Chapter 1 - Absolution
Clang
The all-too familiar sound of hammer hitting metal woke Clyde up in a very jarring manner. His head was pounding, the rays of sun that managed to peek through the cracks of his crumbling sleeping space hit him like an AER9. He slapped his arm around, searching for his old bottle of dirty water he always kept by his rotten mattress on the floor. Instead of gulping down a refreshing dose of radiation, Clyde managed to knock his bottle over and spill most of his drink. The whole town must have been drinking last night, Clyde never experienced a New Year's Party before in his life. He didn't know that people still kept track of the date. There was no question as to who was the source of that racket. Even after a night of alcohol it was no surprise that old Eli was already back to work so early in the morning. As grateful as Clyde was that Eli had employed him for nearly a year now, he couldn't help but wish Eli took more days off.
Clang
"Damn." Clyde sat up and held onto his head, the hangover making him feel like his whole brain might fall out. He couldn't help but think about his past, his body wasn't what it used to be. During his prime, he would drink twice as much after taking a good dose of Psycho and Buffout. Back then, there was no hangover. Just the itch for more chems once they finally wore off. Never healthy to think about the past, Clyde thought. That brings back the screams of Wastelanders as they witnessed their safe haven be burned to ashes. The terrible laughs his raider comrades would scream out as they opened fire on innocent families. The face of his own brother after he was-
Clang
That's it, Clyde thought, I need to go ask him to wait. Clyde knew it was a near-futile task to get Eli to stop working. The only man that Clyde knew could hammer his way through a radstorm. He really looked up to Eli for that quality, most wastelanders would hide in the face of adversity. Eli could practically hammer his way through any challenge, and if he couldn't do it he could program a Mr. Handy to do it for him.
Clyde raised his arm to check his Pip-Boy, the bright screen making him squint. To nobody's surprise, he didn't have any signs of being well-rested. In fact it looked as if the alcohol in his body was still affecting him. He checked his H20 and FOD tabs, not on the brink of death by any means but not doing too well either. Perhaps that old squirrel on a stick would finally come in handy. He downed what little bit of water there was left in his bottle and forced himself up. Too bad Fixer couldn't cure his hangover.
Clyde stumbled out of his room and into the garage, if it could be called that. Half of the garage had collapsed in on itself long before Clyde arrived into town and anyone who wanted to work was restricted to a small length along the side. It was enough to fit a workbench but the many tiny scars on Clyde's side were a reminder of the burnt out vehicle taking up most of the garage space, pieces of sharp metal poking all throughout. It was a miracle anything got done in here, Clyde thought.
"I didn't expect to see you up so early after last night." Eli remarked. His scratchy voice matched his old, dark face and gray, scraggly beard. The classic example of a Wasteland engineer who could jury rig anything to working condition. There wasn't a problem Eli couldn't fix, maybe for the sole exception of learning to take a break.
"Hard to sleep over all that banging." Clyde shot back. Clyde's dark, weathered skin and short messy hair convinced many in town that he was Eli's son. As far as Clyde knew the two of them shared no blood with each other, just coincidence that he became an apprentice to the old man. He grabbed the old, tattered pack of pre-war smokes and grabbed a cigarette for himself.
"Any chance you could wait a few hours before you start making all that racket?" Clyde asked as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. "Half the town must still be hungover, there's no way anyone needs a job done right now." Clyde looked around for a lighter, patting his heavily pocketed leather armor up and down.
"There's always something that needs to be done." Eli said as he took a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette hanging out of Clyde's mouth. "Yup." Eli continued. "A couple of caravaneers wrecked not too far south from here and need repairs fast. All of the mercs guarding them are like sitting ducks until I get this finished." Clyde puffed away at his cigarette. He was working on his patience, which wasn't made easy by the slow pace of Eli's speech.
"Now you don't look like you'd be much use to me in that state. I saw this morning that Vernon's shop was open for business. Why don't you get some grub and get some water in your system. Come back to me after you're healthy." Eli drawled as he got back to work. Clyde didn't respond immediately, partially because his headache hadn't ceased in the slightest yet.
"Those caravans wouldn't happen to be Ulmend Caravans, would they?" Clyde asked. "Ever since I learned they had a deal with the Brotherhood of Steel up north I avoid anyone else. That purified water really hits the spot." He took a small draw from his cigarette, as much as his hangover would allow.
"Nope." Eli responded. "Just some small-timers. Would do you good to show those kinds of businesses your patronage though. I reckon they need the caps more than any big caravan company does."
Clyde thought about it for a moment. He didn't have but two dozen caps to his name. It was hard to save up money in the Wasteland. No wonder people turn to raiding, he thought. Why spend all year working and paying off your debts if it lands you right back where you started? No use in arguing with Eli though, he was the last man Clyde would debate. He changed the subject back to Vernon's shop.
"That Vernon guy is something else huh?" Clyde said. He always thought it was crazy how Vernon practically worshiped the bombs that brought the Wasteland into being. Ever since he wandered into town from up north he took almost every opportunity he got to advocate for dosing oneself in rads. Everything about him gave Clyde the chills. In fact, if it weren't for his Pip-Boy he probably wouldn't feel comfortable eating any of the food Vernon prepared. Clyde made sure to meticulously measure every meal he ever got from Vernon's shack for radiation levels.
"I've never known of him to do anyone wrong. Ever since he's gotten into town we've been well fed and well hydrated." Eli asserted. Eli was always one to see the good in people. If it weren't for Eli there's a good chance this town would have told Clyde to get lost. That's just the way it is in the Wasteland, everyone is as xenophobic as it gets. Judging by Clyde's own past, he understood why. "Take some caps from the Toolbox and get yourself a meal. While you're there, get a Nuka-Cola for me." Eli pointed to the toolbox tucked away in the back. The real reason for all of this has been revealed, Clyde thought to himself. Eli wanted a Nuka-Cola. Clyde let out a small chuckle and took some bottle caps from the back.
"I'll be gone an hour max." Clyde said as he put on a pair of sunglasses kept near the garage entrance. The sun was already shining through the massive opening in the broken down garage, but when Clyde walked out into the open it hit him like a smack from a Super Mutant. The hangover was hitting him so hard he considered going clean from all alcohol for the rest of his life. It couldn't have been 8am yet and the sun was already brighter than a hacker on Mentats.
Clyde walked out of the garage and entered the main street of the town he had been spending nearly a year of his life in. Silver City they called it. He was never quite sure why it had earned that name, there was never a hint of silver in the dust and dirt covering all of the buildings.
"Morning Clyde." A voice came from down the street. Clyde turned to see the signature black combat armor of the Republic guards. The Free-State of Ashe Republic it was called. Ever since the slightest bit of stability hit the TarHell Wasteland, raiders and warlords claimed vast swathes of land as their own. Communities banded together to fight back, creating safer areas such as the Free-State of Ashe. Although towns like Silver City belong to the Free-State of Ashe, it didn't come with guaranteed safety. Raiders, mutants, and creatures alike would still find their way onto the property. If the handful of guards couldn't stop the intruders, there was little chance that reinforcements would arrive in time. With the amount of territory The Free-State of Ashe claimed, there were never more than a dozen soldiers in a small border town like Silver City.
That suited Clyde well, he never wanted to be at the center of attention these days. It was best to lay low and take life as it comes.
"I'm glad to see the town enjoyed their New Year's last night. It isn't common to see so much merriment these days." The guard remarked. She must have been a foot shorter than Clyde, towering over her at 6 feet, two inches. She seemed to be in a good mood, something about seeing wastelanders experience genuine joy must have warmed her heart a bit. Guards like these were usually very cold and quiet. Maybe she was just trying to get Clyde to stand still so he could block the sun from her face.
"Yeah. People's spirits have been pretty high since the mutants stopped raiding us." Clyde said. He shuddered at the memories of those large, ugly Super Mutants running into town for captives. Who knows what they do to the people they kidnap. Clyde puffed on his cigarette to calm himself down.
He paused and thought about how many people he had put in the same situation. How many families were left broken after a successful raid of his ended in the deaths of half a dozen militia members? What lasted for a few hours for him probably still haunted many wastelander's memories. Knowing what a pack of Yao Guai or Deathclaws can do to a well-prepared town, imagine a town recovering from a massive raid being picked apart by muties afterwards. Clyde quickly snapped out of it and shot back into reality.
"While you're here, why don't you go ahead and make it a law that no mechanics can start work until midday after a party like that." Clyde let out a fake laugh, pointing his head towards the garage where Eli was now picking up his pace. Slamming and banging echoed throughout the entire town, which was mostly silent while everyone still slept and recovered from their night of drinking.
"Why don't you go march on over to my boss and tell them the guards shouldn't have to work before sunrise. I can't help but be a bit jealous going to sleep early while you all drank the night away." The guard said, picking up a discarded scotch bottle.
"On my way, ma'am." Clyde jokingly said as he gave the guard a half-assed bow and walked down the street. He felt at ease, a rare occurrence in the unforgiving Wasteland. Clyde knew better than most people the consequences of letting your guard down.
He strolled down the street filled with shops. The store with no roof that sold old guns, the clothing store that Clyde swore never had a single customer, the miscellaneous store that switched owners more often than a chem addict switched their chem of choice. Many of the shop owners would normally open soon after daybreak, but the mood was different today. Everyone was relaxed, there was no rush to open up so quickly. Not like there would be any customers. In the distance he could clearly see the bright sign of Vernon's Shack. The 'Bestfood Cafe' sign was always one that amused Clyde. What's so good about dirty water and burnt iguanas?
Clyde walked through the doorway to the food shop, desolate outside of crazy Vernon wiping down some glasses. A few scattered pre-war tables and chairs littered the floor. Clyde kept his lit cigarette in his mouth.
"Clyde! What in atom's name are you doing up so early?" Vernon asked. His lack of hair and many teeth were a relatively new development. Must have been all of the rads he pumped into his system. As annoying as he was, Clyde thought, he probably won't be around too much longer.
"Eli's making me get to work nice and early. I don't have too much time to stick around so I need to be quick about things. Let me get two iguanas on a stick, one water, and a Nuka-Cola." Clyde told Vernon without looking at him in the eyes for too long. He didn't want Vernon to think that he was more than a customer. He noticed all of the atom-shaped decorations on the wall. Must have been a new development.
"You got it! That'll be 20 caps." Vernon exclaimed and got to work in the back kitchen. Clyde thought that 20 caps seemed like a stiff price but he wasn't one to negotiate. Clyde thought back to the days where he would take what he wanted, no asking or bartering. It wasn't easy living with the memories of the crimes against humanity he had committed throughout his life, but it was equally as difficult spending his hard earned caps on such disgusting food.
"Money's on the counter" Clyde yelled back. He counted and put 20 caps down. "I'll be outside finishing my cigarette." He stepped out and admired the town that he called home. He was ready to retire here, spend his whole life in seclusion. Was he hiding from his past or seeking redemption by helping others? Did it even matter at the end of the day?
It's hard to imagine how different his life was now that he was an apprentice to Eli and not a warlord for Balthazar. Balthazar the Bandit-King he called himself. A title he honestly earned, it wasn't easy convincing a bunch of powerful gang leaders to serve someone else. There wasn't anybody in the Wasteland who ran a raider crew like Balthazar. Clyde always felt a shiver run through his spine when he would hear Balthazar's name. How is it that years later Balthazar still controls as much territory as he once did? Imagine the countless lives still being ruined day in and day out. Clyde was just happy he put that part of his life behind him. As fond as he was with the comfort he used to live in, he understood in his later life that it was on the backs of good people. People like Eli.
When Clyde entered Silver City many months ago, it was Eli who helped him in and accepted him. Now Clyde can finally say he's making an honest living for himself. He's also picked up a lot when it comes to repair and engineering. Clyde began to think of an alternate timeline, one where he never left Balthazar's crew and continued to rob the various towns in the Wasteland. A town like Silver City would have been a perfect target.
Clyde wondered how many other Eli's met a bloody end at the barrel of a gun. The memories haunted him, although he was so strung out on chems it was difficult to remember specifics. Maybe that was for the better. Clyde finished his cigarette and threw the butt onto the ground.
"All ready!" Vernon eventually shouted. Clyde grabbed his food and walked on back to the garage. He sipped his water along the way. It wasn't the worst, but enough to make his Geiger counter make a little noise. What he would give for some purified water from the north. It's been so long since he's tasted that.
Clyde marched through the city as it began to wake up, a few wastelanders wandering around. One man leaning over and puking onto the city street. Clyde walked into the garage that kept up the loud smacking of hammer on metal.
"Delivery! You've probably woken up half the town with that racket you know." Clyde exclaimed as he dropped off the Nuka-Cola on Eli's workbench.
"The wastelanders may sleep but the Wasteland doesn't. If I don't fix this soon those caravaneers will be done for." Eli said with a serious tone. He grabbed the Nuka-Cola and smacked the cap off with a wrench as Clyde ate on his burnt iguana on a stick. Eli chugged a massive gulp and went straight back to work.
"Once you finish that I'm gonna need some help welding this wheel back into place." Eli said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His signature goggles protected his eyes while he slowly became drenched.
"I'll eat as fast as I can." Clyde muttered back with a mouthful of iguana. He ate slowly, enjoying every bite of food in his system. Even if it was burnt, it was better than nothing. Clyde sipped on his water and checked his stats on his Pip-Boy. Numbers were returning to normal.
As Eli continued to work Clyde noticed people running in all directions outside. He realized that the townspeople seemed worried. Something bad was happening. He feared the worst. His thoughts immediately turned to Balthazar's raiders. He reasoned that it couldn't be them, they were too far away and would have to pass many more towns unnoticed to get here.
The Free-State of Ashe was a large territory and Balthazar's gang was tucked away in the eastern part of the TarHell Wasteland. In order to surprise a border town like this, something must have crept in from the west or the south.
"Eli." Clyde yelled. "Something's happening."
Eli stopped his hammering and Clyde ran outside. Townspeople were running into their homes and rushing into nearby buildings. The guard that was in a cheerful mood less than an hour before was now on edge. She was whispering with another guard and they were looking off into the distance. Definitely something from the west.
"What's going on?" Clyde screamed to the two guards. He could see a small cloud of dust in the distance where they looked on. Directly parallel to the main road, a massive cloud was growing and a quiet hum was slowly starting to enter the air. Raiders? Clyde thought. He reached down his pants for his holster only to remember it was empty. He was busy partying last night and hadn't donned any protective gear since he had woken up.
"Those damn cultists." The guard told Clyde as he ran up to him.
"The ones from the west. I have no idea what they're doing so far away from their normal sphere of influence." She was nervous, beginning to sweat. It made Clyde start to worry himself.
"Those Church of Atom punks? What do they want?" Clyde asked.
"No, not them, much worse. The Cult of Griffin." As the guard told this to Clyde she ran back and took a defensive position, drawing her rifle and aiming it down at the growing cloud of dust. The humming noise was growing, starting to fill the entire air.
Clyde had no idea what she was talking about. No cultists he knew of posed any serious threat to the town. If they weren't mutants or raiders there was no reason to be worried, he thought. But the entirety of the town guard were worried. Clyde looked over to Eli, who was already loading his small revolver.
"Do you know who the hell she's talking about?" Clyde yelled.
"I've heard of the cultists before. They're a dangerous group, slowly expanding all across the TarHell. Never heard anything good about them though." Eli said with his same slow speech. Despite being in the heart of this danger, Clyde couldn't help but be a bit amused by Eli's calm demeanor.
Clyde grabbed a small scope left in the garage and pointed it down the road. That's when he saw it. Dozens and dozens of masked and robed figures on dirtbikes. In the middle, a large front-half of a truck pulled behind a carriage like a chariot. The man inside the chariot was a huge figure, in robes so white that they must have been brand new to the dust of the Wasteland.
Clyde had never seen anything like this before. Even when he was leading raiding parties, they wore mish-mashed outfits. As long as you had some armor on and a good enough helmet you were good to go. And the vehicles, never had Clyde seen so many vehicles in one group. If this was an ordinary raider gang they would constantly be in-fighting about who gets what. But this was different, this was organized.
The town guards took defensive positions but Clyde could see from his scope that they were outnumbered at least 3 to 1. The humming of the dirtbikes filled the air. Clyde ran inside the garage with Eli and took refuge in his small bedroom. He quickly changed into the leather armor he came into town with. It didn't get much use, but he kept up with it enough that it would give him all the protection it could.
Now more than ever he was nervous. Nervous that he was about to meet the same fate he gave hundreds of Wastelanders years ago. Could this be his karma catching up with him? He thought about whether or not he deserved to go through this.
Clyde reached into the old safe in his room and pulled out the fully-loaded 10mm pistol. No extra clips, but he probably wouldn't last long enough to empty the gun anyways. The humming turned into a roar and he realized they were right outside the town.
Clyde stormed out of the garage and couldn't help but stare in awe at the dreadful sight. Dozens upon dozens of masked figures in dirt bikes were riding around the outskirts of the town. There was no getting in or out. Even in his days as a raider warlord, Clyde could only dream of coordinating a surprise attack this well. The town guards readied their arms but nobody fired a shot. The cultists weren't close enough to get a good hit, plus there was no sense in shooting first and angering the group.
The masked figures slowly began to close their circle, the townspeople who were left outside screamed and cried in terror.
This is it, Clyde thought to himself. This is how it ends.