N4-73
I could help you, the doctor says. In her clean white lab coat. In her high heels and pearls. In her horn-rimmed glasses hiding hungry eyes.
You feel small and dirty before her. You are harboring doubts.
"A synth husband?" you ask, just to be sure.
Of course! she chirps excitedly. It'd be simple enough. Just a flake of skin. That's all it would take. Of course, he wouldn't remember you. Who knows what sort of person he would turn out to be? But that's the fun of it! It'll be our little experiment. What do you say?
You think on it, feeling faintly sick in the pit of your stomach. You miss your husband. More than anything in this rotten world. With a passion surpassing death. You are lonely beyond reason, trapped outside your own time, given a great gift you never asked for. Your heart leaps at the mere thought of seeing his face again. And yet…
Of course, I'd be periodically checking in with you, the doctor rambles on, checking items off a mental list. To make sure the synth's functioning correctly. He would be a prototype, a special model. You could advance the cause of Science. Help everyone who is grieving. Wouldn't that be a noble goal?
There is a vial and a pair of tweezers sitting on the desk before you. A receptacle for the sample. Hardly knowing what you're doing, you pick them up and slip them into your pockets.
"Yes." you hear yourself saying, "I'll fetch you that flake of skin."
-oOo-
His coffin opens, releasing a blast of frigid air in your face. His body is frosted in ice. Snow rims his eyelashes. He has a look of pain on his face, an apology for what happened written on his brow.
I'm sorry, he whispers to the empty air. I wish I could have been here with you.
You are trying not to look at the bullet wound.
Not wishing to disturb his sleeping face, you crack open the top button of his collar. A strip of skin peels away from his collarbone and goes easily into your jar. A shard of human popsicle, misting the glass at the touch of your warm hand. You hope that freshness won't be an issue.
-oOo-
You are anxiously pacing outside the lab door. She had said that it would be ready an hour ago. That there were still tests that she needed to run before she could let him out. You begin to wonder if it was all a hoax. No one can bring back the dead.
With a whoosh, the door slides open. The doctor stands there with her clipboard, flushed and beaming. A single hair stands straight up on her head, frazzled and frayed, at odds with her exceedingly put together look.
Do come in! she says breathlessly, He's ready to meet you.
And there he is. Perfect in every way. Your breath catches in your throat. You feel as though you're choking. That's him. Right there, in front of you. Breathing, shifting in his seat. Examining you warily.
Designation N4-73, the doctor goes on. You hardly noticed that she was speaking. Meet Mother.
He crosses his arms, glaring at you.
She'll be taking you to the surface. It's dangerous up there, but I'm sure you'll be in good hands.
Now then…she drops her voice, turning to you.
N4's ears prick up. He cocks his head, listening to every word.
If he ever gets lost, she says clandestinely, there's a tracking chip installed in his head. You can find him with your Pip-Boy.
A look of sheer horror steals over N4's face. He pats the side of his head with a shaking hand, plunging his fingers into his hair. As though he could find it. As though he could rip it out right then and there.
"Ah." you say.
The doctor breaks into a toothy grin.
Do have fun! she says excitedly. It isn't often that you have a chance like this. And don't rough him up too much, okay?
-oOo-
On the first night, he runs. You track him down to a Super Mutant camp. You tear the green monsters limb from limb, toppling them like sheaves of wheat, ripping organs from their bellies, wrenching their screaming tongues from their mouths.
You find him huddling in an outhouse, looking at you in terror.
"Why did you do that?" you ask, more than a little angry about the whole thing.
"You think I wanted to get dragged into all this?" he spits back, the fire burning behind you reflected in his eyes.
You plop him down beside a campfire and tend to his wounds. His arm is twisted the wrong way around and blood oozes from a crack in his lip. You 're worried that he might lose a tooth, but he's too pissed to let you look in his mouth.
An hour passes and he calms down a bit. You offer him a can of beans.
"Thanks." he says begrudgingly, pulling a fork out of his pocket.
-oOo-
You say he was supposed to be a soldier? the doctor asks, tapping her pen on her clipboard.
"Yes." you answer, "My husband was an army man. But N4 likes to build things. He'll stay in his workshop all day, not even coming out for meals."
Huh. she says, That's unusual. Can I ask you how he's adjusting to life on the surface?
You sigh, glancing over at the glass room beside you. N4 sits on a hospital bed, doing his best to scuff up the floor with the heels of his century-old boots. He looks up when he sees your head turn. He stares at you quizzically, trying to make out what it is you 're talking about through the glass.
"Not well." you answer sadly, "He seems afraid all the time. I feel bad taking him anywhere because he always gets hurt. And he's always picking fights. I don't know how I'm supposed to…" you trail off, feeling yourself start to break down. Not here. Not now.
The doctor smiles gently at you.
I could fix that, she says. Terminate the experiment. Overwrite his personality with one better suited to surface life. It's up to you. If it would make things easier…
The door to the glass chamber slides open at your touch.
"N4…" you ask, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes, "Are you happy here?"
He looks at you in shock. His fingers dig into the edge of the bed. You can see him thinking his answer over.
"No." he sighs, "I wish I were someone other than me."
You whisper his shutdown code into his ear. His eyes go wide and he tumbles into your arms, nothing but a sack of blood and meat now.
-oOo-
The doctor said it would take an hour. She comes out to get you in half that time.
He's all set, she says, a tinge of sadness in her voice. It should work a bit better now.
You step tentatively into the lab, unsure of what to expect. N4 is sitting in a chair, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his arms folded neatly across his lap.
Designation N4-73, the doctor says grandly, gesturing to you, Meet Mother.
"Hello?" he asks, his eyes unfocused, rolling around in his head independently of one another.
His voice is all whirring gears and microchip music.
"How may I serve you today?" he asks with simulated friendliness, his eyes at last focusing on you.
You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. You can 't breathe. This can't be right.
You reload the game.
-oOo-
"Why?" you ask, half-sobbing, half-screaming as you stumble drunkenly into N4's workshop.
He jumps at the sound of your voice, but doesn't look up from he's doing.
You pull out your gun, pointing it at the back of his head. He hears the click of the chamber and his hands go still.
"I didn't let her take your mind! I give you everything you ever ask for! So, why…why don't you care?"
N4 slowly turns around, his hands in the air. He 's trembling. A bead of sweat tumbles down his chin.
"I-I…I don't know." he stammers out, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing for the blast.
You put your gun away. Your hand is shaking. Your vision seems worse than normal. What are you doing?
As you turn away, he calls after you.
"You know what would make me happy?" he says snidely, his hatred for you barely concealed in his voice.
You turn around, giving him a hard look.
He taps the side of his head.
"Getting rid of this."
Your lips tighten at the thought. You breathe out in one great huff of air and slam the door behind you.
-oOo-
He's defective, she tells you. He needs to be shut down. It isn't safe for him to be around other people. You can't predict what he's going to do next.
All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.
N4 is watching you intently through the walls of his glass prison. You wonder if he can read lips.
Did you want to be the one to do it? she asks sweetly. If not, that's fine too. It'll only take a moment.
You draw your gun and blow her face into smithereens before she has a chance to say anything more.
Clumsily, with the room spinning under your feet, you bolt from your chair and pound the keypad frantically until the door slides open. You throw your arms around N4 as though squeezing the life out of him. When you pull away, you see that he's speckled with blood. You're covered in blood.
You can hear footsteps pounding the floor outside. It 's time to leave.
N4 is crouching over the body of his creator. He pulls something from the shattered shards of her skull. A little black piece of plastic.
"A synth." he breathes. He looks like he's going to be sick.
You grab his arm and slam the teleport button on your Pip-Boy.
-oOo-
She knew that you were coming. She set up defenses. She cloned an army. She dug herself deep into the earth where she thought no one would look.
N4 stands over her body, a bloody wrench in hand. He'd beaten her skull in first. He didn't stop hitting her until she was pulp, until there was no bone left in her body that he hadn't broken.
He's covered in brain matter and bone shards, intestines and skin. You're afraid to touch him. Would he break if you prodded him? Would he turn around and hit you with that wrench?
You take a deep breath of the stale air.
-oOo-
You're strolling through Goodneighbor together, nibbling on iguanas from a questionable vendor, laughing at a joke that a robot told you.
You find yourself walking past the old theater. "Memory Den" the marquee reads, in glowing letters.
"What's that?" N4 asks, his mouth full of iguana. "Some sort of entertainment?"
"Of a sort." you answer warily, not remembering your past experiences with it well at all.
"Can we go in?"
You don't see why not.
He looks about with awe once you're inside, tapping on the glass of the pods, squinting at the banks of machinery. When he tries to sit inside one, the proprietors decide that they've had enough.
As you're both shown the door, N4 has a wicked grin on his face.
"How would you like to take a joyride in one of those?" he asks rakishly, barely able to contain his excitement.
-oOo-
The key you stole slides into the lock like butter. Everything is dark and gloomy inside, the color leeched from the walls by the shadows of night. N4 begins throwing switches, turning on machines that hum, flicking lights.
You formulate a plan in case someone wakes up.
The pod nearest to him springs open.
"Get in." he says happily, "I'll meet you there."
The screen flashes before your eyes and you feel the sensation of rushing air. And then, you're there.
You remember this place. Music is playing. Soldiers and their families mill about, running into each others' arms, whirling around in tearful reunions.
I'm so glad you made it!
Don't ever leave me again.
You dart through the crowd, looking about frantically for the one person that matters to you. An old officer steps aside and there he is. You begin to run to him, your arms held wide, the words you said so long ago rising in your throat.
He looks at you confusedly. Your heart sinks.
"What is this?" N4 asks.
"The end of my husband's tour of duty." you murmur. You aren't sure how he's going to react to this. You can see him thinking it through. He shrugs his shoulders, the train of whatever thought he had in his head finished.
"How do we get out?" he asks, a slight tremor in his voice, "I've tried all the exits and…"
You know what happens next. You wish that you didn't have to do it. Not now.
He's starting to panic. He's made a mistake, he says. He did something wrong and he doesn't know how to fix it.
You take him by the shoulders. He stops, looking at you in shock, considering whether to fight you off or let it happen.
You press your lips to his. He tries to pull away at first, but after a moment, he gives in, entwining his tongue with yours.
The world shifts and melts around you and you feel him falling from your arms.
You're alone again.
-oOo-
You find yourself walking down a dirt path in the woods. Wind rattles the leaves on the trees and the scent of flowers fills the air. You gaze up in wonderment. Living trees. Normal-sized insects.
You come to a clearing and find N4 sitting on a picnic blanket. There's a box of snack cakes open on his lap. A bottle of wine in a cooler.
"Sorry." he mutters as you approach, "Did you want the last one?"
He holds out a cake in his chocolate-stained fingers.
You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of wine.
He shoves it in his mouth and leans back, stretching out over the blanket contentedly.
"So…" he asks, his eyes half-closed, his voice thick and sleepy, "How does this one end?"
Your wine gets caught in your throat.
He sees the way you're looking at him and seems to understand.
"If you don't want to do it…" you start to say.
"No!" he says more forcefully than he seemed to intend, springing up on his elbows.
You notice that he's crossing his legs.
"It isn't that." he says weakly, "I…really want to. It's just…I've never…"
You tell him that it's all right. That it doesn't matter what happens. He lays back down, relaxing his arms at his sides. You tell him you'll be gentle.
You pop the top button on his jeans.
-oOo-
You're in a hospital bed. The blanket is thick and itchy and the fluorescent lights hurt your eyes. You've just shot a human being out of your body and everything is irritating. Groaning, you slide your feet out from under the covers and take hold of the IV stand attached to you.
N4 is in the hallway, staring pensively through a window covering the wall.
The room is filled with tiny bones in dusty incubators. Only one machine is still functioning. A lone baby wriggles inside it, kicking at the plastic playfully.
"He's ours, isn't he?" N4 whispers, a glow that you've never seen before illuminating his face.
"Er…" he catches himself, "Yours, I mean."
"But that's over now." you say, not a hint of emotion in your voice.
The maternity ward goes dark.
-oOo-
You can hear N4 panicking ahead. Swearing and kicking. Trying to quiet the baby in his arms.
"Shh-shh!" he hisses, failing to reassure even himself, "Don't be afraid. Don't be…it'll be all right. Please…"
The glass casket opens at your touch. He looks you in the eye, pleading for his life. Knowing what must happen next. He squeezes the wailing baby to his chest, begging with his quivering lip.
You take careful aim and fire.
-oOo-
You see N4 standing beside a vat of blood, staring deep into its swirling depths.
"Hello-hello!" you call out merrily, in a voice that is not your own, "You seem to have come out just fine. Four limbs, two eyes, nothing weird visually. We'll figure out cognitive processes later..."
Your high heels click on the ground as you walk toward him. You check off items on your clipboard, humming a little as you do so. You're surprised and pleased that the experiment worked so well. The realm of study this opens up for you!
N4 is looking at you blearily.
"Who are you?" he breathes.
You're caught off guard. You put away your clipboard and think on it for a moment.
"Huh…well…I guess I'm your mother. What an odd thing to say."
You laugh.
"Fresh out of University and already a mother! What would my parents say?"
N4 is glaring at you. His hands are balled into fists at his sides.
"I swear to God I had a different mother before…here. What's going on? How did I end up…"
He's starting to freak out. You don't know what he's capable of.
"Okay!" you say a bit more gently, "You're a synth, alright? An artificial man. But you're different - you're based on a unique DNA profile of a human who died a long time ago. That cognitive dissonance you're getting is whatever remains of him. Just relax and give it few minutes. At least, that was what always happened in the tests…"
He looks like he's about to cry. You're getting frustrated now. You have to start testing or you'll never be on time.
"Look, you're a fake man, all right?" you spit out, "You're a tool of the Institute and the subject of experiments that will advance the cause of Grief Management a hundred years! And there's a nice lady coming to pick you up a few hours from now and you're making me late for the appointment!"
"This doesn't make any sense!" he cries, pulling at a hank of hair, "I'm not going anywhere until you sort this out!"
You pull a stun baton from your pocket and press the 'on' button. It crackles with electricity in your hand.
With a scream, he charges, hurling unwieldy punches at you. You deftly sidestep him and he goes crashing to the floor. You strike him with the baton. Once. Twice. His muscles twitch erratically and he gurgles a strangled cry of pain.
He falls still and all is quiet.
Your heart is racing.
-oOo-
"N4-73, reinitialize!" you say grandly, a little afraid of what's going to happen next.
He springs to life again, groaning and holding his head with one hand. The other hand is handcuffed to the bed.
"All right." you say softly, "I've re-calibrated your aggression levels and made a workaround for the false data. Are you feeling better now?"
He glowers at you sullenly.
"Ok…" you breathe, taking it slower. "Here's how it is. You are a synth. You were made with technology that lifetimes have been spent developing. We created you to serve your role in saving humanity. You can go where we can't and do the things we wouldn't dare."
"Can't you see your own potential?" you whisper excitedly.
N4 seems to sink into the bed.
"You can wade through radiation! Go diving in toxic dumps!"
You can't stop yourself now.
"Scrub a toilet that any human would consider a biohazard!" you blurt out, impressed by your own display of wit.
N4 is staring at you, a look of sheer abhorrence etched on his face.
"You died." he says softly, with hidden malice. "You can't be here anymore."
"You can…" the thought withers in your head as he pulls a wrench from beneath his covers.
With a twist of the tool, he snaps the chain binding him to the bed and lowers himself to the floor.
You're in a cavern, deep underground. You're cornered and afraid, begging for your life. Bartering with every chip you have.
He keeps advancing, the wrench swinging lackadaisically in his hand, the bones of the synths meant to defend you cracking under his feet.
"No!" you gasp, at last bumping into the wall behind you.
He looks you in the eye with not a shade of remorse.
With an ear-wrenching shriek, he swings.
-oOo-
You can hear someone pounding on the outside of your pod. Something cracks and you feel a whoosh of cold air.
N4 is standing over you, a broken stool in his hand. He's flushed and sweating, panting as though he just ran ten miles.
"A-Are you okay?" he asks breathlessly, the stool falling from his hand, "Y-You weren't breathing a-and I…"
He looks like he's about to cry.
You feel weak. As though you'd lain in that coffin for days.
With a grunt, you pull yourself out, swinging your legs over the edge. N4 offers a hand. You see it covered in blood and brain matter. You remember the sensation of a blunt instrument crashing through your skull and shiver.
You brush him aside and rise to your feet on your own power.
-oOo-
N4 looks guilty. He fidgets in his seat at the dinner table, playing with the silverware, tapping the bubbles on the side of his glass.
"There's something I need to tell you." he finally blurts out, a bead of sweat snaking down his brow.
You carve yourself another bite of steak, looking at him sideways.
There's a doctor who'd be willing to remove the tracking chip in his head. He's been scrounging and saving, selling salvage on the side to pay for the operation. Everything was ready now. Would it be all right…if he went tomorrow?
You chew the meat excruciatingly slow, sucking every ounce of juice from the stringy beef.
"No." you breathe, wiping your mouth and rising from the table.
You watch him from the corner of your eye as you walk away. For a moment, he looks after you, a hangdog expression on his face. Then he begins to shake. He digs his fingernails into his skull, wrenching out tufts of hair, grinding his teeth until his face turns purple with the effort.
You close your bedroom door behind you.
-oOo-
On the morning you decide to go ghoul-hunting, you find that your gun is missing. The obvious places are checked first. And then the unusual ones. You wonder if you'll have to buy another off the next traveling salesman who comes through.
Your question is answered by the sound of a shot.
Your heart catching in your throat, you run to N4's workshop, slowly at first but gaining in speed as you draw closer. The door won't open. You manage to break down the boards covering a window and clamber through the gap.
He's dead.
You sink to your knees, tears pouring down your face, your body wracked with sobs. You cradle him in your arms, touching your face to the hole in his chest where his heart used to be.
His body grows cold and stiff as the day passes you by.
Your tears gradually subside. You put him down gently, making sure that his head doesn't hit the floor.
With a flash of anger, you think, It doesn't have to be this way.
You open the console and type 'Resurrect.'
He stands before you. Perfect. Whole. His lip curls in a sneer of disgust when he sees you.
I died! He screams at you. Can't you see that? Do you think I won't do it again?
You reach out to touch him but he slaps your hand away. He begins to bang his head against the sharp corner of a toolbox. Harder and harder, until blood flies when he hits it, until bits of hair drop from his shrieking skull, until…
You reload the game.
-oOo-
You're putting the finishing touches on N4's lunch. All his favorites. Food enough for a week, at least. You hope it'll be enough. You realize, technically, that he doesn't have to eat. That he's a synthetic human who can subsist on the nutrients that seep through his pores. That he can live off the water vapor in the air at any given time.
But he still gets hungry.
You pack away the last of his things and help him into the unwieldy backpack. He smiles at you, standing there so proudly in his traveling gear.
"One last thing." you say.
You pull your gun from its holster and offer it to him, handle first.
He stares at it for a moment, frozen in shock.
"It's dangerous out there." you tell him gently, "You can't kill everything with a wrench."
Carefully, he takes it, fitting it into his own belt perfectly. Like it belonged there from the start.
"Thank you." he whispers bashfully, "I'll return it when I get back."
You know he's lying. You've trod this path before. You wish that he didn't have to leave. You've tried so many times to find a way to make him stay. Read and reread gameplay guides. Dug for secrets in hidden places. None of it helped.
But it's okay now. You realize this at last and make your peace.
"Stay safe!" you call out after him as he sets off down the road.
He turns and waves goodbye, his ragged cloak blowing in the wind.
When he reaches the bridge, you turn away, unable to watch him go any further.
-oOo-
For a time, you check your Pip-Boy every day, looking for the glowing dot that used to tell you where he was. You wonder what he's doing now. If he's even still alive.
You spend a lot of time moping alone in your shell of a home. You pity yourself in your isolation. You think of your husband in his frozen casket beneath the ground and hot tears rush down your face all over again.
And then the day comes when you realize that the garden needs weeding. That the radroach infestation won't take care of itself. You throw yourself into Life, working nonstop to make things better. Raising walls that the weak can live in peace behind. Slaving in the fields until your hands are worn and rough.
And then, you catch a bug for exploring.
You plunder every buried treasure, climb every skyscraper, run into the ocean naked, laughing at the beauty of the day. You find most everything you ever wanted to find. Your map is filled with notes and notations, stories of the ground you've covered, the people you've met.
But there is one corner of the map that is still mostly empty.
The Glowing Sea. Vast and uncharted. Oozing over its corner like an inkblot. The most dangerous place a human could possibly go.
You take your time making preparations. A good stockpile of anti-radiation meds. First aid supplies. Canned food. A protective suit.
Even so, you don't know if this is a journey you'll survive. But you'd never be satisfied unless you found out.
You set out alone as soon as you can.
The blasted landscape is strangely beautiful. Green lightening arcs across the ominous sky. Mountains of trash, the life work of people long dead, dots the landscape, sinking year by year into the abyss. Creatures, bigger than you've ever seen, faster than you know, dart in and out of your line of vision, stirring in the darkness surrounding you.
Your Pip-Boy says that it's nine o'clock at night. You can't remember the last time you saw the sun. But your bones are weary and your body is begging for rest. You see a slit in the side of a mountain and wriggle through it.
The wind is at least broken by the rock walls, though the radiation inside is still too dangerous to risk taking off your suit for a long period of time. You're thinking on all these things, making your plans for the next day, when you turn a corner and find yourself face to face with another person.
He stares at you in utter shock, dropping the wrench in his hand with a clatter. There's an old gun on his belt, tarnished and scratched with use.
"M-Mother?" he gasps, squinting at your face through the window in your helmet.
You greet each other like old friends.
He apologizes profusely for the way he left, for leaving you to tend to the farm on your own, for taking your gun and never giving it back like he'd said he would…
You laugh and tell him that it's all right. That you forgave him for everything long ago.
He's got a deathclaw stew bubbling on the fire. They're easy to catch if you know how to build a good trap, he tells you nonchalantly, though you can see how proud he is of the contraption with every move he makes.
He pulls a bottle of wine from the pile of rubble he calls a stash and pops the cork with a knife.
He tells you about all the goodies he's been salvaging here. There are prewar structures in the Sea that have never been touched, things no human has laid a hand on for centuries. It's all fresh pickings and no one suspects where all the wealth comes from.
Besides, he says a bit sheepishly, I like being alone here. It gives me time to think.
You join him on his creaking mattress that night and you make so much noise that it's wonder that the deathclaws aren't gathering outside.
When you wake up in the morning, you're covered in itchy burns and you feel as though you've just been hit by a truck.
You slather yourself in cream and down a boatload of medication.
N4 is asleep. His skin is perfect. Untouched. Unhurt.
You put your suit back on before he has a chance to wake up and worry.
He sends you off with plentiful gifts. Deathclaw steaks for the road. A gun that shoots fire. He asks you if you'd like an escort out. You smile weakly and agree to it. You don't know how far you can make it on your own. You're trying not to show how sick you feel.
You trek through the swirling radiation, your strength failing with every step, your feet getting heavier and clumsier the further you walk. N4 sees what's happening and carries you the rest of the way out.
-oOo-
You lay on a rock-hard bed in a crumbling house at the edge of the Glowing Sea. Your burns are healing nicely, the old skin peeling off like cellophane to reveal the fresh pink flesh below.
N4 spoon feeds you some sort of gruel. There isn't much to go around. You wonder what it is that he's eating.
You're gradually regaining your strength. You learn to walk again and proudly stomp all over the faded floor. When you feel up to traveling again, you ask N4 if he'd like to come with you.
He crosses his arms and frowns. You can see the cogs turning in his head. He sighs and drops his arms to his sides.
"I can't." he whispers, his voice breaking, "There's something I haven't found yet. And I need to find it alone."
"But…" he says sadly, cracking a gentle smile, "How about I visit you next time?"
You think it's a fair trade.