Future Imperfect
Ch 1: Following in his Footsteps
He had the dream again. Running through familiar hallways stained with blood, fleeing from voices raised in anger. Everything he touched collapsed in rust and ash as the voice of the Overseer rang in his ears, harsh and hollow.
It is here you are born, it is here you will die.
Running through the Vault door, stumbling over the bones of those long dead. Pushing through a rickety wooden door into unbearable agony. He claws at his eyes, kicking in the dirt, tears cutting a track through the dust on his face. Slowly, ever so slowly, the agony subsides and he is able to look with horror upon the desolation that stretches before him : hills stained in grey and blown and green, jagged rocks and the husks of buildings jut upward like mute fingers pleading in supplication. In his ears, the cold whisper of the wind….and nothing more.
It is here you will die.
-O-
Eric Walker woke with a start, lying twisted on his bed drenched in sweat. Hurriedly sitting up, he wearily rubbed his eyes. Not sleeping well was essentially the same as not sleeping at all. A few moments later, a series of mechanical noises reached his ears, soon followed by a chipper, " Good morning, sir! It is 11:27 AM, how may I ser.."
"Godammit Wadsworth! I told you to wake me up at 10!"
A slight pause, " MY humble apologies, sir. My own CPU did not boot up until 10:22 AM, and my systems diagnostic was not finished until…"
Eric grunted. Figures, even a robot butler would oversleep once in a while. "Whatever, Wadsworth. What's for breakfast?"
"Only the finest of Cram and Instamash, sir!" The robot replied as Eric threw off the blankets and strode to a dinted footlocker. Tugging on leather armor and pulling out his weapons, he headed downstairs. Absently eating 200-year-old food, he thinks about the trip ahead. In the month and a half he had spent in Megaton, he had become something of a local hero. From helping fix up the water treatment plant to, most recently, defusing the live nuclear warhead in the center of town, there was little around Megaton he 'couldn't' be commended for. But there was one place he wouldn't go, one thing he wouldn't do.
Travel to Washington D.C. Motherfucking D.C.
The stories he heard about the ruined city were bad, of the all-out war between the Brotherhood of Steel and the mutants that infested the region. The truth he learned from the few merchants ballsy enough to head through the area was far worse. The Brotherhood, for all of its military training and heavy equipment, was losing.
Ever since leaving Vault 101, he had been searching for his father. He had fled the Vault in the dead of night, giving Eric his own impetus for leaving. Of course, he had been "helped" along by the Vault Security Officers. In his early days topside, Eric was too busy surviving to actively search for his father, but he gleaned what information he could from the travelling merchants that stopped by Megaton occasionally. His big break came about a month ago, in Moriarty's Saloon. He sweet-talked the password to Moriarty's ancient PC off of Nova, the resident hooker, and spent the next few hours hunched in a back room with his face pressed up close to the cracked and dirty screen. Local gossip, a list of tabs, until he finally came across what he so desperately needed. Under his father's name, there was some backstory and the name of his destination.
Galaxy News Radio Station. In the heart of D.C.
Eric had put off this trip for over 3 weeks. He finally had to admit to himself that he was scared. Fucking terrified, to be honest. The wastes around Megaton were familiar, and if the town wasn't home by now at least he knew its people. The crumbling ruins across the Potomac River still held the fear of the unknown.
Well, today he was going to face that fear and kick it in the balls.
Before leaving the rusted shack he called home, Eric examined himself in a smudged mirror. Leather armor, one combat knife sheathed along his left shoulder, another at his hip alongside a brace of grenades. A 10mm pistol with tactical light in a worn leather holster, an R91 Assault Rifle with bayonet lug dangling from a shoulder sling. Finally, a Pre-War military helmet and a gas mask on his head. Except for the pistol, all was brand new from the mill in Megaton, bought in preparation for this trip. Making a final adjustment to his gear, he threw his pack over his shoulder and pushed open the door. As he did, Wadworth called out, "I'll be sure to clean up while you are away, sir!"
'Good', thought Eric, 'because I may not be coming back.'
-O-