atuhor's nose: This is all subject to change.

HAD I THOUGHT about it earlier, life in the Enclave before my transfer might have made a good one. Three square meals, a roof, bedding, a paying career, and a community of like-minded people. And really, where else was I going to find an enclave (pardon the pun) of genocidal, overly-patriotic remnants of the United States government in a shell-shocked wasteland of the former capital? They kept the scrip flowing in, and I punched in keys on a terminal to show how many muties our fearless, vigilant troopers had dispatched in the last year, or pre-war knowledge about Abraxo Cleaner. Life was good, if a bit boring. Which is why, in a fey fit of idiocy combined by some cheap distillery drinks bought from a travelling merchant (who I strongly suspect had his last run that night), I signed up for a part-time tour of duty in a little unit operating south of a pre-war military base. If there's any truth to the old maxim, 'all's fair in love and war', then I am almost sure that the Enclave found a way to cheat at the latter. All the full-time grunts were equipped with Advanced Power Armour Mk. II, plasma rifles, gattling lasers; I even saw one cat at a scrapyard during a routine patrol with a Fat Man. The weekend warriors like myself were given combat armour salvaged from a massive fuck-up of a fuelling station called Navarro, assault rifles and, provided you were lucky, a plasma pistol. In my time, I became quite adept with a .44 Magnum, which helped me get past a lot of mutants in my time. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I didn't enjoy it. It became a nice break from my boring desk job: fast paced, exhilarating and dangerous. Fuck yeah, it was an awesome time.

And then the Enclave gave me some orders. Turns out that my perception and intuition were brilliant, almost as if I had a sixth sense. I hated the parahuman, extremely terrified. I say parahuman since paranatural no longer fits; when you've seen 40 foot tall creatures charge at you while you're fleeing from a horde of zombie knockoffs, natural is like a unicorn with a pot of gold in the lost city of Atlantis. Nothing seemed natural anymore, so parahuman became the key stock word nowadays. They decided to send me into the Enclave Department of Parahuman Affairs, or the DPHA for short. I hoped it was some kind of sick joke on the authority's part, but my order came straight from the President, by proxy through the mouth of Colonel Augustus Autumn. Two things ran through my head at that stage: oh boy, Eden noticed me, and oh fuck, I'm going to die. The good thing about my last job was that I had access to files in my work, and I'd noticed the DPHA had the most fatalities of any other department, even the "redshirts" with the Enclave Special Operations Department who were sent to get themselves killed for the good of the nation. It was designed to investigate and research parahuman activity, such as reported sightings of - get this, because I nearly fucking laughed the first time I heard this from Autumn - supernatural activity in a building to the southwest of the Capital Wasteland. I'm not talking parahuman, such as mutants and ghouls and shit, I meant poltergeists and aliens and other assorted beings of fiction. And then I read some of the reports, and I nearly fainted.

Whatever was happening there was something not even nuclear changes could cause. The Dunwich Building was once the headquarters of a mining company known as Dunwich Borers before the A-bomb dropped. That was all the intelligence gathered on the place, and it was all that was required. A scouting party all turned up missing when sent to investigate it for mutant activity, save one radioman that started spouting gibberish before killing himself with his pistol. It was dangerous, unknown and clearly insane; perfect for a DPHA recruit. So it was on December 3rd, 2277, that Private Malcolm Weiss had been sent armed with an assault rifle, .44 Magnum and a scavenged ChiCom's officer sword for weaponry; a gray trench coat over a jet black uniform (almost a duplicate of Autumn's tan coat and black uniform) for protection; a wireless radio set, PIP-BOY 3000A portable wrist-mounted device and a medical kit containing seven Stimpaks, five Med-X syringes and a container of Buffout pills. Underpowered, undermanned, outnumbered, uninformed. Fucking brilliant, I thought.

I STEPPED OFF the Vertibird and prepared the antenna for my radio. The antenna was lightweight, micro fusion powered and powerful. Had it been modified for regular airwaves rather than an encrypted signal, it could've been stretched across the entire Capital Wasteland and a bit of the Midwest. All I needed to do was open it up, attach it to a firm, stable surface (in my case, the remnants of a burnt-up car) and boot it up by hitting the button on the side. The tip of the antenna flickered, and then eventually pulsed into a red glow. I took out a heart-sized portable radio set and punched in the frequency assigned to me. The radio chirped in nothing but static for a few moments, and then I heard a female voice.

'Private Weiss, status report.' Straight to business, down to earth and all that jazz. I liked her instantly.

'I'm outside the Dunwich Building. No sign of activity so far.'

'Good. Report when you've found anything of interest.' And then all I heard was static. Brilliant. My only partner was an unfeeling voice with a radio connection with an opening conversation lasting all of ten seconds. My like dissolved into a grudge. At least give me some redshirts alongside me next time. I armed myself with the assault rifle, checked its ammunition status, and then opened the front door.

Routine in the DPHA calls for an in-depth investigation into each room unless you're in a combat situation. At that time, I was a rookie, so I didn't really care much for the doctrine. Instead, my attention was fixated towards a series of holotapes on a table west of my location. Each one seemed to transfer directly into my PIP-BOY when I touched it, almost as if it was transmitting its data through my glove. I looked for a suitable chair to get comfortable on. Failing to find one, I sat down on the ground, hit a few buttons and played them all in succession.

'Why the hell would he come all the way out here?' It was a masculine voice, of about thirty years of age, quite a tired and rugged one at that. There was no natural accent I could discern, if there were any in the wasteland. 'Dad's been a little nuts for some time now, but not like this. Leaving me in that crappy old hospital without waking me... without a goddamn flashlight.'

'I can sympathise.' Instinctively, I paused the audio, picked up my assault rifle, fell right onto the ground and pointed the barrel at the source of the noise.

Right behind me.

I felt awkward, being on my back with a small arms rifle pointed while my enemy bore what looked like a vintage plasma rifle that wasn't even pointing at me. She had to be a teenager in her late tens, no younger. She was Caucasian, had purple-ish hair from my angle cut to her shoulders, and wore scavenged rags common of mercenaries. If it weren't for the fact that she was smiling at me, I'd care less about her appearance and more about pulling the trigger. I did my best to keep firm, reminding her who was in charge despite being caught in a... umm, really bad situation. Hey, it wasn't my fault; I had absolutely no idea that there was another person here.

'My dad left me in a vault.' She took one step forward, and I clumsily tried to get myself up. Somewhere along the lines, my balance faltered and I fell straight onto the table adjacent myself. I pushed myself back up and - looking like the world's greatest wanker in the process - hastily ordered her to reveal her name and why she was there.

'What's a girl like you doing here anyway?' The senior card didn't really pay off; I was only five years above, and I looked a year younger than that. Regardless, I was the paranoid one with the assault rifle and the pass to Raven Rock, and she was the one wearing merc armour and brandishing plasma weaponry on her back. If she tried to take it out, I'd already have three shots to the face just waiting for me to take. All she did was just chuckle, and from the corner of my eye I noticed her left hand instinctively move closer to her holster, which seemed to have a .32 pistol inside.

'I'd like to ask you the same question. Infact, I will. Who are you?' I took a step forward, faking an itchy trigger finger to keep an aura of shoot-first-ask-questions-later.

'Private Malcolm Weiss, of the Enclave Department of Pa-'

'Oh,' she interrupted, 'so you're with the evil bastards that drove my father to a heroic suicide.' Not a good sign, and her pulling out the feeble revolver didn't help. 'Thanks for that.' Another step forward, jittering index finger.

'Listen here, I'm probably not the one you want. Now if you'll-'

'I think you misunderstand me. My father was a failure. He left the wasteland to die, fleeing his little pipe dream of clean water to protect his only daughter by throwing themselves into the xenophobic vaults. Then he compromises said vault security by fleeing from it to work on his little pipe dream, leaving me to die at the hands of some crazy Overseer and his goons. I'm glad he's gone.' Now she was the one taking the steps. For whatever reason, I was taking steps back as well.

'Nothing I can do about that. Now, identify yourself.'

'I told you-'

'No, you listen here.' I cocked the rifle for dramatic effect. 'I am the one with the superior firepower, I am the one with the superior authority, I am the one with superior training, and I am the one holding the damn gun in your face, so you better put down your little peashooter and give me a fucking explanation. Now.' It seemed very heroic at the time, and in retrospect I probably should've scrapped the damn bravado and shot her in the leg first. At least then I could back up my words rather than throw empty threats. Thankfully, either my wild stab at the dark worked or she saw through the little facade; she seemed to concede defeat.

'I'm here to return an overdue book. That's it.' From her rucksack, tarnished with age, she pulled out an old volume. To this day, my memory seems to be haunted by it. No idea why, but it was radiating pure evil. At least, that's what I think. For all I know, it could've been some dusty old book teaching kids how to read Chaucer. But the later machinations could only have been perpetrated by that book. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a chamber I need to be going to.' She began to walk off and stopped when she heard my rifle being loaded.

'You still haven't told me your name yet.' Clearly, she was growing impatient. She sighed and turned towards me.

'My name isn't important.'

'It is to me. My superiors will be pissed if I tell them that a civvie came and I didn't even tag her.' Tagging being the slang word for identifying a civilian and placing a tracing marker on them. We've probably got half of the wasteland under surveillance in some crazy preparation. She didn't need to know about that second part.

'Well then, you're out of luck.' In moves that seemed so fluid and fast that they were happening all at once, the mercenary pounced on me, grabbed a section of lead pipe from the floor and slammed me right across the face.

I woke up what seemed like ten to fifteen minutes later, assisted by my crackling radio, evidently waiting for a reply. In a haze, I feebly grabbed it and flicked a few switches. 'Christ, I've got a massive headache. What is it?'

'Sleeping on the job, I take it?' Oh shit, I thought, it was Autumn. I tried my best to stay awake, though the blood loss wasn't helping.

'S-sir, you startled me. No sir, I was incapacitated.'

There was an uneasy silence on the other side. 'What was it?'

'I couldn't get identification. She's a mercenary by the looks of it, couldn't be older than twenty.' I was met by muffled sounds of confusion, at which Autumn came back and told me to continue. 'Shoulder-length hair, Caucasian complexion, about five foot ten, had a plasma rifle in perfect condition; sound familiar?' Again, more muffles. And then-

'This is-'

I could've recognised the voice anywhere.

'­-your President, John Henry Eden. Where is this mercenary now?'

This is the part where I was afflicted with shock and awe.

'Ah, ah, Mr. President, uhh, I-I have no idea.'

'What do you mean you have no idea?' Wasn't Eden that time, it was Autumn, his southern accent straining with anger.

'W-well, I was knocked out at the entrance by-'

'What do you mean you were knocked out?'

'T-th-the woman that-'

'Do you know who she is?'

'I don't know, sir! If I knew, then I'd-'

Eden and his calming tones stepped into the conversation before Autumn's blood pressure rose any further. 'Private Weiss, I do not mean to place any burden on yourself in what is sure to be an extremely taxing operation, but it is imperative that you understand the nature of your situation. Your co-operation may be vital to the protection of this great nation.' His voice was certainly patriotic and calming, awkward English accent notwithstanding. 'This woman you encountered... should she be the woman who incapacitated you, and should she be the woman we believe you are talking about, then it is imperative to the security of the United States. She is a dangerous felon who has escaped capture time and time again. This... Lone Wanderer is a dangerous terrorist, and I ask you, on behalf of the entire country, to find and apprehend this dangerous woman, before she evades the Enclave once again.'

It is no exaggeration to say that I was... well, I was awestruck, confused and frightened. Not only did the President contact me, a goddamn desk jockey turned parahuman investigator on his first day of work, but he was just as calm as one would think he was on the radio. Suddenly, I was being thrust into a dangerous situation on my first day. Surrounded by what appeared to be parahuman - no, supernatural, this goes beyond what radiation and FEV can do - elements, and now a dangerous terrorist with energy weaponry, I was going to put in a request to our techies to turn back time to a few days ago so I could run as far as fucking possible away from Raven Rock. One question still remained, though.

'Mister President, I will do my best to capture this rogue. If I may ask, why is she tagged for capture?' I expected a complete lockdown of further information. Thankfully, this wasn't any privy information.

'Certainly, Private Weiss. She has murdered countless soldiers, cut down in their line of duty. She has been associated with terrorists responsible for the destruction of a human settlement in the middle of the wasteland. She is directly responsible for the destruction and further operation of the Jefferson Memorial water purifier, dubbed Project Purity. She is subject to incarceration in the Raven Rock Penal Institute and execution. If you do see her again, incapacitate her. As soon as possible, an Enclave strike team of seven troops are approaching the Dunwich estate and, at your command, will extract this renegade from the premises. Continue your mission as soon as humanly possible.' Ha ha. 'Autumn, do you have any words?'

'All I wish,' the southerner said, 'is that this train wreck is over with.'

'Very well,' I said, feigning as much enthusiasm as possible, 'Weiss out.'

'Good luck, Private Weiss. Eden out.'

Static. How I missed you, my dear friend. I realised I still had the holotapes. The PIP-BOY chirped once again, and the tapes played.

'I made enough selling the meds we scrounged to have kept us both fed at the colony for weeks. Now I'm almost out of rations, my shoes are pretty much destroyed, and I'm still chasing the old coot. By my last reckoning, he was headed south.'

'Playing Jaime's Personal Journal: Entry 02.'

'Maybe I shouldn't have waited so damn long to start tracking him. Trail's gone cold. Going to wander with these guys a while. They say they wander the area -- maybe somebody's seen Dad.'

'Playing Jaime's Personal Journal: Entry 03.'

'These guys aren't who I thought they were. Jesus, they killed that family for a sack of rotten vegetables. Getting out of here next chance I can without catching a bullet.'

'Playi-' I shut off that auto-playing feature and stuck to manual control. If I hear that annoying monotone voice one more time I'll feed it to a Deathclaw.

'Hit a caravan today. Trev didn't see the kid and got popped. I took care of Tawny right then, and put one in Thor before he saw her fall. That earned me some grub from the traders. Even better, they saw dad. He was in pretty rough shape, and still has the goddamn book. Trader says it gave him the creeps. Me too. But it's good to know he's still alive. Still headed south.'

I couldn't help but wonder whether the book was worth anything of value to this Lone Wanderer. I'm almost sure that's the book Jaime was talking about.

'He must have been trying to trap food here. I recognize his snares. I can make out a building on the horizon. That must be where he headed. If not, at least I get a roof tonight.'

The Dunwich Building seemed to be the perfect place for a quick eight hours of shut-eye. I shut off the audiotape and quickly fired two .44 rounds into the body of a Ghou-wait, what?

Ghouls were coming out of the woodwork now, each one intent on murdering me. I sprinted across the hallway, noticing the perfect place for escape; a good stairwell leading to the second floor. Desperately fleeing from my assailants, I only attempted to stop when I was dispatching something in my way. Up the stairs, left, one round to a Ghoul's face, right, punch a hole through a Feral's gut, left down a hallway, and then I was pounced on by a Glowing One. It was such a shame that there were no rads around, or else it wouldn't be a challenge. I clubbed the poor Ghoul with a nearby lead pipe, its flesh scattering all over the adjacent wall. The scuffles were bringing in more Ghouls, and despite how much I wanted to control my fear I had no choice but to run.

Operating on pure instinct, I rolled out of an incoming Ghoul attack, into another Ghoul, thankfully knocking it over, took out my assault rifle, dived forward onto my back and emptied an entire clip into the incoming horde. The good thing about muties like these Ghouls is that their flesh is laughably weak. The bullets ripped the zombies apart, leaving only one to run absent-mindedly towards the pure-strain human. A quick-placed kick to the ribs broke two of them, sending the Ghoul in a pirouette like a delicate ballerina, smashing its head on the concrete floor. I wasted no time in running out of there, running to a door on my left, taking me to a wide-open office. The middle had been bombed out, leaving a gaping hole in the middle. Alongside the left wall was a door leading into an office. Dashing through the rubble, I moved into the room and found another Ghoul. It hadn't noticed me, so I decided to be more subtle about it and use my scavenged sword instead. All it took was a quick sideways swipe, carefully focusing on the neck, not requiring much force on account of the lack of strong flesh, and the Ghoul didn't even let out a single sound.

IT IS REALLY unnecessary in this unofficial report to point out where I went to after this. Basically, if you wanted what happened: Ghouls came out, I fucked up their shit. I came across one of Jaime's tapes, but all it did was confirm my suspicions that something was wrong. Well, that least that's the basics of it, until I went directly into the basement.

I once read in an old entry about 'mystical forces at work, by some divine force at work'. That could have summed it up fairly well, if the original source wasn't talking about a north-western team winning a national baseball tournament. But what I saw could only have been attributed to, well, divine forces at work. I entered the basement, scavenging whatever ammunition and weaponry I could find amongst the dirty ruins, until I found myself in a regular office, complete with a man in pre-war clothing, looking at me.

'Ah,' he said, his accent unmistakably of Asian descent, 'didn't know we had new visitors.' He dropped the binder in his hand and ran straight towards me. I blinked, and found a Ghoul charging directly towards me. We were about a shoulder's width apart when I panicked and grabbed it by the arm and head, twisting my body clockwise, smashing the Ghoul in the head. If that didn't kill it, nothing would. I looked around. It was the same old ravaged office. I must be growing crazier. And then I found what appeared to be Jaime's last entry, and I was glad somebody was more out of touch with their sanity than I was.

'God help me. I found Dad today... I didn't think it was him, but... the face. The zombies didn't touch him. I think... he was becoming like them.' The Enclave would kill to have this information, if only to study Ghoul psychology in Dunwich. 'Didn't know it was him until I found that old book near him. No more killing. I just need to go. Can't forget the book. All I have left of him.' And then the Lone Wanderer took it. 'It's warm against the stone.'

What he said next locked up my body in a panic.

'I'll just rest a while...' In a voice unmistakably that of a Ghoul. Jaime had gone off the deep end far more than I imagined, and now he'd turned into a... no, they're not Ghouls, I'm sure of that, they're Zombies. No mistake made, these are Zombies of lore, not your average Feral. I went further among the ruins, and found myself wandering amongst the underchambers of the Dunwich Building. If anyone could listen to this and try to explain everything with science, nothing will have prepared them for something like this.

The underchambers were the living equivalents of a maze gone horribly wrong. Zombies seemed to pour in and out of the walls, causing me to use far more ammunition then I needed to dispatch your average Ghoul. I forced myself to progress, rather than my instinct to get the fuck out and run as far as possible. But I knew the troops, by now at least, would have been waiting for my orders outside. If I hadn't come back with that merc, odds were good that I would be shot. And if I showed the cowardice I fought to prevent, I'd be executed right there. I couldn't do that. I had to move forward.

This little epiphany did wonders; I was operating at full capacity and pure instinct. Most times all I needed to do was jam the barrel of the gun into a Zombie's cranium, which seemed to do the trick. At the very least, I hit the part of the brain that helps people move, and these Zombies certainly could do without moving around me. I moved forward, plunging further and further into the darkness until I crept across what appeared to be a... well, a ritual site is all I can think.

An obelisk had been erected in the middle of the site, a grotesque statue of a woman wrapped around it like a bow. The surrounding caves had all but been absolutely destroyed in what looked like an atomic bomb, but the pillar must have been put in place before the event. It was certainly that amount of decay that caused me to believe in its age. Looking at it made me feel very uncomfortable, but the man in the tattered rags and flesh, assault rifle strapped to back, didn't seem to care. I never confirmed the exact identity, but I had no doubt it was Jaime. The voice, spewing its horrible incantations, was unmistakably the one I had heard in the holotapes.

'Sharp knife. Sharp knife to send him to deep temple. Flay and say my words. Abdul comes again, on the feast of the weaker. Feast for the Deep Temple.' Jaime's mind was so utterly broken, so warped that it was beyond help. His body was a grotesque caricature of human physiology, with the strongest example being all the left ribs either broken, missing or, in some disgusting cases, pulled halfway from the flesh, exposing the bone. He was stabbing the body of a Wastelander, alive and yelling for help, repeatedly with a strange knife, no doubt some ritual to whatever fucked up god he worshipped. Each stab seemed to give the pillar some life, the stalwart monolith radiating with a gray glow. Every so often, a Zombie would appear out of a gray cloud of evil, popping out of the pillar each time. 'Born again, here.' Jaime finally conceded and took a deep slash to the throat. 'Alhazzared, G'yeth, G'yeth.'

All the Zombies formed a surprisingly well-done circle, despite their obvious shortcomings in a standardised intelligence test, where Jaime picked up the corpse and threw it in the center. As if on cue, each one walked up to it and started devouring the poor fellow. Jaime began to mutter again, and then a book flew out of nowhere, missing the pillar by an inch or two. Everybody, myself included, turned to look at the book. The Zombies clumsily rose as Jaime picked up the dusty volume with religious awe, and then held it up to the Zombies' awe. I was surprised they could display an emotion besides pure psychopathic rage, let alone develop a sophisticated taste for literature. My head turned to the source of the book, a small ledge twenty feet in the air held up by two wooden poles, where I saw the Lone Wanderer with a sniper rifle, looking like she took a crap and found her liver in the toilet. Jaime looked up at her as well, his face twisting into a sadistic glee, and pointed directly to her.

I hadn't actually known what he said. He was speaking in some weird language that was completely alien to me, but after Enclave scientists finished interrogating a remnant of the cult from some settlement up north, they told me what it meant: 'Destroy the unbeliever!' Every Zombie hurled itself to the supports, causing the damn thing to topple and crash down to the ground. The mercenary is no good to me dead, and I was glad she could survive the fall by remembering to roll on impact. The structure took down most of the Zombies, leaving only me, the Lone Wanderer and Jaime, who was locked up with shock. Taking this as my opportunity, I pulled out my radio, and hit the dial button, leaving the two to sort out their own differences.

'This is Private Weiss,' I yelled, 'all Enclave troops in and around the Dunwich Building are to proceed inside and to rendezvous with me in the basement at once. No questions asked, and for Eden's sake and mine, bring some heavy firepower.' Expecting some questions, and a lack of time, I disconnected, dropped the radio and grabbed my assault rifle. I charged directly towards the two, almost sure I yelled something reminiscent of a war cry.

Jaime took the opportunity to duck out of the way, dodging the bullet intended for him. The Lone Wanderer ran towards the book, only to be stopped by a bullet from Jaime's assault rifle. It didn't do much, just grazing the leg, but in that second she tripped and fell down, her hand just inches away from the book. Jaime ran towards it, crushing the mercenary's hand with his foot, took the book and threw it as far away as possible. I took three shots, all hitting directly into Jaime's stomach. He didn't seem fazed by it, turning his attention and gun towards me, and taking shots of his own. I dived down onto the ground as fast as possible, keeping as much suppressing fire on Jaime as possible. The ascended Zombie ducked among the pillar and tried firing blindly in his own suppressing fire. He was firing twenty feet away from me, giving me time to get up and try to ambush him. I ran around the pillar, took out my revolver when I noticed I had half a clip left for the assault rifle, and took one shot into the head. Jaime, in a feat of pure luck, blocked it with his assault rifle. In my luck, the assault rifle was close to breaking, and the bullet's trajectory went slightly down. The bullet hit an artery, causing a fountain of blood to squirt out of his neck. Jaime kept his right hand on the wound, trying to compress it as much as possible. From his holster, he produced a ChiCom pistol, taking one shot. The bullet hit my shoulder, just stopping short of the bone, as all scavenged firearms seemed to do with me, but certainly hurt like hell. The Lone Wanderer, Stimpak case and book in left hand and .32 revolver in right hand, took the opportunity to shoot the bastard in the calf, toppling him like a house of cards, only bloodier and with more loss of flesh. Jaime writhed in pain unlike me, thanks to medical intervention with one of my Stimpaks, and the Lone Wanderer threw the book onto the pillar. The volume, in what can only be described from a term I once found among a pre-war database of information, burnt to a crisp out of nowhere. Deus ex machina. The mercenary and I looked at each other; hoping whatever happened here would end.

'The Krivbeknih, a tome of pure evil.' The Lone Wanderer couldn't help but smile in her own satisfaction. 'I think my biography will take its place.' She was about to walk out until she heard the sound of a gattling laser launcher operating, turning her head towards me. The cavalry had arrived, clad in Power Armour and with heavy firepower, as I requested. And then there was the guy in the jet black overcoat with his .44 Magnum.

'You're coming with us.' I moved forward, trying to get her before she tried to escape. The troopers moved forward as well, eyes sharply focused on the mercenary. 'Don't try anything.'

The Lone Wanderer shook her head. 'Really, Mr. Weiss, you don't get it. You know who you're working for?'

'The United States.'

'Wrong. Try aga-'

The lead soldier, a burly man with a rocket launcher, interrupted her. 'He is right. Now, you will surrender, remove your weaponry and come with us.'

'Abdul,' and everyone looked at Jaime, kneeling towards the obelisk. His face was twisted into pure ecstasy. 'Abdul is coming.' His head exploded in the realisation, and I don't mean metaphorically. Abdul, whatever the fuck that was, was a disturbing creature. It took over Jaime's body, sprouting mutations from every known orifice in the human body, until it left a grotesque figure of a Zombie. Everyone, and I mean everyone, had been shocked. The lead soldier didn't last this way for longer, launching a barrage of attacks on the creature. 'Go, Private Weiss,' he shouted over the chaos, 'we'll distract it.' Abdul charged towards the fire, slicing a plasma gunner's armour and devouring the human inside. His radio, in what can only be described as pure luck, slid directly to me. Instinct drove me to pick it up and run out of here as far as possible. There was an exit directly behind me, which I hoped would lead me out into the Wasteland. That dull, dreary, destroyed, desolate wasteland.

And it did. Curiously, there was a Vertibird waiting outside, rendering the radio useless in my plan, its pilot apparently waiting for me. 'Yo,' he called out, 'just you?' He climbed into the cockpit and fired up the engine. I entered into the passenger side.

'Yes,' I said, trying to fight back the tears of leaving five good men to their deaths, 'just me.'

I asked him if I could use the radio in the passenger's engine, to which he obliged quite happily. I phoned in the line of my commanding officer, Autumn himself.'Vertibird Alpha-Romeo 227, report in.' I was glad to hear that voice again.

'Order an orbital strike on the Dunwich Building.' Autumn seemed to bleed disappointment from the ambience into my ear, and I was cut directly into the President's office.

'Ah, Private Weiss, how did the mission go?' If only he knew.

'Sir, I request an orbi-'

'I heard perfectly well, Private. I'd just like to ask about the mission.'

'Sir, there will be time for that at the debriefing. It is of vital importance that this happen.' I was in paranoia and pain, pleading the remnants of a broken nation to nuke a building off the face of the earth to prevent some abomination from existing. There was an uncomfortable pause.

'Understood. An orbital strike will be initiated at once.' I loosened up in relief. 'What of the reinforcements?'

I mustered up enough courage to say the words. 'Dead, most likely. They died protecting me from... I'll explain it at the debriefing. It's... just know they died doing their fullest to this country. To this world, possibly.'

'To this world?' Eden seemed to be just as confused as I expected. 'What about the Lone Wanderer? Did you capture her?'

Silence.

'Oh, fuck!'

THE UPPER ECHELONS were forgiving after explaining all the shit I went through. Dunwich was obliterated following my return to Raven Rock, hopefully exterminating Abdul along with it. Evil being or not, nothing can survive a blast of pure energy like an orbital strike.

And just like that, life went on. The Enclave expected me to be as shook up as one can get, so for two weeks I was regulated to a desk job. Word got out about the operation, and I ended up pretty famous. Some refused to acknowledge the existence of Abdul, though five courageous, deceased troopers, a wanted criminal of pure malevolence and a parahuman investigator attested to this belief. I requested that the cult be further investigated, to which they obliged. A blathering fool from a settlement up north had been found with a copy of the mythos' fabled literature. The poor bastard with the research team who did preliminary readings ended up as insane as he was, and it was then decided that a massive amount of scientists would be assigned to reading and recording only one word at a time of the tome. One person accidentally read two words and went into a nervous breakdown, requiring three weeks of rehabilitation.

Imagine my surprise when my promotion rolled around. The original head of the EDPHA died in an investigation, and my status and experience was certainly worthy of an illustrious position like Head of Department/Lead Investigator. There was the usual formalities, a speech from President Eden about how I was a shining example of heroics and patriotism in the Enclave, a grudging speech from Autumn with most of the words from the last speech paraphrased, a few words from Squad Leader Curling about when I was doing my tour of duty, and even a few moments from me. Moving into a bigger office, special privileges normally assigned to VIPs, the offers of acquaintanceship by a few members of the opposite sex (and one of the same sex); they were all good, but it left me with one problem. I had bigger responsibilities, bigger tasks and more dangerous assignments.

That night, I banged my head against my new office's polished metal desk several times, wondering how all this could've happened to somebody who hates the parahuman.