Chapter 1: End of the Line


I always knew it would end like this.

Out of caps, out of friends, and out of time. My debts were finally being called in.

The Third Rail was already empty by the time I took a seat at the bar, the former subway station was filled with the lingering stench of human sweat and irradiated booze, with just a touch of desperation only the Wasteland knew. I ordered a whiskey, tall and neat, and kept one hand on the hilt of my trusty forty-five. This was Goodneighbor after all, home to every kind of scumbag in the Commonwealth. Of course, you had your run of the mill gangsters, scavvers, and jet-lagged chem-heads. Those were a dime a dozen in the Wasteland, but then there were the ghouls, the freaks, and what I suspected were synths intermingling with every other self-proclaimed badass crawling through these alleyways. I kept an eye on the stairwell leading to the entrance. This was my last chance for a real score, big enough to pay my way outta this mess.

Every black-listed job in the Greater Commonwealth area went through one man, the self-appointed mayor of this rogue's paradise, John Hancock. Whether you had hot merchandise to push or you were working a hit (or as the locals would say, a "clean up" job), you could bet that Hancock knew about it and was getting his cut. To make matters worse, his second-in-command was the meanest slab of a woman I'd ever laid eyes on. Cold and calculating, she'd only ever known a passion for two things in this world: John Hancock and fire. Specifically, lighting his enemies on fire. Find yourself on Hancock's short list and you might wake up waste deep in the Charles with a mini nuke strapped to your chest.

Not that it was anything I couldn't handle, dying was all in a day's work for a Wastelander like me. Nothing like a quick dirt nap to liven up the spirits, as I always say.

How things change… a couple of months can feel like a lifetime to the idealistic young Knight that finds himself on the run and at the mercy of the very monsters he once swore to wipe out. I was a different man back then, when The Prydwen first flew into Boston harbor. I felt unstoppable, full of fire and righteous conviction. I was a soldier; a guardian of the sacred technologies, a protector of the Wasteland, a paragon of truth, honor, and justice.

I was a jackass.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I sure wasn't faring any better since I'd left the Brotherhood (as if I'd had a choice in the matter). A man's name is all he really has in this world, and now, mine was as good as "traitor".

"Well I'll be damned."

A graveled voice broke my reverie and the man I'd been waiting walked in looking like the Night of the Living Dead in a revolutionary petticoat and tricorn hat. Hancock was a ghoul with a fondness for the past, like so many others in the post-apocalyptic world. Open wounds festered with necrosis and flesh hung from his face as if he'd just burst out of the graveyard looking for a buffet of brains, like something straight out of the late night double feature, but that was just the radiation for you. Guess the "future" the eggheads thought up came with all kinds of side effects they hadn't seen coming.

"If it ain't the fallen son of the Brotherhood himself, Jacob Burns. And here I thought you'd be halfway to the Mojave by now. Gotta say, I'm impressed. Hey Fahrenheit, looks like I owe you 20 caps," he nodded to the red-head leaning against a pillar near the entrance. The woman lit a cigarette and took a long drag, as if she were waiting for a train that was 210 years too late. You might believe it too, if not for the full combat armor, vicious scars and the Fatman strapped to her back. The rest of Hancock's goons crowded into the narrow tunnel after them, submachine guns locked and loaded. Hancock meant business, and he intended to show it.

He slid into the seat next to mine and called over the handy-bot bartender. He pointed to my glass and, with a flurry of mechanical hands, the bot produced an identical one. Hancock swirled the liquid around for a moment, before downing it in one go.

"Ah, that's good drink Burnsie, I know because you're buying. So, you asked me here for a reason I take it? I assume you've got my money, after all I'd hate to let Fahrenheit here get out the flame thrower and give your name a new meaning." A round of laughter erupted throughout the room as Hancock waved for another drink.

"Just another pawn, ready to be taken for the good of the king," the woman replied through a puff of smoke.

"Not the king, Fahr, the mayor. This here's a democracy. The initial ballot may have been a bit one-sided, but last I checked Washington ran unopposed, and if that's what the people want…"

"For the people!" The cry rang out from every corner and I started to regret my decision to meet him on his own turf, but what was one last gamble when you've got nothing left to lose? I leaned in close and smiled.

"I've got something better than caps."

"Oh do you now? Tell me another one Burns, I love a little gallows humor."

"How's this for funny?" I said as I slapped a map down onto the bar. I pointed to the north where a gear, the universal symbol for vault, was stamped over a pre-war mine. A note was scrawled next to it, signed and dated two days before the bombs had dropped. It read: Top Secret installment, est. val $46.5 mill.

"Well well well, isn't this something?" Hancock laughed as he picked up the map, but one look at the genuine Vault-Tec logo and his tune changed faster than the weather in the Glowing Sea. Suddenly he was hunched over, scouring every detail of the map for any sign of fraud. A smile tugged at my lips as he turned over the page and nearly choked on that fine rich whiskey he was so enjoying on my dime. The inner tunnels were sketched out on the back, an intricate web dotted with jumbled annotations and out of place equations, but there, hidden down deep within the mine, a literal 'X' marked the spot like an old fashioned treasure map.

"I already did some scouting," I offered, "and the area is completely abandoned. The main entrance must have caved in ages ago, but there's a ventilation shaft that leads right down into the heart of the tunnels. According to the notes there's another exit leading out through the vault, of course there's no telling how deep the mine itself goes. Just think about it Hancock, a secret vault hidden for centuries filled with guns, ammo, and medicine, not to mention all that tech ready to be salvaged and sold to the highest bidder… You get paid and I ride off into the sunset and out of the Commonwealth for good. Whaddya say?" Hancock didn't seem to be listening. His rotting finger traced along the intersecting pathways, his thoughts a million miles away.

"Isn't that something…" He said again.

Fahrenheit narrowed her eyes and came around to examine the map for herself. A murmur rumbled around the room as everyone in the bar craned their necks to get a better look.

"And how does a man like you get his hands on something like this?" Fahrenheit asked coldly.

"Does it matter?" I asked, "It's real if that's what you're asking, and besides, since when do you care where the goods come from?"

"Hmph, just as I suspected. The tin-man is as flimsy as he is hollow," she said with a sneer, "Even without your power armor, I can see right through you."

"You know," she continued "I would have thought this whole experience would have humbled you a little more, Jacob. Forced to slum it up with us freaks because your own kind doesn't want you anymore… I can't help but wonder what Sir Maxson would have to say about all this?" She said as a wicked smile spread wide over her face.

"Oh, but dead men don't have much to say about anything, do they?"

I stared silently at my untouched drink. It had been nearly 3 months since that day, when I had deserted my post and the only family I'd ever known. It wasn't a day I'd soon forget, no matter how hard I tried. No one else could either, not with the constant reminder of it still burning in the bay. Everyone in the Commonwealth had stood and watched as The Prydwen came crashing down in a blaze of hellfire. It was my fault in the end. The Institute and their synths may have pulled the trigger, but I handed them the gun.

"We've been hearing a lot of talk about you, Jacob," she continued smoothly, her voice dripping in venom as she circled around me like a snake ready to strike. I ground my teeth as Hancock abandoned his study of the map and instead took to watching the spectacle Fahrenheit was making.

"Like how you betrayed your own people, how you left your post wide open for the attack that night. And that's not even the incriminating part. They say it was your Vertibird it was flying. Your power armor it was wearing. Thanks to you, the worst enemy our world's ever known just walked aboard your beloved Prydwen and BAM," she banged her fist on the table, "that proud bitch got blown out of the sky."

"But what really gets me, is what made you do it? What makes a man turn on his own kin? Who he was born with and raised with, who he once called family. And do you know the only conclusion I could come up with?" I could hear the whispers circulating the room. We all knew what she was about to say.

"You're a synth Jacob, admit it. There's no other explanation."

Glass shattered to the ground as I got to my feet, hand reaching for my holster. Every gun in the joint trained on me in an instant as I stared the bitch down. My pulse raced and I knew I was shaking, but I didn't care. I ain't no traitor and I ain't no synth. I'd had enough of this shit.

"Listen here Hancock," I turned to the man, "I ain't about to let this turn into some witch hunt. I'm offering a real deal here, but if a pound of flesh is all you're after why don't you be a man and come get it for yourself, instead of sicking your dog on me. You want to settle this? Let's take it outside and be done with it."

The room was silent for what seemed like an eternity. All eyes were on Hancock, waiting for him to give the order. Hancock leaned back in his seat, and did what he always did. He looked down and shook his head. I tensed.

"Heh, heh, heheheh" It started out as a low rumble until it grew into a torrent of laughter that filled the room. I let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Ha-ha! Atta boy Burnsie, never let the man keep you down, and here in Goodneighbor, I guess that makes me the man. Let me make you a deal. I'll give this here map a chance and we'll follow you to this "vault of riches". If you can deliver, then you're a free man, as you ought to be. And if not, well, at least it'll be a right pretty walk to your grave." Yellow teeth smiled at me as he raised his newly refilled glass.

"Let's drink on it then. Who knows, Burns? Tomorrow might be the end of the world as you know it."

Like I said, all in a days work.