, screw that noise, and screw you too! I've had it up to here with punks with machine guns, with power-armored goons telling me to get out of here because I'd ruin their abandoned bunker, with traders charging a leg for a clip of bullets and a first-born child for something to put them in, with all the daily death I was forced to look at and ignore and pretend that it didn't bother me, with everything! With all the little nicks and tears, the little blows, the death-by-a-thousand papercuts that was life in the wasteland! With hoarding bullets, stimpaks, and useless Chinese pistols because someday I might need them! With everything wrong with my life, and most of all, with the squad of super mutants rounding the corner.

A bellow of anger ripped its way out of me as I stepped back around the corner, gun trembling in my grip. One of the muties hesitated. Damn straight! You better run! Ferguson is here, he's pissed, and he's done running!

I staggered as a wave of bullets slammed into me. VATS sent a burst of bullets into the leading mutant's head, then jerked my arms over to the second one's chest. Mr. Chatter lived up to its namesake, carving a swath of blood and pain through the muties.

The last mutant crawled back, scrambling away from me. I could see the fear in his eyes, the will to live. Idly, I wiped the blood off of Mr. Chatter, and pulled Little Macintosh out of his holster. Disgusting. This thing was eight feet tall, had a gun, and he was running away. BLAM! One shot to the kneecap solved that little problem. "Do you know," I said softly, contemplating the writhing mass, "I don't even know what you are." BLAM! The mutant screamed, clutching its arm. Contempt filled me. "We're going to do some experiments, okay?" If it had taken the chance, it could have been something great. These things, if they'd just spread out, could take over the wasteland. Now he was being terrorized by a teenager with a pistol. "Do you have tear ducts? Do you… cry?" BLAM! BLAM! One to the gut, one to the shoulder, right where I'd felt the bullets eat into my flesh. The mutant trembled, staring into the looming depths of the heavy revolver's barrel. I grinned, watching him in the center of my twitchy-eyed vision.

"Cry for me."

BLAM!

***

"Yeah, that's right! You watch that river!" The security guard did her best to ignore me. I grinned, standing right in front of her for a few minutes, before heading in to market. It had been a good haul, all told. A new carbine, a few hunting rifles, and lots of ammunition that I couldn't figure out.

"Flak! Bring 'em out, show the goods!" I grinned, tossing the lot on his table. Forget the big bullets. I didn't have the guns for them, and Mr. Chatter was hungry. He frowned, pulling out a toolbox full of bullets. "Whassamatter, Flak? I got caps! No need to be nervous, I'll be good! Oh, come on, you know me!"

"Yes. That's the problem."

I didn't like the way he was looking at me. Dirty little vendor trash. I could take him! I could do whatever I wanted, and Harkness, or any other security chief, couldn't do anything to hurt--

And then both the morphine and the Psycho decided to cut out at the exact same moment.

Flak leaned over the edge of his counter. "If ye don't mind, could you die a bit further from my stand? Shrapnel hates it when I leave him a mess."

***

Stairs. Why was it that whenever my blood and guts were making a break for the great outdoors, I could never find a place with an elevator? Anything but stairs.

Let me tell you, Rivet City security is abysmal. Guy wanders by, staggering against the wall because he'll fall over otherwise, and not a word of help. At least the doctor was a decent chap, name of Preston. As he set the bone, I figured I might as well follow up on things for Moira and Zimmer. He didn't know much about the history, but he managed to turn up a holotape for me, something about a microdermal-abrasiwhatsit. Some kind of doctor. Paired with the Holotape that Moira'd given me, it suggested that someone had done surgery on the android--

Robot. It's not an android, it's a robot. Robots don't have feelings, or rights, or anything like that. They were machines. I just had to keep telling myself that.

I bought a few spare medical braces from the doctor, and sank into a couch in the hallway. Self-determination is not a malfunction! The words from the an--robot's holotape echoed in my mind. He may not even know that he's an android, came the memory of the little android sympathizer woman. What had she called it? The Railroad?

On the one hand, freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for a stranger. On the other hand… I glared at my hook and chuckled. "On the other hand, we have the other hand."

I scrolled through my Pipboy once more, listening to each holotape in turn. Maybe there was a way to get both rewards?

***

"'Fraid I can't help you, pal. Been here for years, but all I know about the history is that it's a safe place to settle down."

I sighed, turning away from Flak's store. Maybe three more people, and I'd just give up on Moira's little obsession. Maybe I could set up shop here, be a junk vendor. Maybe I'd be able to figure out how these guys never seemed to run out of caps, ammo, or chems without showing any signs of scavenging at all.

Three more. I crossed the little bay, to where a well-dressed man was standing. He nodded at me, noting the bloodstains, bullet hole, and the several layers of Wasteland accumulating on my face. I had to give him credit; he concealed his disgust well. "Welcome to Potomac attire! I sell things to only the most discriminating of customers."

Oh. Well, nice to meet you too. "So, not me, then?"

He had the good grace to look embarassed. "Oh! No! Er, well, what I mean is that… Well, I only sell the highest quality merchandise. Which you want, I assume."

I smirked, picking through his stuff. I'll admit that he had good stuff, in that none of it had obvious bullet holes in it. Wouldn't stop one, either. "So… do you know anything about the history of Rivet City?"

Hooboy. That grin. I remembered seeing that kind of grin before, right before Butch's thugs cornered me in the maintenance wing of the Vault. Bannon had an audience, and he wasn’t gonna let go until he'd had his fun.



Right. Strongest settlement in the waste. Rivet city was a pile of rusting sheets; a good cough would send it to the bottom of the ocean.

"Of course," Bannon continued, "a few of those dead-enders still stick around, but who'd want to leave?"

Anyone with a sense of self-preservation? Wait a minute… those numbers didn't add up. Bannon only looked like he was… what, thirty-something years old? I was nineteen, and according to Doctor Li, she'd been here before I was born. "Hasn't Rivet City been around for more than twelve years?"

His glare could have taken the paint off a car. "That's just a technicality, really. This wasn't what you'd call a 'settlement' until I whipped them all into shape. More of a camp, really." So you, seven years after I born, created the city I was born in. Or near, anyway. "I suppose if you really care about what they have to say, you could grill some of the Hanger Deck rabble. Don't expect a speck of truth from them. Especially not that bartending crone, Belle Bonny. She tells the most disgusting lies."

Silently, I made a note to go straight downstairs and check it out. "So you helped set it up, and then they made you their leader."

"Precisely! After sponsoring the settlement and organizing the city council, I took my rightful place at its head!"

I pity any settlement that accepts you as their leader. "Aren't we all the same here, though?"

"Oh, of course we're all 'equals' here. People would complain if we didn't at least say that." Bannon wouldn't know a conspiratorial tone if it whispered secrets in his ear, but he certainly tried. "But you and I know better, don't we?"

Right. Of course I did. If that sentence was any indication, I knew that he was so much better than anyone else, except where it mattered: inside.

"Hey!" Well, that couldn’t be good. People shouting at me either want me to do something for me or they want to kill me, generally. I turned, looking to the stall next door to the ammo shop.

"Yeah?"

I really didn't know what to make of Seagrave Holmes. Anyone who made a habit of walking around in a T-shirt, overalls, and a motorcycle helmet was either criminally deprived of fashion or brilliantly, gloriously insane. He waved me over, lowering his voice. "Did Bannon talk to you about his seat on the council?"

"Yeah, bragged about it like a dad whose son just won the Vault football championship."

"Did he ask anything about me?"

"Ummmm… No." Well, strictly speaking, he hadn't. Not this time. He'd done it before, but not today. I eyed the scratches on the helmet; maybe that was why Bannon hated him so much. Bannon had set up a quality establishment, carefully folded clothes--and somehow, armor--, displayed them all neatly, dressed like a businessman… Only for a nutjob in coveralls and a helmet to toss up a wire rack full of junk across the way, and call it a shop. A more successful shop, too, if the jingle of caps in Holmes' pockets was any indicator.

Holmes shrugged, and indicated the array of crap. I started picking through it, setting aside some scrap metal to make repair parts. "So," I started. "Zimmer's been looking for a robot…"

"What, that old android? Yeah, Pinkerton can tell you all about that."

Wait, what? "Pinkerton? Who the hell's he?"

"Old guy, knows all about the history of the city. He lives in the forward half of the ship."

Wait, that old, half sunken bit of ship actually had somebody in it? What kind of person would voluntarily choose to live in a spot like that? Even I wouldn't do that, and I live in Megaton!

I'd have to check that out later on; right that moment, I had a date with a gal named Belle Bonny.

***

Ye gads, but this place was a junk. I tapped at the little sign, half hanging off the wall. "The Muddy Rudder, huh?"

"Ye gunna buy anything, or are you just gonna admire my sign?"

"Admire might be a strong word," I admitted, coming down the narrow stairs to the woman behind the bar. Modestly dressed, and with her hair in a tight bun, Belle Bonny looked like nothing so much as she did the pictures in the Vault's books: An old nanny, or perhaps a school teacher. The image was lifted as soon as she spoke, always in the same angry bark.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

Belle Bonny slapped the bar with a greasy rag. "Buying or not? Either buy or get out!"

"I actually have a few questions." I shifted nervously from foot to foot. Don’t get me wrong; I can go gun-to-gun with raiders, super mutants, radscorpions, but Belle? She was scary. The word "Bitch" must have been invented for her.

She eyed me, then pulled a mug from under the counter and used the rag to spread the dirt more evenly. "I'll tell you what I tell all the fresh meat: Don’t start anything down here or I'll have Brock kick your ass."

I leaned on the counter and began toying with an empty whiskey bottle. "Well, I'm interested in the history of Rivet City, how it got started, what happened to make it great. Bannon said that before he got here, it was just a bit of a camp, that he was the one who--"

"Why, that lying son of a bitch!" Bonny's explosion cut me off. "He wasn't even born when I got here!" She grabbed the whiskey bottle out of my hands and pointed it at me like a knife. "Wanna know this tub's history? Only person who really knows it is Pinkerton. And most think he's dead or gone."

Pinkerton. That name again. "Seagraves mentioned him. In the front of the ship?"

She nodded. "He's holed up in the other half of the whip, and he don't like visitors. He'll set you straight."

***

"Dammit!" With a soft *click*, the fifth bobby pin in a row sighed, bent, and died. The door in the front of the ship remained resolutely locked. I was tempted to Wonderglue a mine to the doorjamb and shoot it, just to see if the bloody thing might pop open. Grumbling, I tossed the now-useless bit of wire into the bay and stood up. There had to be a way in. I mean, a guy wouldn't just lock himself into a big space like that with only one door.

I eyed the water next to the pier with some tredidation. As I'd learned crossing the water to get over here, wearing a hundred extra pounds of metal didn't do much for my already pathetic ability to swim. (Didn't you know? Vault dwellers are famous for their ability to swim, since space definitely isn't at a premium underground. Swimming pools everywhere.) The rads were beginning to get to me, too; my stomach was beginning to rebel, threatening a violent outbreak if I didn't suck down a sachet of sweet orange-y radaway.

"Sorry, stomach," I muttered as I turned and walked off the pier, straight into the frigid water of the bay.

With clouds casting the day into a pallid mockery of its oh-so-cheerful Wasteland reality, the sun hadn't yet had a chance to warm up the water beyond, say, three degrees above the freezing point. Armor is good at protecting against bullets, but armor hasn't been designed that will keep water out of your pants. My skin shriveled like a raisin, hiding from the cold as I pulled myself across the hull of the ship. More than the cold, though, the angry ticking coming from my Pipboy told me to get out of the water, and fast.

My luck held; right as I turned the corner of the ship, a small hallway appeared, almost completely underwater. I bit on the rebreather of the helmet, and a small hissing told me the air supply had connected successfully. Now, the only issue was finding my way before the helmet's tiny oxygen supply ran out.

***

At this range, I couldn't miss. The combat shotgun roared in my hands, and a gaping hole appeared in the Mirelurk's barnacle-encrusted shell. It screamed, either in pain or anger, and took a swipe at my good arm. A line of fire burned through my arm, and I met it with a scream of my own. The shotgun blasted a hole in the mirelurk's face, and I sat to tend my wounds.

The front end of the ship stank of death, mildew, and disuse. A few lamps were hooked up to fission batteries, islands of light in the dull red of the emergency lamps. I collected a .44 pistol, and squeed happily at finding more bullets for Li'l Macintosh. If I'd known just how rare and expensive these bullets were, I'd have saved them instead of squandering them on raiders and muties. Someone left a little present next to the ammo boxes, but I managed to pull the disarming tab on the mine before it could liquify my kneecaps.

A small electrical box squatted on the wall next to a slab of a door. Flipping the switch showed it to be the door that I'd spent nearly half an hour trying to unlock, so I kept it unlocked, turning to go deeper into the ship.

My nose wrinkled as I walked down the hallway; this section had a different scent to it, like a construction worker's fart. It reeked of methane, or perhaps that little camping stove that I'd fixed up when I was eleven.

I looked up as a rope snapped under my feet, and a trio of grenades clinked to the floor.

I almost made it back to the door before they exploded, and a rush of fire came up to greet me.

***

I groaned. That alone surprised me. Normally, people who've been crisped like that don't get up again. A whine came from my left, and a cold nose dug into my side again. "I'm up, I'm up…"

Dogmeat grinned at me as I sat up, clutching my head where I'd fallen against the railing. "Dogmeat, I'm going to find the man who set these traps, and I'm gonna figure out new ways to inventively vent my displeasure." Maybe something involving a dentist's drill.

My anger was still simmering when, two shotgun traps, a pressure plate, a mine, and a trapped computer terminal, I finally got to where I was going. At least, I thought it was. It certainly seemed to be more inhabited than before, and my EFS marked one arrow--non hostile.



I picked my way over the tilted floor. Thje hole place seemed to be a machinist's paradise; shelf after shelf of parts formed one entire section, neatly sorted into conductors, pilot lights, fission batteries, and more. I grinned, and surreptitiously knocked a few into my bags as I passed.

What? Yeah, I was a walking ammo and caps dispenser, but I got that way by not being dumb with money. If he wanted to fund my expedition, I'd gladly let him.

The man with the battered assault rifle turned to meet me as I came up the stairs to the little balcony overlooking the supply area. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Li'l bit of scuba diving."

He snorts. "I suppose you can't be all that bad if you made it this far without dying. You made it past my defenses, which proves you aren't a dummy. And you haven't killed me so I suppose you aren't here to do that. Now, what the hell are you doing bothering an old man who obviously wants to be left alone? Get on with it, already!"

"You're Pinkerton?" I'll admit, I'm a bit surprised. The guy looks like he must be fifty or sixty years old, and that assault rifle would be liable to shatter the bones in his arms.

He chuckled, but most true laughs have less resigned bitterness to them. "Yeah, that's me. Hmph. I'm the guy that got Rivet City up and running in the first place!"

Bingo. All I had to do was keep him talking. No problem there; It seemed like the problem would be getting him to shut up. "And after all that, Li and her gang of flunkies pushed me out. Ha! Project Purity indeed. What a bunch of morons -- They can't even clean some water!"

"You know, I haven't heard of you before today."

He snorted. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Could you tell me a bit about the city? I heard you were here when it got started."

He nodded. "For that, you have to go all the way back to when remnants of the Naval Research Institute cleared the Mirelurks off this wreck about 40 years ago. We were looking for new lab-space, and this bucket of bolts just happened to have a well-preserved science bay on it." A hint of smug pride crept into his voice. "Everything else just grew up around that lab once we got it up and running. The science team was led by one 'H. Pinkerton.' That lasted until 'bout 18 years ago, when those ambitious backbiters like Li and her little team showed up. She came in, with her big 'Purity Project' pipe dream, and my whole staff started working with her, those traitors!"

Gee, bitter much?

"She even took my seat on the council! By then, I was glad to leave it behind. But hell if I'm leaving the city I made great! Here! They probably don't even remember, but I kept the records of that first council meeting. Take them, if it'll put them in their place!"

I nodded, scanning the little holotape into my pipboy's memory store. "Now, one more thing… I've been looking for a lost Android. Anything you can tell me about that?"

And with that, he closed up tighter than a lawyer's wallet. "What're you talking about, boy? I don't know anything about any of that, and a… what-did-you-call it? An android? What's that?"

"Pinkerton, you're the only one could have done it. And Seagraves told me you did it."

"Fine. Whatever. This android, calls himself Harkness now, comes in and wants a memory job."

Wait, what? "Harkness? Security chief, seat on the council Harkness?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I ain't been near those backbiters in eighteen years. Anyway, I took new memories, and replaced his old ones. Don't believe anyone's done that before. Certainly not down here! That Commonwealth tech isn't all that fancy when it comes down to it. I'm the only one in the wasteland with the skill and the nerve to perform facial surgery. That android flesh ain't so different than ours. You want proof? I documented the whole thing. So I could rub it in the face of Dr. Li when I need to rankle her feathers." His voice dropped off a bit. "...hate that snooty bitch." His glare returned. "It's all in my computer. Here's the password. See for yourself. Hell, just take these pictures and this holotape. Straight from the synthman's mouth."

For something that was supposed to be such a great secret, he was awfully loose in letting the information slip. I frowned, waiting for an attack that never came. "If that's all… Mind if I use your workbench?"

***

It was a brilliant day. The clouds had cleared, and it was looking like a brilliant fall afternoon. And behind me, the bottlecap mine chirped its happy tune in front of Pinkerton's door. We'd see how well he liked traps.

***

Well, now the issue was what to do with all the information I'd gotten? I thought that Moira would be satisfied with this information, but what about Harkness? Even standing right next to him, I couldn't tell anything was wrong. No scars, no nothing.

Pinkerton had been kind enough to give me the verbal passcode to restore the android's memories, but should I really do that? I had a hand waiting for me if I didn't; I could just walk away, enjoy the ability to shoot a sniper rifle again, and have a happy life.

...At the cost of dooming an innocent man-robot-thing to slavery again.

Dammit. I was going to have to do something stupid again, wasn't I?

"Sooo… Harkness."

"I'm a little busy right now," he snapped. "Is there a problem?"

Well, best to be blunt about it. "I don't suppose you already know that you're a robot, do you?"

"Look, kid, I don't have time for existential debate. And I'm not interested in whatever religion you're peddling."

"No, really! You're an android, from the commonwealth!" This wasn't going too well.

"Kid. You have exactly five seconds to explain what you're trying to do here, or you'll be leaving Rivet City by way of the nearest porthole."

"The truth will speak for itself," I said, pulling out Pinkerton's before-and-after pictures. "I have evidence."

"All right," he smirked. "I'll humor you."

His reaction was everything I'd hoped.




"I'll admit, this is pretty convincing evidence, but it doesn't make any sense. How can this be possible?" He crossed his arms, looking at the floor. For a minute, I really felt for the guy. A day ago, I'd found out that my life was a lie. How must he be feeling?

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "But this is the only way. Activate A3-21 Recall Code Violet."

With a cry, the man dropped to the ground. "My god. I… I remember. I remember it all. From before. Zimmer. The Commonwealth. The institute. My God, all those runners I brought down!" He took my hand, and got to his feet again. "You… You made me remember. Why? How? I… Never mind. I just.. My God. What am I going to do? My life. Everything. It's all a lie…"

"I can't help you there. Whiskey always helps me. Still, you need to do something about Zimmer."

His eyes narrowed. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to shove him into a very small box, and send him north where he belongs."

Crap. "Actually, I was hoping you'd let me take care of him."

"Hmm… He is a security threat, isn't he? All right, I authorize you to carry out Doctor Zimmer's execution." He twisted, pulling a long, mean-looking energy rifle off of his back. "Here, use my weapon. I've had it forever, and it's never let me down. Consider it a token of my appreciation."

I nodded, admiring the sleek wiring and long, dangerous looking barrel. "My pleasure. And good luck."

***

"Just a minute," Dr. Zimmer said, standing over where I lay on his bed. "I'll have those nerves connected in no time."

I'm not sure what cocktail of drugs Zimmer was using, but I couldn’t feel a thing. My arm splayed open, a flayed tube with a spider's web of wire running over and through it. The most important thing, though, was at the end: perfect, no scars, just wonderful, soft, moving digits. A spark flashed, and the doctor began sewing up my arm.

"Harkness, you say?" I hissed, drawing back my arm. The doctor chuckled, tucking his thumbtack back into his coat pocket. "Good, the nerves are working. Yes, yes that makes sense. He used to work for a special branch of the Commonwealth Police, after all. Thank you for your discreet assistance, and continued discretion regarding this matter."

"Well, it was in my best interest to help you," I murmured. "No trouble at all. And this hand will keep going?"

"Oh, yes. Nanobots, self-healing, pain relays, nerve endings, everything. So long as you don't do anything stupid, it should be just fine."

My god… this thing was amazing. I pulled a bullet from my pouch, and rolled it around, just to feel the sensation of cold brass pressing against my fingers. "Thank you," I said. "Now, just one more thing."

He turned from packing his bags, and froze at the sight of Harkness' plasma rifle hovering inches from his nose. "What are you--?"

TSEEW! A blue bolt jumped between the barrel and Zimmer's head. Even as Zimmer liquefied, Zimmer's bodyguard shouted and started to fire with his assault rifle. VATS guided another energy bolt to his head, snapping it against the wall. "Harkness says hello," I muttered, turning, and walking out.

Note: Level up!
New Perk! Cyborg, level 1: You've made permanent enhancements to your body! The Cyborg perk adds 3% to your Damage, Poison, and Radiation resistances, and five points to your Energy Weapons skill!
Quest perk! Wired Reflexes: Advanced technology from the Commonwealth has increased your reaction speed, giving you a higher chance to hit in VATS.

And now, to see Ferguson's new toys!

Spoiler

Show

Mr. Chatter:

A3-21's Plasma Rifle

And now, we have a problem. Ferguson really wants to go find his dad, either to thank him or slap him. He could also finish off the Wasteland Survival Guide, or do a sidequest. What do you want him to do next? If WSG, please select either Libraries or Robots.

[Wookieetank]

Must say this is currently my favorite LP to read, well done!

(Didn't you know? Vault dwellers are famous for their ability to swim, since space definitely isn't at a premium underground. Swimming pools everywhere.)

Brilliant.

I vote for dad, there's enough questions being raised, particularly with the recent info gathered in Rivet City, that he needs to be located and start fessing up.

[Balmas]

Must say this is currently my favorite LP to read, well done!

Well, I... Er...

Spoiler

Show

Well, shucks. Thank you!

[Balmas]

Spoiler

Show

Family.

For as long as I've been alive, Dad and I have been a family of two. He was the one who picked me up when I skinned my knee on the stairs of the Vault, and ignored tons of safety rules by having me play with guns in the reactor level, and gave me The Talk when I figured out that Amata did not, in fact, have a pair of cancerous growths on her chest. (That was an awkward half hour, let me tell you.)

Then he walked out on me. What with all the things I'd been doing--running away, fighting for my life, etc--I'd never really gotten the chance to just sit back and think on that. Maybe that was why I kept doing it, kept going out each morning and patching myself up until exhaustion dragged me to bed at night. So long as I was busy, engaged, working to stay alive, I wouldn't be able to think about how I'd been hung out to dry like yesterday's news by my own father.

Now, Doctor Li and three concentrated days of sitting around the ship had ripped a hole in my fragile mental defenses. Dogmeat was good, but I needed more. I wanted my dad back. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell me that I'd done well, someone to hold when the Wasteland got to be too much.

An extra set of hands holding a gun would be nice, too.

"Now try and hide from this!" Oh, believe me, I wanted to. Trouble was, I was pinned down. Bullets were pinging off the wall behind me, and beginning to wear through the filing cabinets I was cowering behind. Frantically, I swapped out the hissing, smoking micro-fusion cell for a fresh battery, and risked a blind potshot over the top. A sharp yelp of pain was reward enough, until the cabinet shook under a fresh volley of angry bullets. "I'm gonna eat your arms when you're dead, human!"

"That's not really encouragement for me to come out, now is it?" I screamed back. This couldn't last much longer. I was outnumbered, and those Chinese assault rifles the mutants were using had already started to wear holes in my armor. If I didn’t do something, and fast, I'd wind up on the menu after all.

I howled as a cackle of automatic fire shredded my spine. I really ought to have been counting just how many mutants I was shooting at; one had circled around the Jefferson Memorial's wasted gift shop, and now stood, leering over me.

VATS was my savior, sending two sharp blasts into the mutant's face. It was probably my imagination, but I could swear that the rapidly atomizing pile of goop looked surprised.

Well, that was encouraging, at least. The muffled whooosh of a missile launcher showed me the wisdom of moving, but two wildly-aimed plasma bursts sent the missile launcher clanging on the floor, and the super mutant to float away on the wind.

Really, I ought to have been using my assault rifle. The bullpup arrangement meant that it was easier to use indoors, after all, but dammit, I had a new toy, and I was going to play with it! I cackled as I reloaded. I could practically hear Dad now: "You killed how many?"

I whooped as a lucky headshot melted another super mutant to his component atoms, his grenades thumping hollowly on the pile. Was it wrong that I was enjoying this? When did fighting for my life become a game? What the hell was wrong with me? I vaguely remembered torturing a mutant to death while under the illuminating light of psycho, but I didn't have that excuse right now.

The last super mutant looked from the two piles of ash to the slightly warped grin on my face, and decided that a tactical retreat was probably in order. No chance of that; I bellowed and hurled myself through the doorway after it, before stopping short.



Well, that's not something a guy gets to see every day…

A gun barked, and the sudden sting in my arm reminded that I still had a job to do. The mutant ducked back behind a pillar, but not before VATS sent a blue bolt stinging into its leg. I reached around the pillar and squeezed off a blind burst, grinning as the little red arrow in my EFS went out.

Now, this place had a lot of things, but what it didn have was my Dad. Not a trace of blue jumpsuit anywhere. The super mutants couldn't have been here long, either; I didn't see any mesh bags full of blood and guts strung up like the garish decorations of a serial killer.

Huh. Wonder if I qualify as a serial killer?

I shook off the thought, and began moving towards the stairs. There weren't any bullet holes, either. I contemplated the large control panel, pressing a button idly. No good; the entire thing was deader than the super mutants outside. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of mold and mildew coming from the leaking edges of the window. Dad never had mastered the ability to keep things clean.

"Whereever Dad is," I told Dogmeat, "he was long gone by the time the muties moved in." Which was good for him, bad for me.

So, if he wasn't here, where was he? I eyed the pile of holotapes stacked on top of what looked like a control panel, and shoved the one labled No. 5 into the Pipboy.


Even in Vault 101, my work on Project Purity never really stopped…

Dad! He'd been here! I hugged Dogmeat, and kept listening to Dad's tired voice.

Soon after we arrived, my nightly routine included sneaking into the restricted areas. Searching for, I don't know, whatever I could find. It was a Vault-Tec facility after all. The place was built with some of the most advanced technology this country had ever developed. Those excursions never turned up anything particularly useful. So one night, after half a bottle of scotch, I broke into the Overseer's office. It was easy enough to hack his console, gain access to the restricted files. Most of it was garbage: propaganda, spy reports, just plain rambling bull****, really. But there was one thing, one name that stood out amongst all the others... Dr. Stanislaus Braun. I knew of Braun's work, of course. He was a celebrity in his day. Vault-Tec's sorcerer-scientist, leaving his peers in awe of his technological wizardry. But it was in Vault 101 that night in the Overseer's office, that I first learned of Braun's involvement in Vault-Tec's social preservation program, and his work on something called GECK, Garden of Eden Creation Kit.

Was that it? I frowned, and popped out the holotape to make room for the next one.


To be honest, the GECK sounded like pure fantasy, even for someone of Braun's capabilities. It was nothing short of a miracle. A terra-forming module, capable of producing life from complete lifelessness. But not only was this thing a reality, it was actually distributed to several vaults to be used after an atomic war. Vault 101 was, sadly, not on that list. I did some digging and discovered Braun's name on the reservation list for a Vault 112. I'm no slouch, but this man, he could have easily succeeded where I failed. Does his collected knowledge remain within the halls of Vault 112? Journals, holotapes, computer records, maybe even experiments? If I could gain access to just a fraction of Braun's genius, Project Purity would become a reality.

Yeah, I'd seen a reference to some kind of GECK in the overseer's computer, when I was supposed to be sweeping his office for bugs. Terra-forming… Like, world-shaping? We could do something about the wasteland? Fix it? I had a sudden image of a world like the pictures I'd seen in Dad's old books, or in those old encyclopedias I kept finding around: Grass, green and vibrant, rolling like a perpetual blanket over hills full of trees. And forests! Animals that weren't trying to eat the people who visited them! And oh, the people! With a source of water and food, they wouldn't have to worry about where their next meal would come from. We'd be able to rebuild, to grow as a people, to finally change the hell that the people of two hundred years ago had left for us!

Course, that didn’t change the fact that my dad had run out on me. Pretty damn good reason to leave; saving the world was a rather worthy goal. Still, here I am! Your son! Maybe a word to the wise would have been in order? "Oh, hey! I'm gonna go risk everything on a plan that might not work. Get good at dodging bullets, 'cause I'm leaving you here. No, don’t try and help, you're obviously not as competent as I am." Dammit, I hoped he was wearing power armor and hauling an armory's worth of weapons when I found him, or else I'd be perfectly justified in smacking him around.

Then again, I wasn’t too sure I wouldn't do that anyway.


I'm off to Vault 112 to search for anything of Braun's that might help me get this purifier up and running. All I know is that it's West of some place called "Evergreen Mills," and it's well hidden in some sort of garage. But I'll find it, I have to. It's so close, but that's the story of Project Purity, isn't it? An eternity of "almost there's". Let's see if Braun has the missing puzzle piece.

I growled, and hurled the useless holotape into the murky waters under the purifier. West of Evergreen Mills? That would be useful, if I only knew where that was! Even the pipboy was letting me down: not a single map marker off a vague, useless comment, like it would usually have.

The weather seemed to mirror my mood as I biked back to Megaton. Grey storm clouds oozed in, drops of angry rain thundering down like a drum solo by Thor. By the time I dragged the bike under the eaves of the gateway, the only thing I was thinking about was getting inside, draining the water out of my boots, and getting to bed.

***

If I'd known the weather would be like this, I wouldn't have bothered getting up so early. I glared at the horizon; it wobbled like a drunken sailor, the sun blurring everything and baking me in my armor.

"Let's see what we have here," I muttered to Dogmeat. "Café, general store, little busted in diner thing… No sign of raiders,"--I thrust my head around a corner--"and no sign of Talon ambushers. Hang on…" There was movement in the distance. Two arrows on EFS--not hostile.

The two blurred sillhouettes solidified into a pair of men, lugging assault rifles. Not exactly what I'd call threatening , really. If it came to a fight, all I'd have to do is sit back, trust my armor not to fall apart at a critical junction, and… My gosh, what was wrong with me?

I pulled myself away from plotting the untimely death of two people I'd only barely met and cautiously waved hello. They nodded back, and came towards me, taking a seat next to me. "Damn, it's hot," said the one wearing a burgundy leather shirt.

"And all the meat's gotten away," grumbled his partner, the one in black.

I nodded, digging in my pack. Now was as good a time as any for lunch. "What do you hunt, Mirelurks?"

"This far from the river?" Red Shirt snorted. "As if. Nah, the meat all made a break fer it back past Tenpenny Tower."

Black Leather dipped into his own pack, allowing me a glimpse of round metal objects. Wrong shape for grenades, and too big for mines. "Whatcha got there?"

Black Leather frowned at me, pulling out a small metal ring with a box protruding from one edge. "Never seen a bomb collar before?"

"No, not really." He passed it over, and I puzzled it over. The blinking red light meant that it was probably active, and if my guess was right, the little box held a receiver for a detonator of some kind. The shape was all wrong, though; with that thick, heavy outer rim, and the way the charges were all packed in the lining, if the bomb went off, the only shrapnel would be inside the edge. Useless for any kind of suicide attacker, trained dogs, anything like that.

"What, you live unner a rock yer whole life?"

"Hey, don't knock the Vaults," I shot back, grinning. "They happen to be very comfortable rocks."

Red Shirt spewed beans all over the wall. "Holy ****! That's you?"

Um, what? "Who's me?"

"You're the Vault Legend? One-oh-one? Three-dog's poster-boy?"

"Three-Dog?"

The two exchanged looks. "He really does live under a rock." Red Shirt grinned. "See, this… is a gun… This is a detonator. That over there is a tree."

"Har di har. No, really. Who's this Three Dog, and why should I know him?"

"He's only the guy who runs the best radio station in the wasteland."

"I'm guessing you're not talking about the science fiction one."

"Nah! GNR! He don’t think much of slavers, but he's got good music, and won't shut up about the legend of Vault 101, our hero, our exemplar, the wasteland Messiah. That's you, by the way."

"Me?" Really? "I'm no hero."

"Save a community from costumed cuckoos? Check! Clear ants out of a different town, and bring the only survivor to civilization? Check!" Black Leather counted off on his fingers. "Disarmed active nuclear bomb, preventing possible annihilation of a different town? For someone who isn't a hero, you've sure been doing a hell of a lot of hero-ing."

"Hey!" A light had popped on in Red Shirt's eyes. "Maybe he could help us!"

"Maybe," agreed his partner. "Well, 101? How'dja like to earn a few spare caps helping us track down some meat?"

"Well, I'm kind of busy with my own project right now, but I could keep an eye out. Whaddya like? Radroach? Yao Guai? I like mirelurk, myself."

Red Shirt guffawed. "What a kidder. No, slaves!"

What. "Slaves?"

"Yeah, slaves," said Black Leather. "Two men and a woman. One of the men's a ghoul, maybe a bit taller than you."

"Slaves? As in, human trafficking? They give you money, you give them humans?"

"Yeah," grinned Red Shirt. "We're the best pair of slavers in this part of the wasteland, Olaf and I. Megaton to Girdershade, if there's people who need a good, heh, home, we're there."

Now, calm down, Ferguson. Maybe you've got it wrong. "Where do the slaves go?"

"Usually, to the Pitt," Black Leather said. "Dunno what they do there, but the rate of attrition must be awful. They need a new batch practically every two weeks. Sometimes more."

"You get occasional requests for more meat sent west, to places like Chicago or even Louis."

"I'm assuming that slaves aren't usually volunteers," I growled. I was beginning to feel that boiling pressure behind my eyes that meant I was about to do something stupid.

Red Shirt snorted. "Oh, hell no. Usually, we pick up stragglers in the waste, slap a collar on them, and call it good. If you're a pro, or if you're in the crapper, Eulogy might send you to a town to try to get a specific person."

"Have you ever considered a career change?" I asked. "Might be good for your health."

Black Leather scoffed. "Are you kidding? Slaving's been the most profitable job I've eve--"

BOOM! Black Leather's head imploded, chunks of bone and buckshot thudding meatily into the wall behind him. Red Shirt swore, and fumbled with the snap on his holster, but my shotgun was already out and pressed against his temple.

"You know," I began, "I've only met two slavers in my life, and they haven't made a good first impression. Hands away from the gun... Good. Now, let me tell you something. All my life, I've been under somebody else. All hail the overseer, and all that bull. If he didn't like you, he could do whatever he liked to you, even kill you. Kinda like you and me, right now.

"If I wanted to, I could… let's see, that kneecap looks awfully tight. Needs bullet therapy, I think." The acrid stink of urine stung my nose. "No? Maybe a nice shot to the gut. Nothing crippling, but enough to make you need to take your shirt off to go to the bathroom. A superfluous behind, how's that sound? ...No?"

"Please, mister…" Red Shirt begged. "I don't know what we've done wrong, but plea--"

"You don't know what you've done wrong?" The pressure was building, and my finger itched to just pull the trigger, end the sniveling waste of space at the end of my shotgun. "You've brought people, and sold them to a fate worse than death. You’ve put this feeling,"--I pressed my shotgun more firmly against his head--"in every person you've enslaved. And you don't know what you’ve done wrong?"

If there was a response, I couldn't understand it under the snotty wave of burbly bawling the wimp was letting out.

"I'm going to let you live," I growled, "but only because I need someone to carry the message, so listen up." He took a break from begging and whinging long enough to bob his head. "I am not a hero, but I know what's ****ing right and wrong. And slavery? That's wrong. I killed a man for trying to enslave a robot; I sure as hell won't stand for people enslaving others." I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to; something behind me was pushing, urging me on. The words pushed on in an urgent torrent. "Go and tell your boss, Eulogy or whatever his name is, that he's done. Slaving is no longer going to happen in this wasteland. If I see a bomb collar, or a whip, or people on chains, there will be hell to pay for the people involved."

Red Shirt gave a burbling, snotty nod, then winced. Too hard with the shotgun? Well, wasn't that just a bloody tragedy for him then? "As for you," I growled, "if I ever see you again, I'll keep you alive with stimpaks just so I can find new ways to hurt the human body. That's the fun thing about stimpaks; since they work so quickly… there'll be no need to wait for you to heal between torture sessions." His Adams apple bobbed rapidly. "Won't that be fun?"

***

So this was Evergreen Mills. From up here on the edge of the massive redstone quarry, I had a wonderful view of the buildings, shacks, and people down below.

More's the pity. I wrinkled my nose at the bodies strung up between fences; I counted two, three… seven different spots with the gruesome decorations, and only enough parts to make perhaps four intact people. If that weren't enough, I could smell the raiders from here. They moved from one spot to another like cannibalistic ants in a macabre child's toy, all reeking of disappointment, bad drugs, and blood. Oh, so much blood.



There were too many. I… I had no idea that raiders were this capable of living together. There had to be twenty of them. Too spaced out for a grenade, and too busy for a series of shots. I might have been able to pull it off with Harkness's plasma rifle, but I…

**** me. Shove me full of stimpaks and call me a dispenser. How the hell did they get a behemoth? How many bullets had it taken to get it in there? It had to be even bigger than the one that jumped me near the Jury Street Metro station! They ate bullets like candy! The one I'd fought had eaten shrugged four or five of Mr. Chatter's clips without batting an eye! How the **** did these raiders pull that off?

One of the raiders laughed, shaking a tire iron at the behemoth in its little sheet metal pen. I couldn't hear it's garbled speech from where I was, but the howl it gave off when it grabbed at the fence was clear enough. If I was correct, that generator just outside the fence was feeding into the sizzling fence.

Wait a minute… Idea!

The generator exploded nicely from one well placed shot, and I sat back to watch. The screams were delicious.



Beautiful.

***

Well, this was probably it.



The little store had all the markings of a garage; dank, musty air, cars up on blocks, a few toolboxes with parts for my motorcycle, suicidal molerats… I pulled the trigger on the small chainsaw, sending wet molerat bits spattering against the ceiling.

A small hatch in the floor whooshed open as I triggered the wall panel. Yes, this was looking promising. Another molerat charged, eager to embed my ripper into its face as I came down the stairs. Narrow corridors, steps that made a catwalk over a pit of lava seem safe… This was definitely Vault-tec work.



Bingo.

A klaxon wailed, and the heavy vault door squealed back into its geared rail. Now the only thing we had to do was wait for the local neighbors to see what all the fuss was about.

I must have waited there for five minutes before deciding that nobody was coming. Either the inhabitants were all long dead, or they just weren't interested. My traitorous mind conjured images of a vault full of zombies, or worse, full of some terrible monster that had eaten everyone. Surely life wouldn't be so twisted as to kill an entire vault, right?

I don't know what exactly I was expecting when I shot back the bolts and shoved open the steel door, but it sure wasn't a brainbot. "Welcome to Vault 112!" it chirped. "According to sensors, you have arrived 202.3 years behind schedule. Please re-dress in your Vault-Tec issued Vault suit before proceeding. If you have misplaced your suit, I am authorized to distribute a new one." A slot opened in its tube of a torso, and a familiar folded blue package dropped to the floor. "Once dressed, please proceed down the stairs to the main floor so that you may enter your assigned tranquility lounger."

This… This was entirely too creepy. I grabbed the little packet, and unfolded it: brand new. Not a patch, stain, or unidentified odor anywhere on the thing, like the ones I was used to. Were there even people here?

More than anything else, this vault just felt… wrong. Where there ought to have been a security booth, there was just a wall. The overseer's door was locked tighter than… no, wait! I ran a finger along the seam of the door… "Paint?" The overseer's door was just painted on!

So, no Overseer, and from what I could see, no residents either. I tried to ignore the goosebumps that were rapidly appearing all over my arms, but I knew that it wasn't just the cold putting them there. Something about this place was just twisted and messed up.

"Please proceed to your Tranquility Lounger," reminded a canned voice behind me. The robot waved a bulbous arm at a window, and then down towards some stairs. I glanced out the window, and then stopped, pressing my face against the glass.



What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I stumbled down the stairs, and threw myself against the first egg-thing I could. My god, there were people in there! They sat, frozen, immobile. I could see their chests rising and falling, but only just. "I'm really beginning to hate the past," I muttered, moving over to glance at the terminal in front of one of the egg pods. Vital statistics… This guy was in his prime, if the numbers were right. Maybe a bit of high blood pressure, but just fine. If I were to release him right now, he'd be up and kicking with no problem.

Where was the release button?

I circled the room, looking at terminals and pods in turn. What creepy sickos would trust their future to this? Pods filled with women, pods filled with men, pods filled with…



"Dad!" Finally! I'd found him! I wouldn't have to trot off and do bugger-all for some crazy bitch who needed three bits of yeast and a fission battery! We could just go home and…

And likely get shot for our troubles. The overseer wouldn't let us back in; hell, I think I might have accidentally killed him on the way out. (It'd certainly explain why Amata was so upset when she showed me the door.)

Still, I had him! We could get out of here, figure out what to do with the GECK, and just take it one day at a time.

Suddenly, the release button was looking a whole lot more important. Yet there just wasn't anything! No power switch, no release button, and the damn glass wouldn't budge, break, or melt! "Hyaaaaaa!" I hurled myself at the edge of the pod, hacking at it with a combat knife; even the plastic molding around the edge refused to give.

Two feet. "Dammit!" My knife bounced on the floor, and I sagged after it. "Why?" Two damn feet were all that was between me and my dad, and I couldn't figure out how to get in!

"Please proceed to your tranquility lounger," said a robot behind me.

"Listen, you malfuntioning scrapheap," I snapped, "I'm in the middle of figuring out how to…"

Wait a minute. I frowned, looking at the bright, almost unworn blue of Dads's vault suit, and the clean, bright gold 112 picked out in embroidery on the edge of the collar, and then at the suit I'd been given.

"Dogmeat," I said slowly, "if I don't get out… Well, have a good life. Find a nice bitch somewhere. Have puppies." My armor went neatly by the side of the pod, weapons lined up next to it. A pod hissed open, and I hiked myself up into it. The chair was comfortable enough; I could almost feel myself dropping off as the pod went to work. The lid dropped over me, a screen lifting up to meet my face: A town? Was this what the world was like before the war?



My eyes shot open in alarm as a girl appeared on the screen, but by then it was too late; the pod had me, and I blacked out.

Note: Level up!
Perk Added: Sniper: You have a much greater chance to hit an opponent's head in VATS.

I may have... *ahem* taken some liberties with dialogue.

[Wookieetank]

Om nom nom, mmm tasty LP.

[Triaxx]

Awesome LP, though 112, and Lamplight are the two parts I hate the most.

[Mando Knight]

Awesome LP, though 112, and Lamplight are the two parts I hate the most.

Yeah... Lamplight... do the mungoes that make it to Big Town and settle down put their babies at Lamplight's doorstep, or is there a Vault-Tec Baby Engine™ hidden around a corner we can't get at?

[Balmas]

Yeah... Lamplight... do the mungoes that make it to Big Town and settle down put their babies at Lamplight's doorstep, or is there a Vault-Tec Baby Engine™ hidden around a corner we can't get at?

Note to self: sabotage baby generator.

[Mando Knight]

Or are Lamplighters given babies by the rarely-seen Mole-Stork?

[Wookieetank]

I just figured they were a bunch of adults with the mentality and stature of children due to radiation exposure.

[dirtytricks]

Just what is needed to bring balance to the wasteland... an army of surly midgets.

[Wild Zubat]

The Shoulder Slaad returns!

So, what to do on Tranquility Lane? How about... stack a few objects at random? Throw things at Betty, she'll love it! Oh, and don't forget to eat every item of foodstuff you can find. Activate the Failsafe, and last but not least... playgrounds are fun! Chaos is fun!

[Balmas]

Whelp, I had most of tranquility lane typed up today.

Then my laptop decided it no longer wished to live, and that it would take its secrets to the grave with it.

What will happen to our intrepid anti-hero? Find out in the next installment, coming whenever the hell I get something to type on that's better than a Kindle.

[dirtytricks]

Wow, that bites man. Sorry to hear about your laptop. Hope you figure something out soon, there's a lot of people waiting for the next chapter in this great story you got going here. Good luck

[Wookieetank]

Oh noes. Was greatly enjoying this LP. I hope Ferguson doesn't get stuck in Tranquility lane for eternity.

[Balmas]

Whelp, my wonderful supporters, I have some great news, some bad news, and some terrible news.

First the great news. While my old Lenovo Thinkpad T61p was a pretty decent laptop, my new one blows it out of the water. Seventeen inch screen, dual Nvidia graphics cards--GeForce Go 7950 GTX SLI, for the curious in the audience-- and a neat little alien peeking out of the laptop screen. It's an Alienware Area 51 m9750. And I love it. At $520 dollars, it's a steal.

It's not without its share of problems; the processor is nothing really special, an Intel Core 2 Duo, clocked at 2.33. (I plan to clock that up to 2.8 when I can.) The keyboard is kind of weird, and really far away from the edge of the laptop. No, really. There's five inches between the hard, cutting front edge and the space bar, so it cuts into my wrists a bit unless I'm actually at a desk. And I really want to be at a desk when I use this; the power supply alone weighs as much as my old laptop. This thing is a brick.

Another thing that I'm really having problems with is the touchpad: it's super sensitive, so the slightest touch triggers a click. This can be a problem, especially when I'm trying to type.

These are just teething issues, though. I'll get used to it eventually.

And now the good news! Windows 8.1 is coming out, soon, so I'll be able to update my operating system. I even get a discount, since my dad is one of the techies at Microsoft.

And the bad news: the version of Windows that came with the new laptop didn't include Microsoft Office, and I'm just cheap enough that I'm not gonna buy it. That means that, while the hard drive is perfectly good, and I even have space for a second hard drive, I cannot open my One-note files or work on them.

So, ETA on our next chapter is a couple weeks for the new OS, and then a week to work on the actual chapter. Again, sorry for the delay, but life intervened.

See you in three weeks!

[Wookieetank]

Have you tried looking into Open Office ? In my experience its able to open anything made in Microsoft Office, and you can save your files in any number of formats (including ones compatable with Microsoft office). I've been using it for the past 7 years or so and has worked just fine for me.

[Triaxx]

Yeah, open office is fantastic. What's one-note?

[Mando Knight]

Yeah, open office is fantastic. What's one-note?

It's Microsoft Office's neat note-taking thing. It's like a notebook on your computer.