Act I: The Minutemen

Chapter II: Wake

28 October, 2287

"Fuck!" I shouted, as I jolted back awake. It had all been a dream. I sighed, glancing off of the dirty, rotten mattress I'd been residing on. The sun pierced the walls. And the roof.

"Another nightmare, sir?" I heard from across the ruined house. Codsworth. In a way, I'd come to be bothered by my former acquaintance. Who was also a robot.

I sighed again. "Yeah."

"Same one?"

"Yeah." I laid against the dirty mattress, resentful. Angry. "It felt so fucking real," I mumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose. As if that would help. It had been four days since I'd emerged from Vault 111 to find my world shattered and ruined. Codsworth, wildly enough, was still here. After, according to him, 210 years. 210 years. How fucking insane was that?

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help," Codsworth sighed.

As annoying as he could be, I still loved Codsworth. He brought me just a little bit of peace, knowing someone else from before the bombs. Even if it was a robot.

"I know you do."

I need to do something, though, I thought to myself. Over the past few days, I'd scrounged around my neighborhood of Sanctuary Hills, too afraid to venture off even to the little old Red Rocket down the street. There was both a surprising abundance and lack of resources and supplies in Sanctuary. If it came down to it, though, I'd go check the basement. Actually...

"Codsworth, did I ever tell you we had a basement?" I asked aloud, suddenly tired of moping about the house.

"Umm, no, sir, you didn't," the floating machine replied, watching me as I stood up from the mattress which had made my back sore. I still had on the Vault suit those Vault-Tec scientists had forced me into. I still couldn't believe what Vault-Tec had done. The Vaults were supposed to be a safety from the bombs, and we're boxed up in a freezer? And... Nora.

I had to stop thinking about her.

"Well, we do, and I'm gonna go check it. It's been, literally, quite a while since anyone's been down there. Would you mind giving me some light while I'm down there?"

"Of course, sir." Codsworth drifted over to where I was in the hallway and then formulated a question, "Where is the basement, Mister Thompson?"

"Why," I answered, "Below the dryer, of course." To prove my point, I crept to the laundry room and pulled the dryer out from the wall. Wouldn't be needing that anymore, anyways. "You ought to destroy that thing for parts," I advised, "The washer, too."

Sure enough, the hatch was still there. Not really sure what else I expected.

"Amazing that I never knew about this, all this time," Codsworth marveled, "What's down there?"

"A lot of my old military gear. Tactical rig I snagged from the police academy. AR-15 with a few 5.56x45mm magazines. Plenty of dried food, some stored water. Probably something else I'm forgetting," I rattled off as I lifted the hatch, letting it be propped against the washer. Codsworth's forward eye lit up white as it shone down into the cellar. There was a ladder, but it wasn't a long fall, so I dropped down, Codsworth floating down behind me as I glanced about.

"Get all three lights, I can't see a thing."

Untouched. This was probably going to be the most pre-war thing I ever saw again. My old uniform was still packaged neatly into a wooden crate marked "military," with the Kevlar vest atop the crate, and many trinkets and memorabilia tucked inside.

"This brings back memories," I said, managing a weak smile, as I lifted the vest up and took it in. I'd probably need this stuff if I was going to survive out here in what was probably a lawless land. Or so I thought.

Plenty of rations were in here, too. Three boxes of Blamco macaroni and cheese. Four entire cases of pure, sealed water bottles. Bunch of sealed cans of soup, corn, and beans. I'd be set for a while.

"Hey, I don't see my rifle. You see it anywhere?" I asked, continuing to take inventory.

"Over here next to the ladder," he called out, as I turned to glance at the location he referred to. Sure enough, my old rifle sat collecting dust and rust atop a steel table, with a few magazines scattered about, some of which weren't even NATO, as I'd forgotten about my Colt .45, which had a few magazines of its own. A couple fragmentation grenades even laid on the lower shelf, along with a flashbang. I figured I wouldn't see a whole lot of those out there.

As I looked over my rifle, still completely standard issue, I glanced to Codsworth with an inquiry, "What's it like out there?"

Codsworth took his time before responding, probably choosing his words, "Well, it's... certainly different. There's... a lot of death. Famine. Disease. War. But there are still some good people around. Or, at least, there were, before the Minutemen were wiped out. I'm afraid you just missed them, they vanished a few months ago."

"That's a damn shame," I muttered, "And these... Minutemen. What happened to them?"

"I don't know." He sounded a little uneasy discussing it, so I let him off. I put my rifle back down after wiping it off a little, at least to clear the dust, and walked over to my box of military stuff. I reached around, grabbing the release. My boots were scuffed to hell, but they were good enough. It'd be good to get out of this Vault suit. I set the crate back together and hoisted it up the ladder, then getting every other necessity out of the cellar.

"Alright, I guess we're all good here," I commented, "Let's get back out there."

It felt good to be back in my uniform. It felt right, somehow. Lugging around the vest and rifle, on the other hand, did not feel so great. I needed to establish myself somewhere. I couldn't stay in this ruined house, but... there wasn't anywhere else to go.

Ms. Rosa's house across the street had a lot of supplies, though, and a more stable roof, along with a Power Armor station, which was surprising. I couldn't remember if all this had been there before everything or not, but it was useful either way. I could see myself moving into her place, although it felt strange.

I sat outside, breathing the fresh, yet irradiated air, propped against what used to be my car. Now, it was nothing more than a pile of steel and rust. I glanced about, though, thinking of what I could do.

In truth, I was very conflicted. While it hurt to stay here, to think about my late wife, it also, simultaneously, provided comfort. But I knew that I shouldn't stay here. I had to at least go out and see what the rest of the world was like. I took another deep breath before dismounting the rust bucket. I lifted my vest up and strapped it on and grabbed my rifle.

"Sir?" Codsworth called out.

"I'm going to Concord," I affirmed, "I'm tired of doing nothing. Staying here is doing my head in."

"Shall I accompany you, sir?"

I thought about it for a moment. Codsworth was, for all I knew, the only living link to my past. I didn't want to risk losing him, especially not this soon. I couldn't handle that.

"No, bud. Stay here. Watch the house."

In the time he'd come up, as if to see me off. I put my hand on his frame, like a sign of reassurance, "I'll be back soon."

"Yes, sir. Good luck out there," he told me.

I managed a weak smile, "Thanks, Codsworth."

Walking past the houses in Sanctuary felt ethereal. Like I knew this place, because I did, but that it was so transformed and damaged that it felt foreign. I knew the families that lived here. They were my neighbors. And now they, along with everyone else, was gone.

The road felt long, and it was only to the Old North Bridge. The bridge looked like it'd been directly hit with a cannonball, and the wood was incredibly rotted. Guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Across the footbridge I crept, noticing the surprisingly sturdy remaining bit of bridge. Past the bridge were two bodies, next to the statue of the old Minutemen of the American Revolution. One was a dog. One was a man. He'd been armed, and there was a pipe sticking out of the side of the dog's bloodied corpse.

"What the hell is this?" I murmured to myself, inspecting his weapon. It wasn't anything I'd ever seen before. It was a pipe revolver. An actual, working, chambered hand cannon… made of pipes. The pipes were rusted orange from their age, but they were still identifiable. And inside it rested real, genuine .44 caliber bullets. I cocked it back, swung it towards the statue and squeezed the trigger. To my surprise, again, it actually fired. I thought it would shatter in my hands.

Not having the space, though, I set it back down in his hands, leaving the body again at peace.

Bark

In the near distance, I heard something, drawing my gaze forward. I could see the old Red Rocket truck stop. Was that a dog?

Bark

I heard it again. Definitely a dog, and a big one at that. I drew my Colt, prepared for the worst. This might've been the first thing I engaged out here in the new world. It also might've been the last.

In the new world, a lot of foliage had grown in the place of structure. Mother Nature certainly wasn't happy about humanity bombing her world, so she was taking it back by force. There were a lot more trees than I remembered, vines and moss everywhere. I peered through the bushes as I pushed into the foliage, and I saw it. Upon my shuffling, its gaze quickly shifted to my position. It didn't look hostile, however.

I wasn't taking any chances, though. I kept my weapon drawn as I stepped out of the foliage and into the gas station. The dog stared it me and whined. It looked like it was starving. Just seeing its face made me cave in.

"Hey boy," I called to him, "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

He pranced up to me, his tongue out. He was hot, dehydrated, and malnourished. I could only help him so much, so I bent down and unwrapped a ration from my vest and held it out for him. He cautiously peered at it, curious, and sniffed it, right before consuming it whole. He barely even chewed it.

I reluctantly sighed as he rubbed up against my leg, "Do you want to come with me, boy?"

Somehow, I knew his silent answer.

"Alright then."

His coat was matted, but I could still tell his breed. German Shepherd. After seeing the dead mongrel back at the statue, I hadn't really expected to see something as pure a breed as this. I was suddenly reminded of that dog we'd lost back before the war. Probably still had its bowl back at home. If we made it through, I promised myself I'd sort him out.

"Well," I said as I crouched in front of him, ruffling the fur on his head, "You need a name." I inspected him for a collar, but, unsurprisingly, there wasn't one. As I stood back up, I figured I'd think of something while I looted the Red Rocket. I couldn't carry a whole lot, but the dog could probably use any food or drink I could find. Unfortunately, there wasn't much there. Sure, a complete workshop with plenty of physical materials, but very little in the way of food, and only a single bottle of Nuka Cola in a vending machine outside.

I stomached the Nuke Cola, but I wasn't sure what to do for the dog. I had a couple of water bottles on me, but I couldn't expect a dog to drink out of one. I searched around the gas station and eventually found an old water cooler and, with a little effort, managed to cut it in half with a pocket knife and pour one of the bottles into it.

"Come 'ere boy," I called out, my Southern roots taking hold, "I got something for you to drink." I immediately heard the pitter-patter of paws against concrete as the dog sprinted inside the garage of the Red Rocket. I set the bowl down in the middle of the floor, and he almost devoured the bowl itself just in lapping up all of the water.

"Jesus, it's like you've never seen water," I exclaimed, "You know there's a river directly north, right?" But, of course, being a dog, he just kept drinking until the pitcher was empty, and then glanced up at me, expecting more. I checked my vest, and I only had a couple more waters stored below my right arm. I'd give him some more later, whenever I went back home. Now, though, I proceeded to Concord, dog at my side and with a rifle slung over my shoulder.

The road down wasn't any better than that of Sanctuary Hills. It was cracked and torn all to hell, and the paint was so long gone it looked like a light, dirty grey as opposed to the crisp black asphalt of norm. Once Concord came into view, something else did as well. I saw a dead cow on the road, its guts torn out. I cautiously approached it and made a curious discovery - for whatever reason, it had two heads. Very odd.

Nevertheless, I pressed on, my mission seemingly changing randomly as I heard what I assumed to be gunfire from further into Concord. Not wanting to attract any unwanted attention, I stayed to the west side of the city until I very nearly reached the gunfire. There were a bunch of fools firing aimlessly at the Museum of Freedom, and there was a man up top in what looked like Colonial Minutemen garb, firing back at them with... a musket?

"Hey, you're not supposed to be here!" I suddenly heard shouted as one of the men caught my standing there and brought his weapon to bear. Another anomalous amalgamation of pipes and screws.

Pop pop!

He fired wildly, barely able to control the recoil of his own weapon, and I ducked back behind the brick wall of whatever shop it was I was taking cover behind as the two rounds blindly missed my position and skewered off into the distance. Thinking it'd take too long to acquire my rifle, I pulled my Colt from its holster and peeked back around, taking two potshots at my foes. Due to their incompetence, I immediately heard a wet impact and a cry of pain. Were they drugged? I thought.

Out of nowhere, the dog sprinted around me and the corner and leapt at the man, burying his snout in his throat. Seizing the advantage, I brought my Colt back up and fired at another wastelander, my old training kicking in as the round tore through his skull and he slumped down in death. I continued my assault, firing precise round after round until suddenly, when I was in the middle of the road, my gun clicked empty. Luckily for me, there didn't appear to be any more aggressors still standing, so I ejected the magazine quickly and loaded in a new one before holstering it.

Seeing it as an opportune time, I assume, the man above called out to me, "Hey, up here, on the balcony!" as if I hadn't seen him already, "I've got a group of settlers inside, and the raiders are almost through the door. Grab that laser musket and help us, please!" 'Raiders,' eh? Well, he sounded desperate, and I felt obligated to help, but I didn't see any...

Right at the entrance to the structure lay a recently deceased man also dressed in Colonial attire, with one of those bizarre muskets at his feet, along with seven fusion cells. It was a laser musket. It was horrible to look it, like someone had dissected a classic musket and somehow made it worse. While I'd intended to approach this situation with my service rifle, I figured it couldn't hurt to save the ammo. Who knew how rare 5.56 would be out here?

Seven shots left.

I held the bizarre musket in my hands and inspected it. It appeared to be powered with a crank, somehow, alongside it's actual fusion cell. I cranked it up and put its barely available stock up to my shoulder and proceeded to kick the door open. I took a quick assessment, and, from what I could see, there were only a couple of these 'raiders', and they were both up high, but that seemed unlikely. Nevertheless, I immediately took aim and squeezed off a shot at the first one I saw, only a floor above, on a rampart overlooking the museum floor.

Six shots left.

I wasn't really expecting the kick it gave, being an energy weapon, but it gave, nonetheless. Still, the shot connected, and the man's head erupted in chemical flame as he fell over the bridge. The next target spotted me, and I squeezed the trigger again, only this time, nothing came out.

"Right," I moaned, forgetting I had to crank it like some child's toy. He seized the advantage though and fired off a couple of quick rounds in my direction, one of which caught me directly in my left shoulder, which promptly lost feeling and began to bleed profusely. Regardless, I took shelter behind a reinforced column and weakly managed to crank the confounded contraption fast enough to squeeze off a discharge a burst of energy into his chest.

Five shots left.

I wasn't looking too hot, and this early into the engagement, too. I was really out of practice. I guess it really had been 215 years since I'd held a rifle, after all. Hoping this Colonial fella could hold his own for a little longer, I pulled out some of the good old end-all-cure-all: the Stimpak. Stimpaks were ubiquitous with modern advancement, and I really didn't even know how they worked myself. Simply inject into the wound - holy shit that hurt - and everything will heal on its own very quickly. Now, some would argue that you shouldn't stick a needle or syringe of any kind into an open, bloody wound, but the folks at Lee Rapid Pharmaceuticals would beg to differ.

Pop pop!

Right. Reminded I was of my old war days. Regardless, I tried to imagine where the man and his settlers must've been holed up. As I gazed up, I noticed the significant damage to the skylight, and a literal crashed military Vertibird on the west side of the roof. Fantastic. It appeared though, that they may actually be holed up top as, while I couldn't see the raiders, I could see more bullet tracers flying towards a wooden door up top. But how to get up there, I wondered, while the Stimpak flowed through my system. The east wing appeared to be collapsed, and I figured the main door would more than likely be locked, so, I looked towards the west wing. It appeared clear upon minimal inspection, so I cranked the musket once again and slowly proceeded down its first hall, only to be turned around very shortly after.

This room was strange. I did not like this room. Something about it made me uneasy. The many mannequins in the room depicted some historical act involving civilians and British Redcoats, but the speakers, somehow still operational, were at least damaged, repeatedly spouting the same tarnished lines: "No more British occupation!", "Back to England with you," "Have your tea back, you jackanapes!", "No taxation without representation!"

I immediately dropped the stealth act and walked through that room only to instantly regret it. I heard an almost witch-like cackle as a woman stepped out from around the corner with a pump-action shotgun in hand. Luckily, I'd already cranked the stupid rifle, but she was quicker to the draw, firing and pumping off three consecutive twelve-gauge shells before I could exhale. I fired back with the musket, piercing through her minuscule armor and leaving a gaping hole within her torso, prompting her body to collapse in a pool of blood and excrement.

Four shots left.

I didn't come out of that engagement unscathed, however, my Kevlar appearing to be slightly damaged, having absorbed many shotgun pellets. Despite the amount of damage I'd already received from these absolute rookies, I hadn't actually missed yet, which was promising. I was really hoping there weren't that many more raiders in here, but I expected the worst. I cranked once more and proceeded once more out into the atrium, this time presenting me with far more options. Front desk, downstairs, upstairs, all of these were available. I, however, chose to carefully proceed up the stairs, fearing the fellow in need might not last much longer, especially with this mistake of a weapon. Now, I was presented with less options, in fact only one. A door to my right. I feared the worst, but I couldn't count on anything. I slowly opened the door, hoping it wouldn't...

CREAK

And creak it did, quite loudly. I stood absolutely still, though, gun at the ready. Nothing. If there was anyone in there, they had to be on some serious drugs. I pushed the door open further, my barrel poking into the room before anything else. I remained low as I crept inside, peering around the corner to see this weapon's worst nightmare - more than one target. I'd have to be quick. They still hadn't seen or, miraculously, heard me, so I did still hold the element of surprise. I thought it would be wise to inspect them. One had his back to me, and was conversational, suggesting the two of them leave the 'gang.' I couldn't tell what he was holding, if anything. The other raider, another woman, was facing my general direction, and had a very short, sawed-off double barrel shotgun. Better than pipe weapons, I supposed. But which to target first...

Instead, however, the choice was made for me as, in my focus, I'd completely forgotten about the dog, which had eventually made its way to me, and was now charging around the corner at lightning speed. He leapt at the woman at the far end of the room, forcing her to the ground and ripping at her. I seized the advantage and squeezed the trigger just as my barrel found its way to the back of the man's head, and I watched as it actually disintegrated.

Three shots left.

The woman wasn't dead, though, not yet.

"Get off 'er, boy," I cautioned, which, to my surprise, actually was followed. He let go and backed off, allowing her to clutch her throat which was now pouring out through her fingers. She tried to gasp for air, to scream for help, but... I had to put her down.

Two shots left.

I glanced back over at the dog, and he peered up at me, as if asking for approval. I gave in, allowing him some praise, "Good boy. Now, let's get up there and help that nice man." I almost thought I saw him nod, as he ran forward and up the stairs. I almost instantly heard shots being fired and the dog's growl, prompting me to get after him before he dismembered them completely. As I climbed the rickety stairs, I heard many expletives being spewed from right above me. I remembered to crank the rifle again and held it up as I paced the flight.

"Mother fucker!" I heard screamed as I saw my dog shoved through a door back into where I was, chunks of wood splintering off in every direction. I could see the light from outside searing in, as a man with a machete and a bizarre gas mask rumbled through the door after him. I squeeze the trigger the moment my awkward sights lined up with his stomach.

Last shot.

I cranked it again, staring down the doorway, daring anyone else to come through. I waited a good few seconds before shifting my focus to the dog, who was lying on his side with a few welts. Not down yet, though. He picked himself back up and shot me a determined stare. I knew what he meant. I took aim at the doorway once more and waited.

"Come on out," I called, "I'll let you walk away from this if you drop your weapon and come nice and slowly."

I could almost feel the pause in the survivor's thought process. I saw another pipe creation tossed through the doorway before someone shouted their affirmation and the last raider slowly crept through the door.

"Get out of here, man," I advised him, maintaining my precise aim. He barely had anything on, although none of them really had. Some very torn pants, no top, except for a loose, wooden chest piece. He, like many of the others, also had what was essentially a sack over his head with eyeholes cut out and a tube going around it. Some weird gasmask of sorts, I supposed. This one had some nice boots on, though. He quickly hopped down the stairs behind me, the dog keeping an eye on him as he went.

It seemed I'd get to hold onto this rifle for a while longer as I still kept another blast. I whistled, and the dog and I proceeded out onto the third floor of the atrium and glanced right. The door was still closed.

"Hey, it's all clear out here. I took care of those raiders for you," I alerted. The door peeked open and the same man from before peered out it to confirm my words. He was a chiseled black man of average build, with his outlandish Colonial attire. Maybe this was one of those Minutemen Codsworth had mentioned.

"Alright, come on through," he whispered, stepping back as he let the door fling open all the way. I walked inside and took it in as the dog ran past me to an elderly woman sat on a couch.

"Oh, Dogmeat!" she affectionately purred, "I haven't seen you in ages!" She ruffled his fur and he sat against her.

"This your dog?" I asked.

"Who, Dogmeat?" the old woman replied, "No, no. Dogmeat is his own man. He doesn't like a whole lot of people, though he seems to have taken a liking to you."

The man cleared his throat and caught my attention again. "Right," he spoke, "I don't know who you are, man, but your timing's impeccable."

He held his hand out, "Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen." I took his hand and shook it. He had a very firm, masculine grip.

"Thomas Thompson," I introduced myself, "US Army Reserves. Just call me Tom."

Preston laughed, "Army Reserves? Time travelling, are we?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "And you aren't, Mister Minuteman?"

He chuckled a little, then sighed, a weary sigh, like he'd lost a lot. "Well… we could really use your help."

"Oh," I whispered, "Alright, well… sure. What do you need?"

He nodded and gestured to a man behind him who was bent over at a computer terminal, "This is Sturges, he's our expert engineer." He went around the room and introduced the three others, "You seem to have already briefly acquainted yourself with Mama Murphy, and over there is Jun and Marcy Long." He let out another defeated sigh, "We're all that's left. A month ago, there were twenty. Yesterday, there were nine. We've been struggling to survive out here. It's been hard."

"Sorry," I apologized, "Sounds rough."

"Thanks," he replied, allowing a kind smile to cross his lips, "Anyways, we've got a plan. Mama Murphy knows of a place, Sanctuary, and we're going to try to get there. Sturges, tell him."

Sturges stepped away from the terminal and met my eyes before speaking, "Right. Did you see that Vertibird crashed on the roof?" His voice spoke of a Southern accent, similar to my own twang that I took on from time to time.

"I did," I affirmed.

"Well, there's more than just a Vertibird and some skeletons up there. There's a genuine set of T-45b power armor up there, all we need is a fusion core to power it up, and we know just where to find one. In the basement of the museum, there's a fusion generator, but the door's locked. If you can break in there and grab the core, you can put it in the suit and rip the minigun right off the Vertibird. You'll be unstoppable!"

My eyes widened. This was an interesting development. I'd never been certified for power armor usage, as T-51 was just coming into service when my contract expired and T-45 was only really used in Alaska initially, but it couldn't be too difficult.

"Power armor and a minigun? Sounds fun," I replied. I thought it over for a minute, figured I didn't have much to lose, and agreed. "Here," I offered, "Take my vest and my service rifle until I get back. I won't be needing them in a suit of power armor."

"Wow," Preston marveled, "This is genuine military hardware. How'd you get your hands on this?"

"I told you. Army Reserves."

I prepared my descent, but I stepped over to Mama Murphy and Dogmeat before leaving and knelt down next to him, scratching his neck. They seemed to know each other quite well. She was old, though. Her hair, barely visible under the odd hat she wore, was a bright white, and the bags under her eyes were sunken like craters.

"So, his name is Dogmeat?" I asked her.

"Well," she laughed, "He's gone by some different names over the years, but yes, most people call him Dogmeat."

She looked at me with a similarly weary stare before she spoke again, "You aren't from here, are you? You're a man out of time."

I nodded my head solemnly, "Yeah, you could say that."

She chuckled, "Concord must look pretty different to how you remember it."

"It does," I agreed, "There weren't quite as many potholes 210 years ago. Roads used to be painted regularly, too." I was a little taken aback by her knowledge, but I continued, nonetheless.

She smiled like a knowing mother, "We'll talk more later. I have a feeling you won't be leaving us anytime soon."

I returned her hopeful smile and stood, beckoning Dogmeat. I now felt a small semblance of purpose in this war-torn world. Maybe I'd join up with Preston and his friends. They mentioned Sanctuary earlier, although I don't know if they meant my Sanctuary or not.

"Well, come on, Dogmeat," I spoke aloud, "We've got some work to do."

"Hey, Tom," Preston called out as I exited the room of refugees.

"Yeah?" I answered as I glanced behind me.

"Good luck out there," he told me, tipping his hat. I had a good feeling about him. Sturges and Mama Murphy, too. I couldn't quite get a read on the Longs yet, though. Only time would tell.

Hey all, hope everyone enjoys this new beginning of a story. I waited until the second chapter was done to post it to make it a more fair visualization of the project.

More is coming, don't fret. Please give me feedback. I've had a couple of failed projects over the past couple of years, and I want to get this one right. Hope everyone's had a happy new year, and I hope to see many of you stick around for this story of mine.