A/N:

I want to give a big thanks to Kimmae for reviewing and naurokid239 for that, faving and alerting this story!

Also thanks to zGreece who gives me these characters which are a good and entertaining challenge for me to try to work in.

Disclaimer time: All trademarks belong to their respective owners, including Fallout 3 to Bethesda, various real life trademarks, and of course for mine and other fan characters that are featured in this story. I don't plan to earn any money off of this. Please read and review.

"People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent." –Bob Dylan

Chapter 10: Lord of the Charles

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Megan grumbled through her grogginess. Thankfully, she couldn't slap me beside my head if she wanted to.

"I was drugged too," I was quick to remind her. "And all our weapons were taken from us."

"How- "

"Because I checked myself," I sighed, knowing our situation was bad, but it could've been a hell of a lot worse. At least she didn't torture us or use us as some kind of twisted experiment on those drugs. "And if I'm right," which I really didn't want to find out right now. It could be too horrible to bear. "Our stashers are probably gone as well."

"That f- " I instinctively covered my hand over her mouth, anticipating what the next few words out of her mouth would be. But instead of tapping my hand, she nearly yanked it to the floor.

"Your hand tastes terrible," she grumbled, spitting to the side shortly afterward. "I swear, it could get me killed."

"Unfortunately, your mouth sometimes nearly gets us both killed," I shrugged. "It had to be done. Plus, I still have an odd feeling that she's still inside."

"So what are we doing here?" Megan asked, leaning against a half-crumbled wall. "Just waiting for the fighting to die down?"

"Yeah," I hesitantly responded, not sure of what we were going to do. "Well, what else do you want to suggest?"

"Make our own weapons? I'm sure-"

"You're joking right?" I looked at her amusedly. God, I love it how she naively tries to avoid the inevitable, she just cracked me up. We were going to have to pick weapons off from their previous owners, whether she liked it or not. I hoped that the poor bastard's weapon we would rob from their dead bodies would be good enough for me. "We just don't have the time and we certainly don't have the resources."

"So we're just wasting time here?" Megan looked at me skeptically. "Is that your great idea?"

"Yeah, so what?" I said smugly. It was exactly my plan. "Go on, I'm already entertained by your naïve plans about making our own weapons." I patted her head, almost close from outright laughter from the things that were coming out. "Those crazy thoughts still remind me that I'm still stuck out here in this lovely and fucking god-forsaken place."

Megan frowned and responded simply by kicking me in the shin. "Ow, ow, ow!" I grumbled from the sharp, sudden pain.

"Some things never change, Todd," Megan huffed. "Your smart-assed-ness for one…"

It was a while before we heard a lull in the gunfire. The super mutants and their obnoxious yelling outside didn't lose their effect, even though we were cooped up inside a building. I knew I was beginning to despise that call but felt discouraged that I couldn't even kill one of them. Not to mention I nearly died from one of them. I wasn't looking forward to meeting them any day. I haven't seen one of their little pets; I think they were called centaurs, I've heard they were supposed to be easier to kill. Weren't they supposed be more toward the center?

"I think the fighting died down," I said. "Let's get the hell outta this place."

"Yeah," Megan responded. "But I want a new gun though."

I was surprised. "But you had an M1, the most famous American rifle ever!"

"So?" she asked me like she didn't have a clue on what she was firing, at least she could reload it okay. It was really straightforward, even a ghoul condemned to hell could do it. It was even kind enough to automatically eject the clip when it was empty.

"'So?'" I couldn't believe her saying that. How could anyone not revere the M1 Garand as the quintessential greatest all-American rifle of its era? "You have a lot to learn about rifles, Megan."

As I walked down the stairs and out the front door, I orientated my PIP-BOY southeast, toward the mighty ruins of a once great American city. At least we were heading in the right direction but first I had to get through some of the primitive defenses of this place. I couldn't believe that they were in the way but at least when the shit started flying, we had something to shiver up against and cower for our lives. It was a hardly sufficient defense against sustained fire but I was pretty accommodating to primitive defenses like in the Smiling Buddha.

I took a shallow breath in; I nearly gagged from the overpowering stench. Come to think of it, I have never smelled a recently dead super mutant, or even a dead person before. I guess we moved quick enough after killing people not to smell that horrible stench of death. No matter how much we tried, I knew we couldn't get away from it, we'd have to get used to it eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later. Where I needed to be seemed so far away and that something bad would happen on top of that. Like getting kidnapped, having our guns and money taken away, getting drugged, and so forth among other things. I was off to a great start wasn't I?

A cry of "Oi! You!" broke me out of my thoughts once again. I looked around, was anyone talking to me or was I hearing things?

"Yeah, you!" he squeaked.

I looked down to find a really short guy in front of me staring at me with his hazel eyes. I had never seen a short person here, maybe it was just my imagination. It should be just my imagination.

He sighed, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. "I know that almost all the people that wander through this place haven't seen a dude like me before. Go on, take your time," he said annoyingly, tapping his sage green boots.

I kneeled down, looking at him awkwardly. His tiger-striped camouflage he was wearing and the boonie cap on top of his messy brown hair were so mismatched it looked like he just picked it up somewhere. I don't know about his shooting but he looked like a mess. If the wasteland had a place where people could go to dress up in all different colors, he would come from that place.

"I may not look it," he grinned proudly, "but I, Tim Eriksson, am the baddest motherfucker here operating the big guns, the whoppers. Hell, they are my hot wife, hot sister, and hot teenage daughter rolled up into one!"

"INCOMING!" I heard someone yell out. Instinctively, the both of us ducked down on the dusty trench floor, barely enough time to react to the artillery shells that exploded near us. That scared the crap out of us, but this guy just stood there, calmly smoking another cigarette.

"Isn't war exciting?" He relished in his thoughts. "People like you have to duck and cower in fear and I can just run through this trench no problem."

"But how- ?"

"My mum thought it was so badass to expose me to lots of that MMMM'GOOD radiation! I'm a fucking SUPERMAN!" Tim grinned. "I love telling that story, hahaha. Badabababa, I'm lovin' it!"

"But you're short..." I countered. Megan was at a loss for words.

"Yeah, so I don't have to stick my head so goddamn high," he smiled. Damn, this guy is even crazier than Jesse! He doesn't need drugs to get him all psych'd up. "Well enough of this chit-chat, my squad's dead and I need people, you two look scrappy enough."

"I don't have time for this," I said, another inconvenience? I wanted to get out of the trench and just run over. I think my instinct of thinking I'd be shot again quickly muffled that thought.

"Oi! Trust me on this, stupid-ass!" Tim squeaked. "There's gonna be another attack soon, I just don't know when."

"How the hell do you know all this?" Megan asked him suspiciously. I think she knew I wanted to beat the hell out of this dwarf because of all the crap we had to endure.

"Just Chuck Norris like instinct of course!" he started to ramble on before being interrupted by more gunshots and explosions in front of us. The ground shook again. I couldn't believe this guy was right! I just wanted to stop and facepalm my face in frustration. "Raiders dead ahead!" he shouted with excitement. "Hey missy! Give me a box of FMJ's and I'll give those bastards a present!"

Megan reluctantly fed Tim's hungry machine gun, I couldn't blame her here. I was suicidal if I dared to climb over the trench into sheer oblivion. As much as I didn't like it I had to go along. It was bitterly hot, dusty, and noisy with Tim's machine gun in the background. I looked for something useful I could shoot a goddamn raider with without it blowing up in my face.

I found something black in the shape of a rifle on one of the dead bodies. Was it a rifle? It sure as hell didn't fit my description of a wood-and-steel rifle I had always imagined. It felt very light and plasticky. A rifle should not ever feel plasticky as the one I held in my arms. I looked at it suspiciously and shot it once in the air. Despite its looks it at least could fire some rounds. The problem was that I needed it now; I could probably ditch it later though.

I really wasn't sure if this piece of plastic was going to save my ass but I took it anyway. I went back to my original position, near where Megan and Tim shooting at the raiders ahead. Their red tracers went off into the horizon, hitting a few, but damn, they were sure as hell persistent. I leaned it up against the edge and got a bead on raider with a crazy-ass Mohawk. I took a shallow breath and squinted before squeezing off a three round burst, I don't know if I hit him or not.

I focused on another one. I held my breath and pulled the trigger. The first two shots traveled downrange and then…

*CLICK*

Why am I always the one that gets the ones that go "click" and not go "boom!"? I tried fiddling with it but to no avail, it was a goner. I chucked it off to the side and hoped the next person that found this piece of junk would have it blow up in their face. Defeated by the torment of unexpected weapon malfunction, I turned my gaze over to Tim and Megan, who were still working that machine gun. Tim seemed to be enjoying himself but as for Megan, not so much. I was going to ask her why but my question was soon answered.

"And now they whistle Dixie in the streets of gay Paris," I heard Tim singing. Singing?! Oh, lovely. I swear, he's got zero fear! Absolutely none!

"'Cause I'm the motherfucker who started World War III!! OOOOYEAH!!! I LOVE THIS SONG!" he belted out over the gunfire. He probably sang it over and over so many times he knows it perfectly. Annoyingly perfectly.

"The Chinese threatened ac- "he tried to continue before he was interrupted by an almighty CLICK.

"Oh, no" he wondered in disbelief, his smile and his cocky attitude instantly gone from his face. He looked around the gun, trying to figure out where the hell it went wrong.

He tiptoed on his little perch beside the gun and started messing with it. Popping off the cover to the guts of the machine gun, he tried his magic. He tiptoed up even higher, and then a blue streak of light nailed Tim on the side of his head. As quickly as it came, Tim was just gone. It took less than a nanosecond, but he was instantly turned to ash. The only thing we knew he ever existed was the ashes being scattered around by a breeze. It would be an impossible task, no one would dare to try to retrieve a single piece of his ashes. Another scream pierced through the air, which was enough to convince me I didn't want to be turned to ash as well.

"GET DOWN!!" I yelled. The ground shook violently shortly after I said that. That was way too close for me.

As pebbles and other crap drizzled down over my head, I looked all around me. Was Megan alright? Was I alright? Was there anyone I could use to cover me? Thankfully, Megan wasn't too roughed up and I was shaken, but still intact, a great relief to the both of us. However, we were the only ones left in that trench. With their guns getting more accurate, I knew if we stayed here, we would be dead on the next few rounds.

We sprinted up out of the trench back into the shelled out building where we were held captive. The doors were blown off, the place eerily empty and silent. We wandered around silently, confident that that place could at least shelter us adequately from the combat outside. Despite what Jesse might have claimed about her squad being only able to afford little, I thought they were fairly well equipped, despite having guns that jammed on them when they least wanted to. I managed to find a shotgun that looked like it had a few shots left in its life at least; I guess it wasn't all that bad. Megan just picked up a random pistol. I wasn't sure where they had their good weapons locked up, but I knew they'd be locked up real good, and I didn't want to go key hunting.

However, something else caught my eye, I saw what looked like to be half-cyborg, half-ghoul running across the battlefield, toward the bastards we were shooting at.

「僕は死にません！」It shouted, firing off its red colored lasers randomly at the same time. I'd doubt it hit anything.

「僕は死にません！」It shouted again, its hoarse, raspy voice ingraining itself into my mind.

「あなたが好きだから、僕は死にません！」It shouted again before it disappeared in an explosion. No wait, I think it actually caused it, was it a suicide bomb? I didn't believe it. There was no way it could've survived that.

What was more unbelievable than that was that the shooting stopped. I probably would have stopped too if I thought an enemy had an army of suicide bombers. If there was one, there were sure to be a hell of a lot more.

"What the hell was that?" Megan wondered in awe. I don't think she's ever seen anything like it before either.

We both hid behind a staircase I heard someone stomp down the stairs on top of us. It was frenetic at first but then suddenly slowed to a crawl.

"Hello, anyone here?" Jesse called out.

"Hello!" she called out louder and walking at the same time. "Com'out boys! I got TARFU to make 'dem scream! Hello!"

I was itching for payback and this was the perfect chance to show this bitch some of it. I looked at my shotgun and noticed that the chamber was open. I patted myself down and found that in their supposedly through cleaning of me, they nicked every shotgun shell, except one. Perfect. Everything was perfect.

I loaded the shell into the empty chamber, making sure not to push the slide forward. I wanted to make to use that clicking sound to my advantage.

"You like payback, right?" I whispered over, barely able to contain my eager smile.

"Extra sweet," Megan replied.

"Alright, let's give her one hell of a nasty shock," I whispered.

We slowly crept up on the unsuspecting bitch. I swear, I'm amazed she never even noticed us sneaking up behind her. Her trench coat remained stiff, undisturbed by our presence. The adrenaline pumped inside me, along with the giddy anticipation I would probably let out if I wasn't sneaking up on her. I stood up, brought the shotgun up to my shoulder, and yanked the slide forward. That distinctive click was enough to send shivers down anybody's spine; I know Jesse sure as hell wasn't immune from that. Jesse and I knew all too well, a shotgun easily trumps a .45. She turned around and raised her hands in shock. A shotgun in her face wasn't too pleasant for her, but I didn't give a damn. I wasn't in the mood for being pleasant.

"I'm a client that wants his stuff back, now" I growled. "Where's our money? Rifles? "

She grinned sheepishly, "Um… Tim had the key so-"

"Tim's vaporized," Megan raised her pistol. "Now that you can't recover our stuff, how about we clean out yours?"

"Tim… vaporized!?" she asked incredulously, almost begging for her life. "No, that can't be! I just saw him a few minutes ago! There has to be a body!"

"There is no body," I told her, my hands and arms still glued to that shotgun. "I ain't bullshitting you like you did to us."

"Hah, bullshitting!" Jesse smiled a bit. "Guards!"

"There are none," Megan said, I could sense the calm, devious tone in her voice. "They're all dead. They fought while you stayed inside. What a cowardly bitch you are! You make me sick!"

"Shut up! That's because my .45- "

"Then drop it," I said. "Unless you're prepared to drop your life."

"But-"

"NOW!" I yelled. I moved my finger over to the trigger, it's itching for something.

Jesse begrudgingly took it out and let it land with a dull clank on the shelled out floor. Megan tucked the pistol she was holding away and grabbed Jesse's .45. I knew Jesse couldn't do anything about it. If she retaliated, well, she'd be blown away instantly. I didn't want to toy with her like she did with us. I was dead serious. Morality would want me keep her alive and chivalry would dictate that I would keep her all warm and fuzzy. Screw it. I may want to decide to keep her alive, but after all that crap; I wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy.

"Where's all your stashers at?" I demanded. "You owe us a hell of a lot!"

"In my safe, but- " I swear, she needs to make these "buts" up for everything?

"Let's move it then!" I ordered. "The less time I have to hear you moaning, the less time I have to think about killing you!"

As we followed her up to her office once again, she opened her safe wordlessly and thankfully without incident. I'd thought I had to deal with a suicidal last ditch effort, but I guess she didn't have any to go by on. She was robbed of her squad or any of her self confidence. We proceeded to nearly clean out her safe of stashers. I noticed that there were sergeant stripes on both of her sleeves of her trenchcoat, she really didn't deserve to have that even if she went into battle today either. However, Megan beat me to it.

"You really don't deserve to have that lavish coat, lady," Megan commented.

"Now you're going to take my coat as well?!" Jesse cried.

And so we did, but I made sure we at least compensated her with a few stashers. All in all though, she deserved it. We never managed to recover all our things, including our rifles, pistols, or even our food but I thought the amount of stashers we managed to rip off from her was good enough. I thought Megan should have the trenchcoat though; it was her idea and frankly, she looked better in it than I did.

In any case though, the shooting stopped. I didn't care if our negative karma bullshit overweighed our positive karma crap. I didn't believe in karma, I thought it was such a dumbass concept some stupid guy made up to make us believe we made a difference.

I don't think we ever made a difference; it was just how the wasteland operated.

Traveling in the wasteland was brutal without any sort of water at all. I've heard somewhere that you could take your own sweat and drink it yourself in some sort of special "evaporation capturing" system. I don't know how I would handle that but Megan would definitely find that gross. I wanted to find the Red Line again since Jesse was so kind enough to throw another screw up in our plans.

As we made our way up another small hill I saw these haphazard walls made up of brick, rebar, and any debris that could be piled high and be made into crude walls. It looked about 2 or 3 stories high from where I was standing. I could imagine that what lay before us used to be like. It could have been a prestigious university, a miracle hospital where once proud medical discoveries were made, or it could've been a mental hospital for the damned and destitute. One of those three, it didn't matter in the wasteland.

"That... that's the Institute?" Megan wondered in awe. "The place you told me about?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "Let's go look around."

We headed south a bit before my PIP-BOY flashed with excitement,

"Welcome to Harvard Square! Please contact the Cambridge Visitors' Information Service for more information! We hope you enjoy your stay in beautiful Boston!"

That was odd, normally it said "You have discovered this location!" and crap like that, not some touristy thing where I needed my ass to be peddled around and my money ripped out from under me.

"Hey Todd, come look at this," Megan called me over. "It says this station is on the Red Line but-"

"But what?" I asked.

"It's sealed," Megan replied, looking at the debris pile of mud and brick inquisitively.

"Crap!" I cursed. Now we were really lost.

We walked along the street full of abandoned cars and buses, noticing the grizzly abandoned storefronts. I think I might've asked a girlfriend out just to walk down the street, if I had one. Damn, this place was probably packed during the great pre-war era days. I would've loved to live here, the lifeless trunks of trees seemingly striking an unusual chord. Were they elm, maple, oak, aspen, or birch? I couldn't tell, they said you could tell it by their leaves and the colors they turned during the fall. Unfortunately, I don't think a leaf has even spouted for centuries; way too hard to tell.

My PIPBOY flashed again,

Harvard University. Home of...

But then I heard a gunshot. "Woohoo! I think I got Jesse, damn bitch!" I heard someone exclaim in an irritatingly accented hillbilly tone.

I turned to see a guy with red hair in a very poor wastelander outfit dancing around, shooting off his revolver in the air. "I'ma gonna be rich! I got Jesse!"

I re-focused on Megan, "Are you hit?"

"Yeah," she grimaced, clutching her arm. "Are you?"

"No."

"Good," she tried smiling a bit.

"HEY!" I yelled out. "You shot the WRONG PERSON." I emphasized those last two words especially clearly.

"Shut up stupid-ass! Don't lie to me!" he retorted. God, this guy was stupid. "That's HER coat!"

"What is this Mickey Mouse shit?" I heard another voice. I saw him stop in shock, and then he ran over to help me.

His shaved, muddy brown hair, contrasted with his fair skin, light brown brahmin skin outfit, and grey boots. He looked at me with his teal blue eyes, "Are you hit?" he asked.

"No, but she is," I replied.

He looked at me suspiciously, noticing Jesse's coat that Megan was wearing. "Where the hell did she get that from?" He looked confused, "She ain't Jesse right?"

"I'll explain later," I tried to form my words calmly. "But I know she is not Jesse!"

He looked at me with even more suspicion. "And how do you know all this?"

"Because we ran into her and striped her of stashers and the coat!" I explained. "I'll explain everything later," I repeated myself. "But I need stimpacks!"

"You're right," he admitted. "Let's get her inside," he said, pointing to that big old brick building. "You grab the torso, I'll grab the legs."

I tried to make Megan as comfortable as I could as he grabbed her legs as we ran toward that building he pointed to just a few moments ago. As we made our way toward the gate, I took a glance off a strange inscription that was hastily carved into the stone supporting the rusted iron gates.

What hath God wrought?

It was eerily ominous inscription, but I didn't dwell on it too long. We ran past more dead trees before coming to the building. I couldn't tell what it was chiseled into its crumbling stones but something else was scribbled above the door we were about to rush through.

Here one must leave behind all hesitation;
here every cowardice must meet its death.

I couldn't help but wonder what all these weird inscriptions were for. Someone must really have a psychotic mind or were just bored for all eternity. Their minds were probably as dead as the trees that littered the area. They looked particularly inviting, especially for a person about to commit suicide and hang themselves on the branches.

I don't know why, but that guy made me carry Megan up a couple flights of stairs. I guess this place, like many others, was shelled, bombed, or otherwise screwed over by the violence. I had learned to expect that. I didn't think I could've made it up those stairs, but somehow, through determination, luck, or whatever crazy explanation, we eventually did.

We went along another set of corridors before he led us into a room on the third floor. It was sparse and not decorated very much, but I got the feeling from the faded paint that it was. There was a divider between me and what looked like was a man there? The panels were too opaque; I could only see a pacing shadow with a few puffs of cigarette smoke coming out from his mouth.

"Hey Walt," the guy in front of me asked. "You don't mind-"

"No, I don't mind Ari," he quietly and calmly responded over the radio. "There should be a couple more in that first-aid kit to the right of that guy's head."

How did he know? After we both set Megan down to rest against the wall, I went to work on the getting stimpacks into her arm. Thankfully, it was just one bullet hole, I didn't have to go fishing for bullets in her arm, and it just missed the bone. Any closer and it would have been a mess to deal with. In any case, the person who invented those things was a fucking miracle worker; these things heal gunshot wounds in a matter of hours, not days or weeks.

Megan was nothing short of amazing. I gotta admit, the wasteland has probably changed her more than me. Even though it's a pistol round shot by some stupid hillbilly, at least she's still conscious. Hell, I got knocked out when I got shot in the shoulder by a super mutant.

"Do you need help?" Ari asked.

"Nah, I think I got it," I tried to reassure him, and Megan.

"Yes, I think he's got her medical condition stabilized, Ari," Walt said. "Please, return to your post."

Ari silently left the room.

"Ah, it seems I get the rare visitors," Walt mused. "I'm guessing you two are from one of the things called… Vaults is it?"

"How did you know?"

His shadowy figure rested his feet onto something; I think it was a desk. "Lucky guess, really. But if you prefer a more technical answer, this used to be Widener Library, the crown jewel of the Harvard University Library System. Now, it's a place where I can wither my life away in solitude."

I looked out one of the blown out windows. "Is that the Potomac?" I asked.

"Nope, it's the Charles," Walt smoked another cigarette. "In its pre-war course it used to be about 80 miles or 129 kilometers in length from its source in Echo Lake, located near Hopkinton, Massachusetts. It was a cultural icon for the City of Boston and was featured in the 1966 song, "Dirty Water" by The Standells."

I was nearly blown away by his access to such detailed pre-war knowledge. "You know way too much," I commented.

"You're right, I do sadly," Walt acknowledged. "And that's the way it is."

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"You see, I lack the right kind of knowledge," he explained. "About a mile and three-quarters south east of here, lies the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. It-"

He was cut off by an explosion. While we both needed time to adjust to the noise and vibrations like green soldiers on the battlefield, he remained calm and motionless. It was like he was used to that for years on end, like a seasoned veteran experiencing one battle after another. I thought we were at least used to the war-scarred wasteland, but this guy, surpassed all my notions of being experienced. Battle weary and tired, trying to savor of what little entertainment there was locked up in this former library.

"Pardon the interruption," he continued. "While not all of its facilities are operational, it does contain specialized knowledge in the art and science of war. They currently possess enough material to make up to Class III androids."

"So," I tried to figure this out. "If anyone was trying to shell us with artillery, it would be them…"

"Precisely. I only have access to what's left of man's other works, literature, history, art, and music. Even if I did have enough resources, it still wouldn't be enough. Do you mind if I share some of it?"

Megan perked up a bit at the thought of a bit of entertainment. "Yes, please," she coughed up weakly. I didn't want to listen to it, but for her sake, the least I could do was humor her.

"Certainly, Miss," he said. "It would be my pleasure."

Therefore my master said: "If you would tear
a little twig from any of these plants,
the thoughts you have will also be cut off."

Then I stretched out my hand a little way
and from a great thornbush snapped off a branch,
at which its trunk cried out: "Why do you tear me?"

And then, when it had grown more dark with blood,
it asked again: "Why do you break me off?
Are you without all sentiment of pity?

We once were men and now are arid stumps:
your hand might well have shown us greater mercy
had we been nothing more than souls of serpents."

"I can't grasp the full meaning of it," Megan gestured. "But thank you anyway."

"If you don't mind," I changed the subject. "Could you tell us how to get to the next Red Line station?"

"You wouldn't want to go there, to Central Station," Walt puffed another cigarette. "There is currently a stalemate between the Sons of Liberty and the Institute."

Before I could speak, there was another explosion, probably another shell launched by the Institute to taunt us all. Damn it! I thought the Institute would a beacon of hope that science and technology could provide. I guess war corrupts all who experience it.

"But we need to get there!" I objected. I knew it was suicidal, but I objected anyway.

"I'd doubt the next station would be your final destination unless you truly wanted to be stuck in a bloody quagmire," he calmly deduced. "The Institute toy with all the other factions in the wasteland, especially the Railroad, which I rent space out to."

"But why do you do it?" I asked. He knew that the Railroad were a liability to him.

He paused for a moment, letting out another puff of cigarette smoke. "It's because the Railroad is the only real reliable source of information in and out of this wasteland."

"Like?" I asked skeptically. Who knew about the quality of the information coming in from other wastelands?

"Oh, like how an android killed his former master in the Capital Wasteland, the war between the Enclave and the Brotherhood in Madhatkrakastan," he mused. "Anything easy to digest, really."

He snuffed the cigarette on his desk. "And speaking of the Capital Wasteland, I've heard there's going to be a special guest coming up from that place…

I've heard her name was Dr. Madison Li…

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: References I'd like to point out, (But there are more! Happy hunting!)

- What Todd picked up would be known to us as the M16. Since I thought Todd would never know what an M16 was unless it was pointed out to him, I had to take a different route. Also, like the original M16's that were issued in Vietnam, the older ones in the Wasteland are prone to jamming (usually when they need it the most).

- What Tim is singing is part of the song "World War III" by Dos Gringos. Their music is kind of country-western, their lyrics throw political-correctness out the window and usually contain fighter pilot vocabulary but Tim (and I) wouldn't care. That and many other songs can be listened to (fully) on their site. Their songs are great and NSFW!

- 「僕は死にません！」 "Romaji: Boku wa shinimasen!" is a famous line of the JDrama "101st Marriage Proposal" (101回目のプロポーズ) which stars Takeda Tetsuya. In that scene, he jumps in front of a truck while proposing. Translating all three lines it means, "I won't die!", "I won't die!", "I love you so, I won't die!"

- The first two lines taken from Dante's Divine Comedy, are from Canto III. The much larger section is from Canto XIII, see if you can spot any connections between that and where I've set it in.

- I really don't want to have anything saying remotely like "OMG!! DR. LI DIDN'T LEAVE FOR THE COMMONWEALTH HAXX!" During the events of Broken Steel (which you should've downloaded, the ending video gets annoying amirite?) the Vault Dweller is informed that she leaves the Commonwealth. If you still don't believe me, ask her assistants and Scribe Bigsley.