COLONEL ZACHARIAH WESKER (PROLOGUE)
How is it possible for someone to die eight times in three hundred years and not rest in peace? I have lived long enough to enjoy everything a person could desire in life. Love. Fortune. War. Lust. Family. I've seen it all and now I'm bored
I came back from an extended holiday earlier this year, but before I left, I appointed my reflection to manage my duties. People mistook the emotionless being for an Institute Synth and that's when the rumours began. People were worried one of the consequential factions were under Institute control, the N.C.R. Council removed it from power quickly after the hushed words spread.
My wife, and subordinate, Colonel Moore had my reflection temporarily removed from the N.C.R. to keep the controversy to a minimum, so people would eventually forget about it and look up to her and General Oliver. Naturally, people didn't worry about Institute influence within the N.C.R. since Moore took its place and proved to be a better replacement.
To make matters worse, the lack of affection from my reflection damaged my marriage. When I went away to pursue the last two Horsemen, Moore couldn't believe I left her in the arms of an emotionless clone of myself. We tried to make things work after, but she suggested we see other people. Because of one dishonest mistake, I'm alone now. I can't even stare our kids in the face without feeling disappointed.
After my final confrontation with War and Conquest, I had conflicted feelings. I was there risking my life trying to kill them, only halfway through I just lost the reason to see to it. I don't know what I desire out of my new life but throwing it away fighting tyrants of the old world was not worth the suffering anymore.
I thought of home. Where people needed me. Looked up to me. Hell, some people would kill to meet me in person. I'm too important to be on a suicide mission. Then why was I there throwing my life away like it meant nothing? The memories of my past hurt to think about, though, sometimes it's best to let it go. I gave up and walked away.
Rightly so, I knew I was outmatched. Not only my trigger word is still active, I also worry about my personal quest to restore the planet's glory. It's just pointless. In two hundred years nothing spectacular changed and what are the odds of anything changing in my lifetime? These were not the best times to have doubts, so I went on my gut and swallowed my emotions.
I managed to get away from the Horsemen and their new employer Hyperion by teleporting to a nearby planet called Pandora. Thankfully, not the horrible realm, a planet. The fight between the people there and Hyperion wasn't my own, so I left them and made a full retreat back to where I came from. Then I was out of the frying pan and into the open fire.
General Moore gave me what we both wanted and separated us; she would take on all my duties in the Mojave while I erect an N.C.R. settlement in the Commonwealth. The Council needed to spearhead a connection there and I was made redundant since Moore relieved me. My life really fell apart once I injected myself with the Prototype virus, I've become as unstable as my own father Wesker.
When I got to the Commonwealth, I started from the first settlement I discovered nearby some vault. Vault 111 or something. With the time I saved teleporting, I scrapped the entire town Sanctuary Hills to build a secure wall, all around it. Then I worked on things like barracks, crops and blah, blah, blah… Places for people to live and work.
That's why I'm here in this lowly bar in Goodneighbour. I withdrew some cash and decided to go out and have some fun after all my hard work. Got away from all those responsibilities, after all those years of service I deserve some time off. I had everything a single man could want. Booze, women and some occasional use of drugs. My work was coming along as well.
I called the place Sanctuary. Thick walls with mounted turret defences. It was known quickly within the N.C.R. as the safest place in the Commonwealth. Citizens came there to work and soldiers to keep the place going. I patted myself on the back and decided to take a few weeks off. Absolute bliss.
Goodneighbour, Third Rail. Wednesday 3rd November 18:52 pm.
Colonel Wesker felt it was time to get away from it all. The rumours. The family. The responsibilities. The N.C.R. All of it. It wouldn't be easy considering his reputation around the country, but with no N.C.R. connections, he could go about his business without any heckling from the public. For all they know, Colonel Wesker never existed.
Zaac sat alone at the bar, starting from the slower afternoons all the way into the peak times of the early night. The good pubs of the old world were all gone, now there were these mediocre ones that serve plain alcohol. Hardly any ciders, ales or mixers. Then again, people who say that never seen the bars in the Commonwealth Wasteland.
The Third Rail wasn't all that bad. They accepted N.C.R. currency, whereas Diamond City does not because their bigoted mayor wants the city to be neutral. Plus Goodneighbour doesn't frown upon drugs and prostitution. An entire town of outcasts and scumbags. Something different for a change.
In the old days, befriending the bartender was a sacred bond. They all have favourites and regulars. In this case, Zaac doesn't have any favourites yet. He hated this bartender. Whitechapel Charlie was a real cockney. He didn't mind the British but there are some examples that make him hate them more than the plague. The accent the robot had was too strong.
The Third Rail is a re-purposed subway station, all underground. The only bar with live entertainment from the one and only Magnolia. She had her own spotlight in the far left corner. Wasted talent this evening, several tables and chairs in the bar area and only a few of them were used. The ambiance was good with the dim candles at the bar and the overhead lights on the wiring above.
Since David was murdered, Zaac had no one to drink and enjoy life with. He was the perfect person to stay in and drink with. Moore hardly drinks. Crocker is a lightweight. Kimbal and Oliver are always unavailable to see in person. Cass would be a good option but since she's a widower with three mouths to feed. She's trying to cut down for money.
There are no more lads to go out for a few, now it's just the single life with no strings attached. A good reason to hit up the local pub. Then there was Magnolia. Prime and ready on this fine evening. Her singing voice was like a blast from the jazzy eighties. The light piano in the background was so mellow.
Her red dress glistened in the spotlight and her heart was in those words. "Help me, help me, help me rescue my heart," she sang. "Save me, save me, save me falling apart. Take me, take me take me..." After that Zaac started zoning out. Sounded like an invitation, though it was a bit early to phone it in. She was definitely the life of the bar and through beer goggles, she sounded even better.
The first day Zaac came to the Third Rail was a few months back. Almost every Friday and Saturday he drank his woes away from the start. Magnolia was worth seeing every time, since there was no better place to go for live entertainment. Vegas was the best option but he was sick of it after being there for too many years.
It was about ten past seven when Magnolia let the patrons' applaud her on stage. She strutted past Zaac with grace and royalty, making sure she had his full attention with her soft brushing of her hand on the back and shoulders. She had an elegant smile when she sat down on the empty stool by him. The gave him a suggestive wink before she ordered a drink from Charlie.
They had a little relationship hidden from the public. A month prior their date went exceptionally well. They started with drinks, a nice walk and ended it with a night of lust at Hotel Rexford. The only decent hotel in the Commonwealth. That's when he found out she wasn't human at the worst possible time. Synths had all the right parts, only the sensation was very accurate and worked as intended.
Zaac was hoping to get lucky that day but he felt like getting smashed, he had the money and felt like being lazy. He decked the last half of his plain whiskey and asked for three more. He paid with N.C.R. dollars, that seemed to get a negative response from Charlie. Said something about being sick of all the dollars he's been flashing.
In that case, Zaac ordered another three more whiskeys and gave a sizeable tip. Charlie hardly cared and made good with the order. He wiped his wet hand on the sticky bar and slid two of his drinks to Magnolia and nodded. He was feeling the buzz now after the two dozen drinks.
From his stronger metabolism, Zaac was blessed to be able to break down alcohol and drugs a lot faster than normal humans. He was easily the best and ironically the worst patron of any distillery he walked in. There were thresholds, though, like everything else nothing was perfect. Not even him.
That's why he spent basically every weekend drinking. It was normal to have a drink now and then, but to get drunk was a bit of a chore. It made Zaac feel at home, so it was worth the money… At seven drinks, he was tired. A few over a dozen, his eyelids were heavier. Twenty or more brought a smile to his face.
A faint reminder of the very first time he necked that much alcohol was back in his hometown Raccoon City. It was a solemn occasion and it asked for the hardest drinks imaginable. Now a failed husband and General, he had a slightly similar reason to wash it all away. Only this time, he was a bit happier.
He was single. Had no family issues. No stress. Just money and time alone with the best company ever. Himself. The only problem is the alcohol. It was all dull and mass produced. Boring vodka. Single malt whiskey. Dull draughts. Making alcohol was a hobby he should've considered like his grandfather. Moonshine was great and all but he would rather pay someone else to do it.
The deep thinking in Zaac's head eventually bored him to a dribbling state. He spruced himself up and drank his fresh bottle quickly down to half. There wasn't much to listen to since Magnolia was on break, luckily there was the bar's radio. Kept him entertained until she clocked back on. It wasn't peak time yet.