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The low whine of a fusion car engine reached the ears of the MP's standing guard at the entrance of Vault 115. They recognized the High Marshal's personal armored car as soon as it pulled into the driveway.
"High Marshal!" The soldier saluted Stern in greeting at the checkpoint. "Welcome back."
"As you were, soldier." The High Marshal said with a nod, motioning for his driver to head on in.
They drove into the open doors of the vault and parked up into the motor pool. The last time Stern visited Vault 115 was a little over two decades ago, when Elysion was barely starting out as a settlement. So much had changed since then, both in the case of the city and the vault itself. When the vault-dwellers left their underground home to start rebuilding civilization on the surface, the living districts were remade into laboratories and testing centers for the Dominion's arms development programs.
Only one part of Vault 115 remained unchanged. The nexus of the Dominion's genetic-modifications program, Project Achilles, and the birthplace of the nation's super-soldier hybrids. Once upon a time, the hybrids were created to serve the vault's need for a new generation of evolved humans capable of withstanding the harsh new world born from nuclear fire, even thrive on it.
Now, at the behest of their leader, the Dominion's brightest minds had explored yet another uncharted territory in the science of genetic manipulation. And if it proved to be a major breakthrough, their work would lead to the possible discovery of immortality. Knowing the potential applications of Dr. Holiday's research into live-patient bio-transference, the bishops were excited to begin working. Their eagerness was born out of a fervent belief that once again they would be making history.
Dr. Holiday, however, was not as optimistic as his peers.
"High Marshal, welcome." He greeted as he met with Stern in private. The Cerberian guardsmen stood by outside the room as ordered by the High Marshal. Within the seclusion of his office, the scientist felt it was safe to share his knowledge of the risks involved with the procedure they would be performing on him. "We have our facilities and staff on standby, we are ready to begin the procedure on your order."
"And?" Stern crossed his arms, "You didn't call me aside unless you've got something else other than the usual orientation. So, out with it, doc."
Holiday reflected on the months he spent working on perfecting the procedure, the breakthroughs and the failures alike. Hundreds of test-subjects, both animal and human subject pools. More than half ended up having their heads put into a blender, literally lobotomized as a result of the procedure. "The procedure involves mapping out the human brain, sir. It's a complex structure, a multi-platformed labyrinth built up by layers upon layers of an individual's consciousness, which is putting it mildly. Everything comes into play here. Personality, memories, the very soul. All of it, to be mapped, copied and reprinted onto a blank slate."
"You've done it before with those brains in the jars. Why is it so difficult in this case?"
"They are an exception, sir." Holiday explained, "Because those brains were kept in a static state, courtesy of a technology now forever lost to us. When we woke them up to create the hybrids, this resulted in their deterioration and their subsequent termination. A live-subject continuously builds upon its pre-existing framework, creating the phenomena of thought, storing memories and adopting new traits. These are the complexities, the everchanging variables that are difficult to transfer into a hybrid body. This is why the probability of this procedure's success has been reduced to a disconcerting 68 percent."
"That's the best you can do?" Stern asked, frowning slightly upon hearing the news.
"I fear this is beyond us, for we are limited by the technology of our time."
"Time? Time, Dr. Holiday? That is something I don't have. Not anymore. " The High Marshal said, "I've heard your concerns, and while I appreciate your willingness to share them with me, I will proceed with it nonetheless."
It wasn't that he had nothing to lose. On the contrary, Stern had everything to lose if he died. The High Marshal had no heirs, nor any designated replacement should he leave his seat of power in any way. It was almost as if he believed he would live forever. And yet, he couldn't, unless the bio-transference proved to be a success.
Stern was, in his own special way, a gambler. With this venture, he was going all in.
"Then you must understand this, High Marshal." Holiday said, realizing that Stern wasn't backing down at any point in the conversation. "What we're doing to you, it's not a process of consciousness transference. It's merely extracting a clone personality template and imprinting it into a new body."
"So, you mean to say that I'm going to die either way?"
"Yes sir."
"But my...replacement. He would live in my stead, so to speak?"
The scientist nodded, staying silent to let the High Marshal have his moment to let the news sink in.
"Hmm." Stern growled, "I see. Well then, let's get on with it. No use letting this whole business drag itself on."
"Understood, sir." Holiday acknowledged, "If you'll follow me, I'd like to introduce you to someone."
Leading the High Marshal into an elevator to take him further underground, Dr. Holiday informed the staff ahead of them to begin preparations for their leader's ascension. Stern was brought into the same lab where Gavin West, the first of the hybrids, was born. There, he was given his first look at the body he would have his personality template imprinted on.
"So." Stern said as he peered through the glass lid at the pale face sleeping peacefully within. "This is the one? The body I will have my consciousness transferred to?"
"Copied, High Marshal." Holiday corrected, "For obvious reasons, we require you to be alive and awake throughout the procedure, otherwise it will result in unwanted complications."
"Sir, your coat please." A nurse beckoned for the old man to remove his jacket.
Later, she helped him get settled into the scanning machine, which looked like a smaller version of a medical MRI scanner. This was the second version of Holiday's CSID, the machine capable of mapping out a subject's brain and imprinting it on another. The imprinting process, due to years of gradual improvements, had been streamlined and made less complicated than its previous iterations.
"Lie still now, sir." Holiday said, urging him to get comfortable on the bed. "This will take a while."
"Holiday, tell me honestly, what happened to the failed test-subjects?" Stern inquired.
The scientist paused before answering, "They became little more than living vegetables, sir. We had to explore every alternative, and there were a lot of unforeseen mishaps. Some of them just unraveled."
The testing pools were largely made up of whole populations of convicted enemies of the state. Raiders, cannibals, murderers and rapists. The Dominion wasted nothing, and even the worst of humanity were given a chance to contribute to society, regardless of how much that contribution demanded of them. Their deaths were inconsequential, "68 percent, huh?"
The CSID emitted a loud whine as it started scanning Stern's brain.
Holiday glanced down at the High Marshal as he tapped at the keys on his pip-boy. "If I told you that the minor variable involved may bump it up to 70, such as your brain's unique neural framework, would it help ease your fears?"
"A bigger number's always a good sign."
Five hours later, the machine powered down and uploaded the neural map taken from Stern's head. Dr. Holiday and his team turned their attention to the encapsulated body lying just a few feet away from the CSID. With a gentle tug on a small lever, Holiday had the machines roll the capsule out of its docking area and onto the observation deck.
Having finished with his part in the bio-transference procedure, Stern donned his jacket and approached the birthing pod with the team.
It took a total of twelve minutes before the hybrid gained consciousness. He squinted and shielded his eyes as though the light of the facility hurt him. Gradually, he adjusted to the cold and sterile environment around him, then climbed out of the pod. The team at Project Achilles had assisted in the birth of a hundred hybrids over the course of the Dominion's reign in Middle Texas, but Stern's case was different.
The two Sterns faced each other. One was an old and battle-scarred man, the other was a newborn titan. Neither greeted the other as strangers, as both were by all accounts the same person.
"Fascinating." They said at the same time, sharing a hearty laugh at how their thoughts were at the same wavelength.
The older Stern turned to Dr. Holiday, "Doc, give this man some clothes. He's coming with me."
The doctor knew better than to insist on performing the routine checkup procedures that customarily followed the birth of a hybrid. He took on the task of documenting the accomplishment personally, then released the hybrid into Stern's care.
Building and holding Liberty Point was not without its challenges.
Apart from the blistering heat of the desert sun, the oft poisonous atmosphere and the unyielding dead soil beneath their feet, the Dominion soldiers protecting the settlement faced numerous raids from the Scarbrand Badlanders. Fortifying the walls proved to be a game-changer as attempts at scouting out nearby points of interests were stalled as teams were harassed by enemy snipers.
The Badlanders, much to the Dominion's annoyance, had excellent marksmen. The longer the asymmetrical war they fought against the raiders, the more casualties they took, the lower overall morale went.
It became rather clear to Lt. Weiss that they needed to switch tactics. The Badlanders weren't like the Lexxers. They were smarter, better disciplined and weren't limited to a singular base of operations. Their outposts were scattered across the Corpse Coast, and were interconnected by a crude but functional network of supply and communication lines.
Their advantage over the superior firepower of the Dominion was the knowledge of the land, its hidden passages and resource points. Feinting and withdrawing, as guerillas were wont to do, the Badlanders became an increasingly painful thorn in the Dominion's side. Hope turned her attention to mustering together the auxiliaries recruited from the non-citizens within Liberty Point.
One of them was Autumn, who proved to be a natural sharpshooter and excellent tracker. What's more, she knew about the Corpse Coast just as much as the Badlanders, and her skills helped her in guiding the rooks to uprooting one Badlander outpost after another for the next subsequent weeks. With her involvement in the Dominion's endeavors, relations between the locals and their outlander benefactors slowly improved over time.
Unfortunately for the Dominion, the Badlanders weren't the only ones seeking to fill the power vacuum left behind by the Lexxers. The Cult of Reshapened, who up until then remained at the deadzone of the Niner, started crawling out of the perpetual radioactive cloud that blanketed the region. They came at one particularly quiet night, when the horizon's yellowish-green radioactive aura glowed brighter than usual.
The Dominion soldiers had just returned from a successful mission and were exhausted after a long day. They rotated back to Liberty Point to lick their wounds, rest up, then head out to do the whole thing all over again.
That night, Dex and Rose sat on the roof of the Governor, which was Liberty Point's drinking den and one of the first civilian production centers in the settlement to be erected. With their contract fulfilled, the mercenaries were free to return to Carlon with their promised reward of 6000in hand.
"Rose, our contract's done." Dex told his girlfriend as he cracked open a cold one for her.
"Really?" The brunette tossed her hair casually over her shoulder and took the sweaty bottle out of his hand. "That's great news, baby."
"Yeah, we can head back to Carlon and get your application for citizenship going. Hope says that an armored convoy's heading out at the end of the month, we can hitch a ride with them." Dex stopped when he noticed that Rose wasn't as excited as he thought she would be. "Hey, something wrong?"
"Oh, it's a silly thing really." Rose tried to dodge the question, "Nothing you should worry about."
"Well now you got me all worried." He replied, scooting over closer as he pried for what was bothering her. "You know you can tell me anything. Come on, out with it."
Rose sighed, "I don't wanna go back to Carlon, Dex. In fact, I don't even wanna set foot within a hundred miles of that shithole."
Dex shrugged, although himself feeling surprised at her reluctance to return to the one place where it was easier to get access to Elysion. He knew it was all she'd ever wanted, to enter the gates of the domed city. He could only guess that the time they spent in the Corpse Coast changed a lot of things in her. "Can't really argue with that. Carlon is a shithole, alright, but where's that gonna leave you? I thought you always wanted to go to Elysion."
"I still do." She said, "But I don't wanna go back to Carlon. It just...holds too many bad memories."
"I see." Dex put an arm over her shoulders to pull her closer to him. He knew the encounter with Carver and his boys had scarred her. That, and the things she had to go through working as one of the Oasis' most popular whores. "Sorry I pried. I just wanna help."
"I know, baby." Rose rested her head under the crook of his neck, "I know. Thanks for hearing me out."
"I love you." Dex kissed her left temple, "Whatever you wanna do, I'll help get it done. We'll find another way to get you into Elysion."
"It's okay, I'm not in that much of a hurry." She said, setting aside the beer bottle so she could hold his hand. "I'm actually starting to like it here."
"You serious?" Dex was incredulous, "Life's shitty out here. If it's not the weather or the smell, it's the locals hammering at our door. These things don't bother you?"
"Life was pretty shitty back in Carlon too, y'know. Out here, at least we get to take part in the start of something. Working as a mercenary's hard, no denying that." Rose lowered her eyes as she stared at the tribal women leading some drunken rooks to a nearby bungalow. "At least now I don't have to sell myself for a hundred lousy credits a night."
"Yeah, but the job's a killer."
The brunette looked up at him and smiled, echoing the lieutenant's description of the mercenary's life. "Occupational hazard, sweetie. Besides, I'm not worried. I've got you watching my back."
"True." Dex chuckled, "And the view definitely helps. Thank God for making your ass so damn fine."
Suddenly, a bright flash illuminated the darkness of the fast approaching dusk, followed by a deafening explosion that rocked the whole settlement. Springing to action, the mercenary pair jumped down and raced for their bungalow to fetch their weapons. The alarm siren blared, rallying all Dominion personnel to their defensive positions.
"Alert, we are under attack! All available personnel, to your stations!"
Dex and Rose suited up in body-armor and loaded up their laser-rifles. They followed the rooks to the walls, particularly the one where the explosion opened a breach in Liberty Point's defenses. When they got there, they found several wounded settlers mixed in with the dead rook sentries scattered with the smoking debris. Sgt. Sterling called in for the medics to take the wounded out of the engagement zone, then instructed his men to man the guns at the sentry towers.
"You!" He yelled at one of the rooks who was on site when the first attack happened, "Catch me up, what happened here?"
"Fuckers showed up out of nowhere then fired a shell right on us!" The rook answered, "That's it! You're caught up, boss!"
Sterling surveyed the damage for a moment so he could formulate a good defensive strategy. The hole in the wall was big enough to fit one of the Black Bear tanks through, which presented a serious problem for the settlement. As soon as the smoke cleared, he saw the enemy make one mad sortie towards the breach. It was too dark for him to have a clear view of what they looked like, but their silhouettes were adequate enough to serve as targets for the troops.
"Dig in! Prepare to fire!" He ordered, "Someone get us a damn tank over here! Now!"
"On it, sir!" One of the rooks acknowledge, beating a hasty retreat towards the motor-pool where the tanks were dry-docked.
"Here they come!" Sterling cried out, "Let 'em have it!"
The 20mm guns at the sentry towers drowned out his words in a storm of semi-armor piercing HE rounds. The light of their gunfire illuminated the enemy, enough for the rooks to see that the invading force was largely comprised of a hodgepodge of raggedy men and women. They wore little else other than rough-spun tunics and brahmin-hide waster gear, with faulty weapons such as old rifles and shotguns to carry them through the battle.
These tramps served as meat-shields, and were followed by a horde of cybernetically augmented monstrosities. Each of them towered at a daunting eight feet, all wrapped in solid steel and barely contained savagery. Their eyes glowed bright yellow like the jaundiced glow of the radioactive cloud blanketing the Niner, their mechanical limbs sported clawed appendages built for ripping through armor and flesh alike. Once their meat-shields were cut down, they all broke into a sprint and leaped into the breach despite the rain of bullets flying their way.
Within seconds, they were already on top of the rooks.
Alarmed now, the Dominion soldiers bunched together and concentrated their fire. Blood and guts started to fly as much as their spent casings. The berserkers tore into the defensive perimeter like sharks drunk on bloodlust. No matter how many wounds they received, the cybernetic monstrosities did not fall to the rooks.
Sterling watched, furious with frustration, as the berserkers clawed their way through his men with the ease of a scythe through wheat. Dex and Rose covered them from above, but their weapons proved to be just as ineffective as their Reckoner rifles. Then, he heard the rumble of a Black Bear rolling into the fray from behind.
"Get down!" He screamed at the top of his lungs and dove right smack atop one of his men.
The M2 Black Bear traversed its gun quickly and fired upon the cyborgs, hitting one of them squarely in the chest and blasting him into oblivion. The resulting explosion killed and ripped the others into pieces, leaving a bloody crater on the ground where they once stood.
Small-arms fire proved inadequate, but the Dominion always had bigger guns on hand.
"Watch it, we're moving up!" The tank commander announced to the recovering survivors, warning them to step aside as the tank rolled out. His ride crawled forward to block the breach and served as an impromptu barrier, which the rooks were tasked to shore up and reinforce to prevent another mad rush from pouring into the settlement. Its powerful 105mm kept the enemy at bay while the combat-engineers pushed up some of the rubble to cover the hole around the tank.
More rooks helped shore up the barrier, while the medics dragged away the wounded and the dead away from the fight.
Autumn arrived at the wall with the other auxiliaries, and was aghast when she beheld the carnage around her. If it weren't for the Black Bear, the whole ordeal would've become a slaughter. 25 dead, 13 wounded. Many of the men and women who died that night were her friends or fleeting acquaintances, most of which were Dominion rooks.
Just as quickly as they attacked, the enemy ceased in their assault on the walls. And while the defenders of Liberty Point could not see them, they knew they were just a hill or two away from sending another horde their way.
"So, the Dominion bleeds after all." Autumn lamented, getting down on one knee to comfort a dying soldier while a medic tried his best to keep him alive.
Sterling threw her an annoyed glance, "What's that supposed to mean?"
The tribal woman said nothing in reply, leaving the sergeant to figure out her meaning for himself. It became apparent to him that the tribals of the coastland believed that the Dominion was superior in every way, perhaps even invincible to any attack.
"Yes, we bleed." Sterling declared, "But we're not leaving any wound unanswered."
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