Cold. That was the first thing he became aware of. He was cold, freezing…like in Anchorage during the Reclamation. Except…he wasn't in Anchorage. He was in a…tomb? He thought, struggling to understand his surroundings. No, not tomb. There was a window, a window that was frosted over but he could see and hear through. Vault. He was in a Vault. Across from him, shadowy figures struggled and a voice cried out.
"I'm not giving you Shaun!" it screamed, before being silenced by the report of a handgun. A frantic sense of urgency and panic raced through him as a figure, bald and with a scar on his face, approached the window of his chamber.
John's eyes jolted open as he sat bolt-upright in his bed, taking in deep, heaving breaths. His sheets were damp with sweat. Nothing about the dream made sense to him. Not the cold, not the Vault, not the woman he had seen shot or the mysterious figure. Rolling to his side, he grabbed his Pip-Boy to check the time. 6:15 AM, December 20, 2281. Sighing, John flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. Med-X. I need Med-X.
No you don't, a voice inside of him responded. Even with his knee repaired, with the pain gone, he found himself feeling the urge for Med-X in the morning. The urges were harder to control than he had anticipated. Something to bring up when he talked to his doctor again. His thoughts turned to home as he rolled out of bed. It would be just after 9 AM on the East Coast. Megaton would just be coming to life, everyone starting for the day. He thought about his friends, hoped they were doing well in his absence. Putting on some loose fitting, athletic clothes, he began winding his way to the gym that the Followers had in their hospital. It wasn't a particularly sophisticated facility, just standard barbells and dumbbells, but it was more than enough for John to begin to whip himself back into shape.
Two hours later, John stood on top of a hill, overlooking one of the many valleys that composed the Angel's Boneyard. Below him he saw Emily McPherson, jogging at a controlled pace up the hill to meet him at the end of their running route. The two had taken to meeting at this overlook in the mornings, before returning to the Follower's hospital to begin the day. The orange glow of a warm sunrise dried the thin sheen of sweat on the Wanderer's forehead, as Emily reached the top of the hill and walked the few feet to him; drawing deep breaths as she did.
"I don't think this view will ever get old," John began, as Emily drew alongside him.
"It is impressive," she replied, in between breaths. Her face was flushed with the effort of the final hill on the run. "Anything like this back around D.C.?" she continued. John shrugged before responding.
"Not exactly. There's a scenic overlook right outside of Vault 101 that gives you a great view towards the National Mall, but that's about it. The terrain around D.C. was a lot flatter than out west."
"Fair enough," Emily began. She gazed out over the valley alongside John, the signs of construction obvious everywhere as the NCR's population continued to boom. The Boneyard hadn't yet surpassed Shady Sands in population, but with the available resources in the valley, the sheer amount of building materials available from the ruins of old Los Angeles, it was only a matter of time until the Boneyard became the largest city in the NCR. "What do you think when you look at it?" she asked. John snickered before responding.
"I remember Shelley," he began. "'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away."
"Fitting," Emily replied. "Should we head back to the hospital?"
"Sure," John replied, as they set off down the trail, Emily continuing to speak as they did.
"The medical staff appreciates the help you've been giving them. Whoever taught you apparently taught you well," she said. John smiled at that.
"My dad was the physician in the Vault. I learned most of it from him. The rest I just picked up through necessity in the Wasteland."
"Your father sounds like he was a good man," Emily replied.
"I suppose in a manner of speaking. He had a dream, and he wasn't going to let anything, like having a son, get in the way of that," John explained, a hint of bitterness in his tone. The bitterness was familiar to her.
"I know the feeling. I felt abandoned by my parents for years after they left for the D.C. expedition with Owyn Lyons."
"What a small world it is, to travel west and meet someone who knew the old man," John replied, smiling. Around them the sounds of the Boneyard coming to life echoed through the canyons formed by the ruined skyscrapers and new, high-rise developments.
"Sign the world is recovering, maybe. I've read books that talk about the way technology before the Great War made everyone more connected. Maybe someday we'll reach that point again," she said, thinking out loud.
"Emily, I wish I had your optimism," John responded, as the Follower's medical university loomed ahead of them.
Sarah wound her way through the halls of the Citadel, the hush of the quiet hours soothing to her after weeks surrounded by the noises of the DC ruins. She had an important visit to make that morning, one which she wanted support for. Quietly, she arrived at the Den and opened the door, her light footsteps carrying her to Colvin's bed. Grabbing him by the ankle, she lightly shook his leg and whispered his name.
"Colvin, get up. It's time to go," she said, the Knight stirring and his eyes flashing open as she said his name. Quietly nodding, he rolled off his bed and made his way to hit wall locker, pulling out the olive green and black duty uniform he wore when he wasn't clad in power armor. He quickly zipped it up and pulled on his highly shined, black combat boots. Tying them on, he looked up at Sarah, mouthing the question at her.
"Maxson?" he whispered. She nodded in reply. Standing up, he followed her out of the Den, leaving his squad mates quietly sleeping before reveille would wake them in a matter of hours. As soon as the door closed behind them and they were in the silence of the hallways, Sarah spoke.
"Yeah. I'm going to tell him he's being promoted. Also telling him about the extra duty for breaking ranks during that firefight you were in. Figured you should be there for it." Colvin grunted in response.
"I suppose. You know I'm no good at being the bad cop," he replied.
"That's my job. Just do what you always do, preacher," she said, winking at him as she said it. He laughed in response. They walked the rest of the way in silence, before coming to the barracks room that Maxson resided in. Quietly, the two entered the room and made their way to Maxson's bunk. Colvin stepped to it as they did, leaning forward and shaking the boy.
"Squire Maxson. Dress yourself and meet the Sentinel and I in the hallway," he said. Maxson's eyes snapped open as he spoke, taking in Colvin's face and behind him, standing with her arms crossed, Sarah's imposing form. He nodded, rolling off his rack as Sarah and Colvin made their way back out into the hallway to wait for him. A moment later, Maxson entered the hallway, wearing his black duty uniform. The teenager's form still didn't completely fill it out. The Squire snapped to parade rest in front of his superiors. Sarah began the proceedings without any hesitation.
"You're being promoted to Knight today," Sarah began. Maxson's jaw dropped slightly at the directness of her statement.
"Promoted to Knight?" he began, his face slightly flushed. Sarah nodded.
"Yes. Colvin has sponsored you after your actions in the firefight you were in on your last patrol. Paladin Danse seconded the nomination. At today's awards and promotion ceremony, you'll be made a Knight. You'll be one of the youngest people to ever receive the rank. Which leads me to the second matter we need to discuss: the responsibilities and duties that will come with your new rank." Maxson relaxed himself from parade rest as she spoke. "Knight Colvin tells me that you broke ranks despite him ordering you not to. Is that correct?" she asked. Maxson looked from her to Colvin, and incredulous expression on his face.
"I mean…yeah, I suppose I did. I just took initiative because I thought it would help us win," he replied.
"You almost got shot in the back, Arthur," Colvin replied. Arthur's face flushed more, a look of frustration on it.
"But Colvin, we-"he began.
"HE HAS A FUCKING RANK!" Sarah exploded, an uncharacteristic anger in her voice. Maxson jolted to attention so hard that his feet left the ground, before bracing himself back at parade rest in the face of her verbal onslaught.
"You are a Maxson," she began, her voice a deadly whisper. "Do you know what that means?"
"I've heard it all my life," Arthur began. "That my soul was forged from eternal steel. That I am the last of my line and it's my destiny to lead the Brotherhood," he replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Sarah narrowed her eyes at his response.
"It is more than that, Squire. You are the last of the line that founded this order. Do you know what that means, what it truly means? It means that others will always look to see what you are doing, what actions you take. Others will always hold you to a higher standard." Sarah's voice softened as she spoke. "I know it is unfair. I know you never asked for it. But it is what you are, Arthur. You must always be the example, not the exception. There can never be a hint of favoritism or nepotism with you. You must always live the virtues our order teaches. If the last descendant of Roger Maxson cannot live the Brotherhood's values, then why should anyone else?" Arthur's eyes became downcast as she spoke, as if the enormity of the responsibility he faced was hitting him for the first time. Colvin spoke up as Sarah left off.
"As a Knight you will be in a leadership position, Arthur. You will have authority over soldiers, over initiates and aspirants, that may well be twice your age. Many will be Wasteland recruits with no knowledge of the history of our order, no context to understand why you being a Maxson is relevant. All they will see is a young boy giving them orders. You must set the example and inspire them to follow you. As Paul wrote to Timothy: Let none despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. If you do these things your troops will obey you and you will lead them to victory, as I know you can do." Colvin smiled at Arthur as he spoke, bolstering the boy's spirits in the wake of Sarah's harsh reality.
"I understand. I just thought that night that I knew what to do…" he trailed off, as Sarah interrupted.
"Tell me of the Chain that Binds, Arthur." Arthur blinked at her, a confused look on his face. "The Chain that Binds. Tell me of it," she reiterated. Arthur quickly composed himself before responding.
"The Chain That Binds is the cornerstone of our organization, the rock that supports the great tree of the Brotherhood and its myriad branches. It holds that:
1. Orders are to flow from on high down through the ranks. An order from a superior must always be obeyed, that their wisdom may be carried out without hesitation.
2. Orders are to observe the flow and not skip ranks. A superior may only give orders to his direct subordinates, and not to those beneath them. In this way harmony of intent and cohesion of thought is maintained," he concluded. Sarah nodded, pleased with his verbatim recitation of the Chain.
"Well said, Arthur. Remember that. Colvin is your superior. He has years of experience in the Brotherhood. You could not hope for a better mentor than him. The Chain exists because it recognizes that our leaders have been promoted and placed in command of us for a reason. It applies to me as well as you. If I receive an order from the Elder, or, someday, the Council in Lost Hills, I will be obligated to obey it in the same way you obey your immediate superior," she explained, before continuing. "You are still young, but you are incredibly gifted, Arthur. But talent is nothing without discipline and focus. As this was your first offense violating the Chain, I am not levying too harsh a punishment on you. You'll perform extra duty for one week, performing duty in the Mess hall as well as the latrines before returning to duty as a full Knight. Understood?" Arthur nodded at her.
"Yes, Sentinel. Thank you for your guidance," he responded. Sarah nodded back at him as Colvin reached out and patted Arthur's shoulder.
"I believe in what they have said about you, Arthur. That you will restore the Brotherhood to glory. You just first must learn to control your temper," he explained, smiling at the boy.
"We have other business to attend," Sarah interjected. "Maxson, make yourself ready for your promotion today. Dress uniform is expected. Dismissed," she concluded. Arthur smartly saluted her before spinning and making his way back into his barracks. Sarah nodded at Colvin after Arthur had left. "Back to the Great Hall. Gallows just returned from a patrol and apparently has important news to report," she explained. Colvin fell in alongside her as they made their way back to the Great Hall to meet the rest of the Brotherhood's leadership. "Also, I forgot to tell you," she continued, a coy smile crossing her face as she looked at Colvin. "You're being promoted too. Congratulations, Paladin," she smiled as Colvin stopped, jaw agape and dead in his tracks.
"Me? A Paladin?" he asked. Sarah stopped, turning to face him in the middle of the hallway, and quietly glad that the Citadel was not alive with activity.
"Yes. It's long overdue, in my opinion. You and McPherson are both being promoted to Paladin today. Both are well deserved," she answered, turning to continue to walk as Colvin joined her.
"How has he recovered?" he asked.
"Liam? Well. He's still weak, not ready to return to active service, much to his chagrin. But he's recovering. Still has to use crutches to get around, which frustrates him. Anyway, we'll continue the discussion later," she said, looking Colvin in the eye before opening the door for them to join their comrades in the Great Hall.
Owyn Lyons looked across his room at Rothschild. The blanched tone of Owyn's skin, the slowness of his stride and the pervasive cough that hadn't yet left, deeply worried the Scribe. He kept his concerns to himself as the Elder spoke.
"Send word to Lost Hills after our briefing in the Great Hall. Tell them that Arthur Maxson has been made a Knight. I doubt they will respond, but at the least Jessica may find out," Owyn said, referring to Arthur Maxson's mother. Reginald nodded to his order.
"It'll be done, Owyn. Are you sure you are well enough for this briefing? And the ceremony today? Myself or Sarah could easily fill in for you…" he trailed off, as Owyn waved his hand dismissively.
"Nonsense. Many good troops are being recognized today. The last scion of the Maxson line is taking his place in our order. I wouldn't miss this for the world," he began. "Now, let us make our way to the briefing. The news Gallows has brought back is quite important."
"Achilles," came a distant voice. He ignored it, the energy rushing through him as he felt the blood cover his hands, droplets flying through the air and splattering across his face and chest.
"Achilles," the voice continued, more insistent this time. He ignored it as his fists continued to pummel the remnants of a face pinned beneath him, a wild bloodlust in his eyes, a wide grin plastered across his face. Praise! Praise the Red King! Punishment and blood and sacrifices to his throne! The voice in his head screamed, drowning out the distant droning of his name being called. Throwing the ruined body back to the ground, Achilles tilted his head backwards, uncontrollable laughter bubbling forth, mixing in with a scream of rage that reached into the sky.
"ACHILLES!" the voice screamed this time, snapping him back into the present. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the eyes of Raul, the ghoul mechanic he had freed from Black Mountain. "Jesus, kid. He's dead, you got him. Get a grip." Achilles looked from Raul down to the dead Fiend that he had pinned to the ground. Surrounding them were the bodies of yet more Fiends, laid low by Raul's 6-shooter and Achilles' wicked combination of a machete and a 5.56 pistol. With a heaving breath, Achilles stood back up, disgustedly wiping his hands of the blood on them on the dead Fiend's clothing.
"Fear, Raul. It's all they'll ever understand, the only way to ever get them to stop harassing Vegas. I will cow them into submission, or they will all die."
"Right, kid," the old ghoul said in an exasperated voice. "Can we keep moving now? These old joints don't hold up so well, I wanna get back to the 38." Nodding, Achilles spared a last disgusted look at the Fiends he had killed before turning and continuing on his way with Raul, the 38 rising in the distance like a beacon, beckoning Achilles to return to the city he had come to feel connected to.
The rest of the walk passed uneventfully. Achilles and Raul met no resistance. The Securitrons guarding the Strip entrance readily admitted them, and the few tourists in between the gate and the entrance to the Lucky 38 managed to only shoot horrified glances at the blood covering Achilles, as opposed to staring. Fear. The fear in their eyes is so palpable I can taste it, Achilles thought. Silently, the duo entered the Lucky 38 and made their way to the Presidential Suite. Stepping from the elevator, Achilles was greeted by Veronica waiting for him. Her face blanched and her eyes widened in horror as she looked at his blood splattered visage.
"What happened?!" she cried, drawing Cass from the kitchen in a rush.
"Fuck," Cass muttered, seeing the wild state that Achilles was in.
"Another day in the Mojave," he replied. "Can you do me a favor, Veronica?" he continued. His normal state of mind was reasserting itself, taking control from the berserker fury that had overtaken him when they encountered the Fiends.
"What is it?" she asked, a hesitant tone in her voice. As if she was afraid what he would ask.
"The girl from the other day. Gale. The one we helped. Can you find her? I wanted to talk to her, see if she needed help or people to travel with until she gets the hang of Vegas a bit better." Veronica nodded, a surprised look in her face.
"Yeah, I can get her. She's at the Tops." Achilles grunted.
"Sounds good. I'm going to clean up. By the way, when you go to the Tops-tell Swank to comp Gale and move her to the 13th floor." Veronica smiled.
"Sure, Achilles. I'll see you in a bit," she answered, before making her way to the elevator. The rest of his group had returned to their activities, leaving him alone in the hallway. Wordlessly, he looked around for a moment, as if reminding himself where he truly was, before setting off for the bathroom to clean up.
John sat in the cafeteria of the Followers hospital, quietly eating his breakfast before beginning his appointments and making his rounds in the hospital. The Followers had eagerly accepted his helping in their hospital when he had explained his medical training to them, and they had been reassured by the obvious competence he displayed when treating patients, particularly those suffering traumatic injuries. For his part he found the work fulfilling, in a way. An outlet for his need to help others, and doing so by saving lives rather than ending them. He looked up at Emily, sitting across from him.
"What's your schedule like today?" he asked. She shrugged.
"The usual," she replied. "Teaching my class on 20th century political theory. You should come sometime." John rolled his eyes at that.
"What a nerd you are, Emily," he began, drawing a laugh from her. "Maybe you can just give me a summary sometime before we get to DC." She nodded at him. "If you insist," she replied. She looked like she was making to continue before the hospital's PA system came to life.
"Code Triage," it began, drawing John's attention as the sound of movement began behind him. "All available personnel please respond to the emergency room." John stood up as Emily looked at him.
"Triage, that's…mass casualty?" she asked as he made to leave.
"Yeah, incoming mass casualty. I gotta run, I'll see you later," he called over his shoulder as he bolted for the door. As he did he felt secretly guilty for the thrill he felt from responding to the situation.
Elder Lyons and Scribe Rothschild had just taken their seats in the Great Hall, quieting the light chatter passing through the room. Raising his hand, Lyons called the assembly to order.
"Knight Gallows has returned from a long range patrol, and has important information to report. Gallows, if you would?" Owyn said, turning to acknowledge Gallows as he did. Gallows slowly strode to the front of the room, surprising the assembly by removing the helmet of his power armor, something he rarely did. His face showed the dark lines of fatigue that came with a solitary patrol, visible against his mahogany skin under his eyes.
"A new mark of Power Armor. A lot of it. At the Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Northern Maryland," he began, the room palpably electrifying at his blunt pronouncement. Lyons leaned forward in his seat, fixing his eyes on Gallows.
"Please elaborate, Knight." Gallows held up a bag in his hand.
"All holotapes regarding the armor that I could recover are here. In short, it is a Mark of Power Armor that was just entering service on the East Coast at the time of the Great War. Designated T-60. A combination of the stability gyros and carrying capacity present in the T-51b with a much heavier armored frame, designed around the T-45 series. Energy efficient, like the T-51b. The holotapes explain the development of it. There's a large store of it at the Proving Grounds. It was apparently waiting to be deployed to other parts of the country, and to American forces in China, at the time of the Great War. In addition, there's a massive stockpile of useful supplies at the Proving Ground. Weaponry, uniforms, armor. Enough to equip the entire chapter, I believe." Owyn leaned back in his chair, processing the information before responding.
"Radio our detachment at Adams AFB immediately following this briefing," he began, looking at Rothchild. "Tell the Vertibird squadron to begin spinning up. This is a massive discovery, particularly if we can move this equipment to the Citadel. It could make our troops patrolling the ruins now unassailable, even in the face of the armor piercing munitions our enemies have acquired," the Elder finished, before turning back to Gallows. "You have more to report, Knight?" he inquired, seeing that Gallows had not taken his seat or left the room, as he was wont to do after reporting.
"I do. I had no visual confirmation, but on my patrol I encountered evidence of Super Mutant activity to the north." If the assembly had been excited at his explanation of the Power Armor discovery, it positively exploded at this proclamation. Owyn raised his hands, attempting to quiet the room, to no avail. He found that the physical weakness he had felt extended to his ability to raise his voice, as he was unable to raise his voice over the cacophony of voices that had filled the room. Fortunately, Scribe Rothchild intervened on his behalf.
"Silence!" the normally soft spoken Scribe bellowed over the assembled voices, drawing their eyes to him. A hush fell over the room, and in it Elder Lyons spoke again.
"Gallows, please. If this is true, it is an incredibly serious threat. Elaborate."
"To the north, near Aberdeen. I never encountered any mutants, but there were signs of recent activity that could only be Super Mutants. Totems, gore bags that they typically mark their territories with. Footprints, trails through forests that look like something large, something bipedal had moved through it as part of a group. The only explanation I have is Super Mutants." Lyons nodded at his explanation, closing his eyes and lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose. They had enjoyed the reprieve from Super Mutant activity that had been achieved during the purge of the Wasteland, following the Wanderer infiltrating and destroying Vault 87.
"Very well," Owyn replied. "Rothchild, inform our Vertibirds that will be heading to Aberdeen. In addition to their primary recovery mission, have them scanning the area for Super Mutant activity. And make sure the transport Vertibirds have a gunship escort." Rothchild wordlessly acknowledged the order, turning to one of his junior Scribes and whispering in her ear. Lyons returned his gaze to the assembly, looking around the room. "We will address these matters once we have more concrete information. In the meantime, the primary order of business today at the Citadel is the promotion and awards ceremony. The uniform for those participating is the dress uniform of your respective branch. I expect to see you all there and in formation with your troops. Dismissed," he finished. The assembly stood and responded to the Elder as one.
"Ad Victoriam," the group said, more quietly and with a greater tone of reservation than they had felt in quite some time.
John stood next to a surgeon in the Emergency Room of the Follower's hospital as the first of the casualties began to pour in, one of the medics running alongside the stretcher giving a frantic explanation as he reached them.
"Huge shootout at the old docks down by San Piedro," he breathlessly began. "There's gonna be more, there were bodies everywhere." Without a further word, the medic spun and ran back out of the ER to further assist. John and the surgeon next to him quickly began triaging the wounded person in front of him. John spoke up first, triaging to the surgical team surrounding him.
"Male, late teens to early 20s, suffering from multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. Urgent surgical attention required," he concluded, looking up at the surgeon as he did. The young man's skin had gone from an olive, tanned tone to almost grey from blood loss. The surgeon nodded at him in agreement.
"Agreed. We're moving, operating theater one," he replied, looking up at his nurses and fellow attending doctors as they began wheeling the patient away. John spun away, moving to another gurney that had just been rolled in. The site that greeted him would have horrified him, had he not seen such wounds before. The lower leg of the patient looked like a mop that had been submerged in a bucket of blood. Quickly gathering his senses, John looked to the man's forehead, checking to see how long a tourniquet had been applied for.
"Traumatic amputation of the lower leg here. Tourniquet applied half an hour ago to the femoral artery. Urgent surgical," he concluded, looking up to the doctor across from him, a woman he didn't recognize.
"We don't have enough surgeons on staff to deal with this many urgent casualties. Can you help?" she plaintively asked. Without a second thought John nodded.
"I can. Get him to a surgical theater while I scrub up. I'll meet you there ASAP. Go!" he replied, the team taking the gurney and wheeling it away quickly as John moved to change his clothes and sanitize to enter the operating theater. He hadn't performed anything more than minor surgeries in quite a long time, as he desperately began recalling everything his father had taught him growing up and everything he had learned as an adult in the Wasteland.
Gale sat across the dining room table from Achilles, Veronica sitting next to her. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair before speaking.
"I suppose I should thank you for helping me the other day," she began. Achilles snorted at that.
"You don't have anything to thank me for. I just did what I thought was right," he replied.
"Well, I still appreciate it. I thought I could handle myself, but now…" she trailed off. Veronica reached over to pat her back as she spoke, her eyes downcast.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You travelled here from West Virginia, Veronica told me. Is that right?" he asked. She nodded at him.
"Yeah. With a caravan. You know them. John Thompson and Yudhajit Smith," she replied. Achilles eyes betrayed a trace of amusement at that.
"Yeah, I know them. And did they teach you anything about surviving out here?" he asked.
"They taught me to shoot. What to look for in people, what sort of situations are dangerous," she answered.
"That's a start. But there's more to it than just that. I know I probably scared you when we met, when I thought I had seen you before," he began, before Gale spoke up.
"It was still less frightening than having some filthy vagrants try to rape you," she responded.
"I can teach you to make sure that never happens again," Achilles stated directly. Gale looked at him as Veronica shot him a glance of surprise.
"How?"
"I know this desert. I know the Mojave, I know how to survive in it. Every one of the people I travel with has something unique to offer. Veronica can teach you to fight with your hands. Boone can teach you to observe and shoot from long range. Cass, how to get up close and personal. I can teach you to never let someone get the upper hand on you again," he explained.
"They left me. I trusted them to protect me, and they all left. Yudhajit to go do whatever with the Brotherhood. Fawkes to go see the other mutants at their refuge. John back in the NCR getting surgery. I'm all alone here," she answered, drawing a deep breath before continuing. "So sure. Maybe you guys can teach me things that they didn't." Achilles smiled at her answer.
"We can. And when we're done and you see your friends again, they won't recognize the person you've become." Gale nodded, a stern look on her face as she thought of what he was saying. She realized it felt right.
Elder Lyons stood on a stage that had been erected in the courtyard of the Citadel. On the stage, right behind him, was Scribe Rothchild. Across the stage from him stood the Brotherhood members being recognized. McPherson, looking gaunt and ill at ease on his crutches, his dress uniform loosely fitting him after the weight he had lost from being hospitalized. Next to him Colvin, upright and serene looking, a crisp dress uniform and polished boots on. Next to him, Arthur Maxson. He had the look of a young man wearing his father's clothes, not completely filling out his dress uniform, and yet too big for a smaller size. Behind them stood Sarah, Star-Paladin Cross, and Paladin Danse, all wearing the dress uniforms of senior officers-a dark blue and black uniform, with their pants bloused above polished black combat boots. On their upper left sleeves the crest of the Brotherhood was sewn. Arrayed in orderly company formations in the courtyard of the Citadel were the Brotherhood members who remained at the Citadel, missing those that were on rotation through the ruins or on detached assignment to Adams AFB. Turning to face the formation in the courtyard, Elder Lyons began his address.
"We are here today to recognize the distinct accomplishments and actions of three of our brothers. Each has provided distinguished service to our order, and today we recognize them for this service. Paladin Liam McPherson, step forward," Lyons began. McPherson moved to the center of the stage, supported by his crutches. Behind him a smile crossed Sarah's face. Rothchild and Lyons stood in front of McPherson, as he drew himself to attention as best he could upon his crutches. From the side of the stage, the commanding voice of a Brotherhood Knight rang out.
"Attention to Orders! Elder Owyn Lyons, authorized by decree of the Council of High Elders, March 3, 2163, has awarded, in the name of the Council, the Order of Maxson to Paladin Liam McPherson, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty, and at great risk to his life, in action against an armed enemy on December 9, 2281. On that date, Paladin McPherson was in command of a patrol of Brotherhood members when they came under intense, accurate, and effective enemy small arms and crew served weapons fire. Immediately, Paladin McPherson responded, returning accurate fire with his rifle and providing effective command to the remaining members of the patrol. Fearlessly, and with complete disregard for his own safety, Paladin McPherson raced through withering enemy fire, ignoring multiple, severe wounds and leading an assault that broke the enemy ambush and drove them from the field. Paladin McPherson then established communications with his superiors at the Citadel, relaying important information regarding the situation and coordinating evacuation of the wounded and dead. Only when he had completed this task did Paladin McPherson lose consciousness from his multiple wounds. His actions are in keeping with the highest traditions of Brotherhood service, and reflect great credit upon himself, Headquarters Company, Capital Wasteland Chapter, and the Brotherhood of Steel." At the conclusion of the citation, Elder Lyons looked to Scribe Rothchild, taking the small medal that he held by a steel grey ribbon and hanging it around McPherson's neck. McPherson stood to attention as best he could, snapping a salute that Elder Lyons returned, before shaking the young man's hand. Behind them, loud applause filled the courtyard as the assembled soldiers acknowledged their comrade. Elder Lyons turned to the formation, raising his hands to quiet them before speaking.
"In addition to the Order of Maxson, Paladin McPherson is also being promoted today. If you would, read the orders," Lyons said, looking at the Knight who had read the citation to continue.
"Attention to Orders!" the Knight began, drawing the assembly back to attention. "The Council of Elders has reposed special trust and confidence in the valor, fidelity, and personal excellence of Liam McPherson. In light of these qualities and his demonstrated leadership potential, he is, therefore, advanced from the rank of Paladin to Star-Paladin. Advancement is effective as of December 20, 2281." The assembly remained silent as Elder Lyons pinned a single, gold star above the Paladin rank insignia on McPherson's uniform. Again, they applauded as Lyons stepped back, allowing McPherson to receive the praise of his comrades. As the applause died down, McPherson made his way back across the stage, joining the others who were on it to be recognized. Sarah smiled and squeezed his shoulder as he retook his place and Colvin strode forward to the middle of the stage, meeting Elder Lyons and Scribe Rothchild there.
The promotion occurred in the same manner for Colvin as it did for McPherson. The Knight read the promotion orders, Elder Lyons removing Colvin's Knight rank and replacing it with Paladin insignia at the conclusion of the reading. Again, the assembly loudly cheered, acknowledging both Colvin's long service and the popularity he enjoyed amongst his comrades in the Brotherhood. Wordlessly, he too returned to his peers on the stage, leaving only Arthur Maxson remaining to be recognized. Elder Lyons turned his attention to the formation before speaking.
"Lastly, we have a very unique promotion to hold. All of you who have achieved the rank of Knight in our order have done so with a sponsor. All of you who strive to achieve that rank will someday find yourself taking this same oath, in this same ceremony. Today, however, we recognize a very particular individual," he continued, turning his attention to Maxson. "Squire Arthur Maxson, post!" Lyons called across the stage. Maxson smartly strode further, clicking his heels as he drew himself to attention in the center of the stage.
"Those of you who were raised in our order, or who have served in the Brotherhood for some time, will know the stories of our founding. Of how Roger Maxson, a Captain in what was then the United States Army, discovered the unethical affronts to humanity that government scientists had undertaken. How, following the great nuclear exchange that consumed the Old World, he led the exodus of our ancestors to the Lost Hills bunker, where even today our leadership is based. Today, we recognize the last of his descendants, and welcome him as a full member of our order," he concluded, before turning to Maxson. "Squire, are you ready to take the Oath of Fraternity?"
"I am, Elder," Maxson stiffly replied. Lyons nodded at the young man.
"Begin, then," he softly commanded. Maxson dropped to a knee, supplicating himself before the Elder and the assembly of his comrades.
"I ascend to the rank of Knight, and with it commit my life to the Brotherhood of Steel. I take this obligation freely, without any hesitation or purpose of evasion. I forsake any prior loyalties or allegiances. I commit myself to the Brotherhood and its values. I will safeguard the human race from the horrors wrought on it by the Old World. I will safeguard dangerous technology and confront and destroy any abominations of science that I encounter. I will obey the orders of my superiors and fulfill the expectations of the Brotherhood. Thus I swear, from this day until I draw my last breath and my name is added to the Scroll for the last time." Elder Lyons nodded, accepting the oath before speaking.
"Arise a Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, Arthur Maxson," he plainly stated. Arthur rose to his feet as booming applause echoed through the courtyard of the Citadel. Maxson's face tinged a shade of pink in embarrassment at the recognition. Elder Lyons patted Maxson on his shoulder, looking the young man in the eye before speaking.
"I am proud of you, Arthur. I'm sure, wherever he is now, your father is proud as well." Arthur nodded at that, his jaw clenching at the memory of his father, gone before his time. His death had played a large role in his mother's decision to send Arthur east, to be fostered at the Citadel by Owyn Lyons. Without a further word, Maxson pivoted on his heel, before smartly marching back to rejoin his peers on the other side of the stage. Colvin and Danse met him, smiling.
"Congratulations, boy," Colvin said, pulling Maxson into an embrace that made the boy laugh.
"Thank you, Paladin," Arthur replied, stressing Colvin's new rank before turning to Danse. He accepted Danse's extended hand, greeting him with a firm handshake.
"Congratulations, Arthur," Danse began. "Now, if you screw up, it's Colvin and I in the hot seat. So try to do well," he continued, a slight smile crossing his lips. Maxson smiled back as he looked Danse in the eye.
"Paladin Danse, was that…a joke? I didn't know you were capable of humor," he replied, drawing a laugh from those nearby. Danse met his gaze without a trace of amusement.
"I am fully capable of the humor, Knight," he replied, before Colvin interjected.
"Seriously though Arthur, if you screw the pooch on this, Danse and I will go down with you. So try to not screw anything up too badly," he explained, drawing a laugh from Maxson.
"I'll bear that in mind, Colvin."
John looked up at a clock in the operating room, as the sheet was pulled up over the young man's head. They had been unable to save him, the amputation of his leg proving to have been to traumatic.
"Time of death is 0923," John began. The doctor next to him looked up at the clock as well.
"And I confirm. Time of death, 0923. There will be paperwork for you to fill out, John," she continued. John nodded to her.
"I understand. Let's just try to get this blood off us first," he continued, leaving the operating theater and peeling off his gloves and surgical gown, throwing them into a biological waste container to be burned later. He quickly made his way to the sink across the room, turning on the hot water and running his hands under it. Mindlessly he scrubbed, continuing to scrub until the blood was long gone, as his mind played over the patient he had just lost again. Death was hardly unfamiliar to John, but he was unfamiliar with attempting to prevent it, as opposed to causing it. The doctor lightly tapped his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts.
"I think you're clean, John," she said, as he looked down to see the water pouring from his hands had no traces of blood on it. Wordlessly, he nodded.
"Right. I'll go fill out the paperwork regarding it then. What do I have to do?"
"Certification of death to be passed on to the city government. NCR likes to keep records of that. I think he had family here. I'm going to go break the news to them. Worst part of this job…" she trailed off, drying her hands off as she turned to leave the room. John made his way out of the wash room, spotting a doctor he recognized. Flagging him down, John beckoned the doctor over.
"I have to write a death certificate, apparently. Where do I do that?" he asked, drawing a sympathetic look from the doctor, who patted his shoulder.
"Sorry, man. It's never easy to lose a patient. If you go to the desk at the entrance to the operating theater, they can give you the paperwork you'll need to fill out." John faintly smiled at the man, thanking him for the pointer as he made his way out of the room. Silently, he made his way through the hubbub of the hospital, doctors still frantically intaking those patients that had arrived and required immediate surgery. Lost in his thoughts, he walked to the desk, the nurse at it recognizing the look on his face.
"Death paperwork?" she asked.
"Yeah," John replied, accepting the clipboard and looking down at it. Finding a seat, he picked up a pencil and began filling it out.
Time of death: 0923. Cause of death: shock caused by traumatic amputation of the lower leg. A line below it was a statement and a block for a signature. I certify that death occurred at the time and of the causes stated above. Mindlessly, John scribbled his signature in the block. Next to it, the paperwork requested a certifying institution for him. Not paying attention, he wrote "Vault-Tec" before returning the clipboard to the nurse at the desk.
December 23, 2281
It was late morning, almost noon, in Megaton when Lucas Simms heard Stockholm call down from his vantage point above the gate.
"Hey Sheriff, pretty big group approaching the gate!" Simms felt his stomach drop. With the state of the Wasteland, any large group approaching his town put him on edge. He saw Harden shoot him a glance, to which Lucas nodded. Wordlessly, Harden picked up his rifle, taking up a position from which to cover his father if the worst happened. Lucas quickly made his way to the gate as the party Stockholm had warned him about entered. A towering figure in a knee length duster stood in the middle, surrounded by a group of smaller figures, all armed. As he closed with them the figure met Lucas' eyes. Blinking, as if to make sure he was seeing things correctly, Lucas realized who it was.
"I'll be God damned…Charon? Is that you?" he asked. The ghoul nodded, before rasping his response.
"Yeah, I'm back. Doesn't look like too much has changed here, huh?" Lucas snickered at that.
"Just a little. People will be glad you're back. Someone like you is needed," the Sheriff responded.
"So I'm told," Charon responded. There was an awkward pause before Simms continued. He had never really interacted with Charon without the Wanderer present.
"Well, come on in to town and make yourself at home. I'll be by to fill you in on everything that's happening in a few, once I talk to my boy."
Clover looked through the scope of her rifle, from her distant vantage point overlooking Megaton. Charon had arrived. That would draw enough attention that she could enter the town relatively unnoticed. Breaking down and packing away her rifle, she stood up, stepping out for Megaton at a quick pace.
Achilles had received a message from the NCR ambassador, before he could begin truly teaching Gale anything. He was urgently needed at Hoover Dam. He had made the unhappy trek across the Mojave with Boone and Cass, arriving at the Dam in the early morning, a day after they had left. The NCR soldiers present had directed them to Colonel Cassandra Moore, the officer who had requested their presence. Achilles had found her and taken an instant dislike to her. Perhaps a vestige of his past life as a legionary, perhaps just disliking the way she ordered him as if he was an NCR soldier. Wordlessly, he listened to her explain what was needed.
"President Kimball will be making a visit to the Dam in the coming days to boost morale and visit the front lines for the New Year's holiday. Obviously we warned him against this, but he's decided to go ahead with it regardless. Which leaves us in a very difficult position. The Legion will obviously attempt to capitalize on this and assassinate the President while he's in their reach. We need you to help us prevent that from happening. Any avenue of attack that the Legion might take-if you find it or can think of it, show us and we'll close it off. This has to be the highest priority to all of us right now." Achilles thought for a moment, looking at Cass and Boone before continuing.
"Yeah, I think we can help with that," he replied, a savage smile crossing his face as he did.
December 31, 2281
Clover sat in the corner of the Brass Lantern, another nondescript Wastelander of little note. The leaders of the factions in the Wasteland had met in Megaton again, Charon joining them around the table this time.
"Some of you may know Charon," Lucas began. "For those of you that don't, this is Charon. He was one of John's closest friends during the fighting back in the day," he explained. One of the Talon Company mercenaries that had accompanied Jackson to the meeting grunted at that.
"Yeah, I know you. You blasted my buddy Fancy Lad with that shotgun of yours," the mercenary said in a bitter tone.
"Your friend was probably an asshole. And what kind of name is Fancy Lad?" Charon replied.
"We called him it because he always carried Fancy Lad snacks. Well, until you killed him." Charon shrugged.
"If he was dumb enough to fuck with us he kinda had it coming, didn't he? You're still alive, so there must be some correlation." Jackson intervened before the argument could get violent.
"It's in the past now. Doesn't matter. Let's just focus on now," he said, separating the two. "So the Wanderer's friend is back. That's good, but what does it do for us?"
"People will know who Charon is thanks to that radio program Three Dog used to play," Lucas explained. "Having him with us at least reminds people that we're the ones that were the kid's friends, the ones that are on his side." There was some nodding around the table, people agreeing with what Lucas said. Charon laid eyes on two people in the distinctive blue-yellow of a Vault-Tec jumpsuit, the number 101 emblazoned on the collar.
"You two are from his Vault," Charon said, more as a statement than a question. The Vault dwellers nodded at him.
"Yes. I'm Susie Mack, and this is Officer Gomez, the head of security in the Vault. We're here on behalf of the Overseer," she explained. Charon grunted at her response.
"Nice of you all to show up after you kicked him out. So what'd you all need me to do?" he continued, in an impatient voice. Jackson spoke up.
"That's a good question. What do we need him for, Lucas?" Lucas looked flustered, searching for a response before Charon spoke up.
"Maybe I could show you Talon boys how to win a fight, considering how many of you I dropped back when we were fighting," Charon growled. Jackson jumped to his feet at the provocation, looking the ghoul in the eye.
"I don't need to take that shit from this zombie," he shot back, Lucas raising his hands to try to calm them down. Behind the group, seated in plain clothes against the wall, Clover silently reached into her waistband, laying a hand on the butt of her handgun. Reilly spoke up over the crowd, trying to calm them down.
"Really? We have a war going on and that ghost in the ruins running loose, and you all want to fight with each other?" Charon looked at Reilly before speaking.
"Don't worry about the ghost. She's on our side," he replied. From where she sat, Clover grimaced and screamed internally. Fucking ghoul is as subtle as a Brahmin stampede!
"Her? You know who it is?" Lucas asked. Charon grunted in affirmation.
"Yeah. I know who the ghost is. Don't worry about it," he replied. The room began to settle down in the wake of that, people returning to their seats.
"So what do we do with Charon back, then?" Susie asked.
"Let people in the settlements and towns around the Wasteland know that a part of the Wanderer's group is back, that he's on our side," Lucas responded. "And keep doing what we've been doing. Run water, protect ourselves from raiders," he concluded, before changing topic. "How's Amata holding up?" Susie smiled at that.
"Miserable, but she's ok. Ready to be done with the pregnancy thing," she replied. That caught Charon's attention.
"Wait…Amata, the kid's old girl? She's pregnant?" Susie raised her eyebrow at him.
"Yeah. Five months now. Didn't you hear?"
"I've been a bit preoccupied in Baltimore to keep track of the kid's sex life," Charon replied, drawing laughter from the group.
The first Vertibird returning from Aberdeen landed on the pad the Brotherhood had built outside of the Citadel. Touching down, the back ramp into the cargo hold began to lower. In it stood six suits of power armor, immediately recognizable in their design inspirations and yet utterly different from the T-45d armor the Brotherhood on the East Coast had taken to wearing. It was bulkier, more menacing looking than their armor. Sarah let out and appreciative whistle at the sight of it. Gallows had not been exaggerating at all. From next to her, Colvin spoke up.
"Is it all being brought here?" he asked, yelling over the Vertibirds rotors. Sarah shook her head and looked at Colvin.
"No. A lot of the Vertibirds are returning to Adams and unloading there," she replied, a team of Scribes moving to begin the process of wheeling the armor out of the cargo bay on the pallets it had been loaded on.
"This will change how well we can patrol. Any word on what kind of weapons they got up there?" Colvin asked.
"Lots of energy weapons, AER pattern laser rifles. Standard issue in the US Army before the Great War. Enough to equip the entire chapter," Sarah explained. Colvin smiled at that.
"Be good to get my hands on a proper laser rifle again."
John stood in a group of revelers packing the downtown of the Boneyard for New Year's Eve. He had never been part of, or even seen, such a mass of humanity in his life. It was at once both utterly alien and reassuring. Above them, the clock counted down the remaining minutes until 2282 began. He looked over, to where Emily and Bonzo stood. The old trader had accepted John's invite to come out and celebrate the New Year, as well as catch up with his old traveling partner. The trader had a flask in his hand, occasionally sipping from it, the drink smelling like whiskey. Around them, the crowd grew louder as one. John looked up to the clock, seeing it counting down the final seconds.
5-4-3-2-1-Happy New Year! The crowd yelled in unison, fireworks going off in the distance. John smiled at his friends, pulling Emily into a quick embrace and slapping Bonzo on the shoulder.
"Happy New Year, you two. Thanks for everything," he said, being met with smiles in return. Around him, he heard the crowd begin singing.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?" John recognized the tune, joining into the tune. As he did, he thought of home, of the Capital and Amata, and a feeling of peace came over him. He would see them again, within a few months. And that could carry him through.
It was the middle of the night in the Capital Wasteland, and Elder Lyons sat in the chair of his private study, quietly staring into the middle distance. His breath grew labored as his eyes focused on nothing, memories of the past rushing through his mind. The day he took his oath as a Knight. Being ordered to lead the expedition east. Sarah being born. Being made an Elder. His wife passing away. It was her face, and that of Sarah's, that Owyn Lyons thought of as he closed his eyes for the last time.
January 1, 2282
John sat in the cafeteria in the Boneyard, Emily across from him, his head mercifully not throbbing. It was the first New Year in some time that John hadn't gotten monumentally drunk for, and he found it to be a pleasant change. He and Emily were quietly eating and chatting with one another when the door to the cafeteria burst open and a flustered looking Follower burst in.
"PRESIDENT KIMBALL IS DEAD!" he yelled, drawing a gasp from the room. Cries of disbelief went up as the PA in the hospital came to life, playing what was obviously a radio broadcast.
"And again, the top story of the hour, and of the day: President Aaron Kimball, decorated General and former Governor from the Hub, has been assassinated at Hoover Dam, in what at this hour appears to have been an attack by Caesar's Legion. We will stay with this story through the day as more information from the Mojave comes in…" John looked across at Emily, who looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
"Holy shit, Kimball's dead…" she trailed off.
"What now, then? What happens to the NCR?" John asked.
"The Vice President takes office as President…but the effect this will have on the troops in the Mojave, on the NCR. The Legion killed the President right in front of them…" Emily said, the shock still in her face.
Sarah woke to knocking on her door. Opening it, she found Scribe Rothchild and Paladin Colvin facing her. A confused look crossed her face.
"What is it, Rothchild? What time is it?" she asked. Rothchild looked as if he didn't know how to say what he had come to say.
"Sarah, I'm sorry…it's your father. He's gone. We found him in his room a few minutes ago. He died in his sleep, peacefully…" he answered, as Sarah rocked back in shock, her eyes going wide. Colvin quickly stepped forward to catch her, pulling Sarah into an embrace. She quickly shrugged Colvin off, composing herself and looking at Rothchild.
"He didn't suffer?" she asked. Rothchild vehemently shook his head.
"No. From what we can tell, he was sitting in his office and his eyes just closed," Rothchild explained. Sarah nodded.
"What now, then?" she asked, a steely tone in her voice. Rothchild looked at her in surprise.
"Sarah, if you need time to grieve…" he started, before she interrupted.
"The Brotherhood has to come first. What do we do now?" Rothchild composed himself for a moment before responding.
"It's a formality, but the senior officers will meet to select a new Elder. They're going to elect you, Sarah. You'll be the next Elder of this chapter. Word has already been transmitted to Lost Hills that your father has gone. The rest of the chapter will be informed this morning at first call." Sarah took a deep breath before accepting it.
"Very well. Let me dress and I'll join you. I'd like to say goodbye to my father in private," she said, being met with silent acquiescence from the two men. Only when the door closed did she drop her guard and put her face in the palm of her hands, the loss fully hitting her.
So sorry about that super long absence if you guys are still reading this. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Finally starting to insert things that will become important in the future. Let me know what you think!