War, War never changes.
Amid the resource wars, scientists pushed technology to the limit in the hopes of finding new sources of energy, and even new sources of travel. What they didn't expect was for something to push back.
Their interdimensional tampering led to the appearance of incomprehensible beings as graceful as they were murderous, rampaging across the globe.
But the spiteful nations of the world, clawing for the last of earth's dwindling resources, were unable to unite effectively against the threat. Accusations of being responsible for creating the beings were always exchanged. Some nations even planned to use the ones who'd been trained and altered to fight the enemy as shock troops in their wars against opposing power blocs.
In 2077, the last great incursion of the extradimensional invaders pushed humanity over the brink. Nobody knows who pushed the button first, but in a few hours nuclear fire had consumed the earth. Of the strange creatures, surviving tales agree that there was no trace. They, and the ones who fought them, faded into legends and scattered documents. In less than a century, survivors above ground and below had forgotten the crises of the past and begun to fight amongst themselves.
Because War, war never changes.
The question remains, though: could the people who invested so much in defending humanity also possess contingencies for its downfall?
The gunshot from that checkered jerk was still ringing in her ears when she woke up, accompanied by a soft throb in the left of her forehead.
The rest of her head, meanwhile, was resting somewhere quite soft for an open grave.
Dim lighting in the room where she lay was still enough to overpower her aching eyes. A malformed shape moved clockwise above her for several seconds before she recognized it as a slow ceiling fan.
"You're awake. How bout that."
Instinct sent her gaze twitching towards the new voice, which she immediately regretted as her head swam.
"Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out cold a couple of days now."
The swaying image before her was just recognizable as a bald man, clearly old by his voice.
"Why don't you just relax a second, get your bearings."
Her mouth hung open for a moment. The protestation that she couldn't relax, she'd failed, died with one breath down her parched throat. Seeing her unease, the man continued.
"Let's see what the damage is. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?"
—
"You…don't remember."
"None."
It was the most sincere she'd ever been in her short excuse for a life. Nothing remained in her brain, not even a fog for memories to hide. All she knew was the shock of being revived from her pod and exiting into a small room with a shoddily-dressed man standing nearby.
"Fucken miracle, ain't it."
The older man watched her out of one eye, left hand placed on his waist just above the short-barreled AR15 slung by its carry handle across his shoulder. His heavy brown jacket gave no hint of his frame apart from bare, spindly hands. He paced around the doorway to the cramped room housing her stasis chamber.
"No name, no documents, computer glitched out…can't get one simple job these days. Everyone scooped up all the easy bunkers already."
"Lemme start like this, I'm Kenyth Blamco. My whole tribe lived in an old Blamco warehouse, and we needed to give a surname for the census, well, there you go.
You at least need a name, so how about…Jean. Jean Doe. I'm in a creative mood today, get me?"
—
Jean Doe. She mouthed the words. The Man eyed her without any change in disposition, probably expecting some initial confusion.
Memories slapped her frozen body moments later.
"This is bigger than you-"
"Gonna slice 'em up-"
"I'm taking your braids as trophies-!"
The blood, flames, gunshots, assailed her in just one breath, but something remained for her to grasp.
A name.
"I'm-Lenora Wilmbrooke…yes, it's something. Coming back."
That got her a raised eyebrow from the man.
"Huh. Can't say it's what I'd have picked for you. But if that's your name, that's your name."
"I'm Doc Mitchell, welcome to Goodsprings."
The Doctor produced a scuffed Reflectron personal imaging device.
"Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rooting around there in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needlework, but you'd better tell me if I left anything out of place."
"How'd I do?"
In the egg-shaped display screen was a young face approximately 19 years old according to the info screen. Two copper eyes stared back at her. Her mint-green hair reached messily down to her shoulders apart from where she had been bandaged. Turning the projection to the left, she could see a pair of braids emerging from amidst her unrestrained locks. Lenora was amazed. The face she'd seen was beautiful. And it was hers. She'd not found a single clean mirror to examine herself in so far. She also noted that she was dressed in ill-fitting hospital undergarments, but didn't see any lewd intent from the Doctor.
"Incredible," she muttered.
"Well, I got most of it right, anyway. Stuff that mattered."
"Let's go to the vigor tester then into the next room. I've got a few tests to find if you've got back all your faculties."
—-
Mitchell's gaze turned visibly incredulous.
The whole process was fairly informal. The machine rated her well for Agility, Endurance, and intelligence, but low for strength and luck.
"Most patients don't get out of bed after being shot twice and then move like they was in perfect control. You're unusual, I'll say that."
Lenora conceded as much with a nod. Apart from the momentary ache upon regaining consciousness, she'd barely felt like her brain had been pierced by a bullet.
Then she paused.
"Twice."
"Guess you weren't conscious after the first one. Went in close to your left ear."
Now that Lenora hadn't expected. Then she remembered how the hair on her left side had looked notably shorter, presumably due to being cut away during surgery. The whole experience left her more confused then relieved. One shot was all but a guarantee. Two shots should've been overkill. Yet here she was, not confined to bed by damage.
"Must've been a defective load. What do you say we go through a couple questions? See if your dogs are still barking." He shuffled some forms around from under his chair.
"Sure."
"All right. I'm gonna say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind.
Dog."
"Feed."
"House."
"Shelter"
"Night"
"Sleep"
"enemy"
"Stab"
"Light"
"Flash"
"Mother"
"Regret"
"Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say.
First one. "Conflict just ain't in my nature."
"Disagree"
"I ain't given to relying on others for support."
"Strongly disagree"
"I'm always fixing to be the center of attention."
"No opinion"
"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."
"Disagree"
"I charge in to deal with my problems head-on."
"No opinion"
After a session with several Rorschach images, Mitchell was done.
"I don't have nothing to compare it to, so maybe you'd better just have a look at the results. See if it all seems right to you."
Lenora studied the results. They claimed she was "Hot-blooded" and a "Fast shot", with proficiency grades for Survival instincts, close-range fighting, and conversational ability. As far as she knew, that meant little. It'd take a returned memory to turn these readings into something useful.
"I'll take it, Mister Mitchell."
"Alright, that about does it. Come with me, I'll see you out."
Lenora followed Doc Mitchell into the front hall to see a bevy of items resting against the wall.
"These are yours. We picked them up in around the crash site. You can get dressed in the bathroom, so the locals don't look at you for lack of modesty."
Lenora looked over the assorted gear…
—
"I can't. Can't can't can't. Won't work out at all."
Jean couldn't help herself from growing pouty. "But Ken…why?"
Kenyth cocked his head at a derisive angle. "It's not like I'm antisocial. A Dog, I could handle. Robots, I'd be happy to have. Even a child who at least learned to fend for themselves on the streets, they'd have use. But I just cannot babysit an amnesiac from pre-war times who doesn't know the first thing about…well, anything."
The scavenger glanced around his overly bright shack, ringed in christmas lights and welded desk lamps.
"Lemme see if I can't get you started with some stuff."
—
Doc Mitchell's voice broke through her flashback.
"I hope you don't mind, but I gave the note a look. I thought it might help me find the next of kin. But it was just something about a Platinum Chip."
That got her mental ball rolling again.
—
Lenora watched Ken drop the last pieces of gear on the tarp outside his shack.
"This-" He grabbed a weapon by the barrel, "-is a Stevens 77 20-gauge shotgun. Pump action, easiest there is apart from the break-open ones. I've got slugs and buck for you. Here-" He brushed over the pistol next to it, "-a Colt M1903 reproduction in .32 ACP. The manuals are for different guns but you'll get the gist. Here's a nice armored trader shirt, plenty of pouches and basic bulletproof plates, leather boots, and we can get to the Helmet and goggles later." He swung his hand over an array of needles, plastic bottles, and small boxes with red crosses. "There's first aid, stims, anti-rad, rad killer, all the good stuff that won't turn into a fix. Canteens, ration packs, a bedroll, a compass, maps for states and counties, a journal."
"Kenyth."
"Ah, can't forget these! Gun cleaning equipment, spare parts and mags-oooh, and the geiger counter. Very sought-after. Never sell this. It'll save your life. Or life-span, that is."
"But Kenyth."
"Listen, I've been bugging my contacts like crazy since we got home last week, someone finally relayed me with the perfect starter job. It's courier work. No shooting, no hunting, no stakeouts. Some guy in Vegas wants this thing delivered, wouldn't say it until you get there in person. Probably some paranoid collector. But it's different 'cause the payout is just, it's incredible. I've sold energy weapons for less. Take the reward money, find someplace cheap to stay and look for another job after that."
—
"-you oughta have this."
Lenora nodded without thinking at the word "you" before seeing the scuffed gauntlet-like object being held out before her.
"They call it a Pip-Boy. I grew up in one of them vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you."
The Pip-Boy snapped tightly around her left arm without any additional exertion. Burnt orange text alighted on the screen.
"Wow, thanks Doc."
"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for. If you wanna thank me, do it cause I'm gonna whip up a fresh meal for you, and I think I can let you help yourself to the extra supplies lying around the house. Just steer away from the bedroom, kitchen, and anything with a lock. You also should talk to Sunny Smiles before you leave town. She can help you learn to fend for yourself in the desert. She'll likely be at the saloon. I reckon some of the other folks at the saloon might be able to help you out, too. And the metal fella, Victor, who pulled you outta your grave. Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed again."
Lenora was most interested in the description of her rescuer.
"Metal man? A robot?"
"That'd be Victor. Curious fella. Sort of odd. And I don't just mean 'cause he's a robot. I couldn't tell you much about him. He's real friendly, don't get me wrong. You just get the sense that ain't the whole picture. Just a feeling. Keeps to himself, mostly. You want to know more about him, you'll have to ask him yourself. He has a shack on the southern edge of town. Nothing wrong with making it your home too, seeing as he's a robot and all."
"Good. I guess you were at home when the guys who shot me passed through."
Mitchell nodded
"Ask around town, could be someone saw which way they was headed. Your best bet would probably be Trudy, the bartender at the saloon up the road. If anyone saw anything, she'd know about it."
After getting dressed, Lenora studied herself in the mirror. Mitchell had said her recovery was stellar, but now she was even more amazed. No trace of either bullet wound remained, and she was certain the effect would be gruesome and permanent no matter what. She hadn't been unconscious for more than two weeks either, so the scarring couldn't have healed fully. This had to be more than luck, she decided, though testing the limits of her body seemed very unappealing. Later, she perused Doc Mitchell's house for any useful items. Aside from food and a few flasks of Antivenom, the old laser pistol was the most interesting find. She jammed it into a spare holster in her jacket opposite the M1903, slung her shotgun over her right shoulder, and trudged out the door heavy with supplies.
—
"Bonus on completion: 7500 caps." Lenora whispered beneath the hot Mojave sun. It was coming back to her now. She had a hefty 1000 caps leftover from Ken's initial gift after paying for room and board. That was already a bulky load on foot, and she pondered how she'd managed to get around with it. The answer lay somewhere in her soggy memory, maybe on the road to Goodsprings, though she couldn't quite pin it down.
"Howdy Partner! Might I say you're looking fine as a fiddle."
The metallic voice was only shocking for a second thanks to Mitchell's explanation. Sitting on the hill leading to his house was a bulky robot balancing on a single thick wheel. The screen on his headless body displayed the grainy image of a cowboy.
"Victor," she muttered, scanning the scenery from her vantage point. Goodsprings lay sprawled out before her, several rows of run-down houses and scrawny trees giving minimal shade in the heat. A few nearby townsfolk ranging from children to old men had stopped playing or working the crops in their yards to observe the two newcomers.
"You're an odd one."
"I'm a securitron. Robco securitron model 2060-B. If you see any of my brothers, tell 'em Victor says howdy."
A security robot out in the middle of nowhere with an overly chipper personality programmed for him was highly incongruous even to her memory-deprived mind. Lenora was suspicious.
"Awfully strange place for you to be guarding."
"I moseyed into town, oh, ten, fifteen years ago. Before that, I… hmmm, I can't seem to recall. Odd. Anyway, it's a right peaceful town and I reckon it's as fine a place to settle as any."
The admission of a memory gap told her she wasn't going to get anywhere with asking "how" or "why". Further questioning led to meager answers: he happened to be in the vicinity of the Goodsprings cemetery at the same time as she was staring down the checkered smart-alick's gun, waited until they'd left to help her out, and knew nothing of the men.
"Helping me even though I had two bullets in my head was…generous of you. I need to get going."
"Don't mention it, I'm always ready to lend a helping hand to a stranger in need. Happy trails! Swing by my shack if you want ol' Victor's company again."
With Victor rolling down the hill, Lenora considered the scenery. Grand swathes of desert surrounded Goodsprings, mountains being the only indication that they didn't go on forever. The harsh ground was speckled with patches of greenery, hinting that the desert held more life than the heat might indicate. The main road into Goodsprings lay nestled between two large and uneven hills. Behind Mitchell's house, a more imposing range of mountains lay far closer than the ominous shapes to the east.
Lenora plodded down the hill onto the main road, reading the rest of her delivery order.
"Failure to deliver the proper recipient may result in forfeiture of your advance and bonus, criminal charges, and/or pursuit by…mercenary reclamation teams?! The Mojave Express is not responsible for any-damn-injury or loss of life you experience-?-What the molten hell!?"
Again her suspicions rose. This Chip seemed like far more than a collector's item. An exorbitant payment was one thing. Hiring goons to ensure proper delivery if the first guy screwed up indicated an even more focussed devotion.
On a more positive note, she now had a lead on where to go in the hopes of finding more information. The order mentioned Johnson Nash, boss of the Primm branch of the Mojave Express service. Trouble was, Primm was a long way off from Goodsprings. How, she wondered, had she traveled here in the first place? The answer was shrouded in mental fog.
By then, in addition to attracting stares from confused onlookers, she had reached the rustic saloon at the edge of town. Several figures sat on the porch including an old man, a woman dressed in what she recalled was NCR gear, and a few men in makeshift armor.
Upon entering, the growl of a dog put her on edge until a wry female voice snapped "Cheyenne, Stay." and halted any further barking.
In front of her was a dog with messy black and white fur standing attentively next to a light brunette woman wearing a short sleeved leather shirt
"Sunny Smiles?" She stammered. Dogs existed as little more than a ghost in her memory, so having one up and barking at her was still unnerving.
"The one and only."
"Doc Mitchell said you could teach me how to survive out in the wild."
The woman's eyes gleamed at the statement.
"Oh, I know a thing or two, and it sounds like you need all the help you can get after what they done to you. Meet me outside, behind the saloon."
A/N: I don't recall what brought me to develop this idea. Speculating about weird combination fanfics, maybe? I don't know. Freezing drew me in with how off-kilter and silly it was. The manga didn't really know what it wanted to be. There was lots of boobs and gore, teen angst, power creep upon power creep, but the author also wanted to get all smart with these diatribes about soul and spirit and transcending and collective consciousness and human nature. Combine that with the 180 degree twist involving an alternate dimension, the culmination of which will never be finished, and you know what happens when people can't stay on-track. What this all means is that there will be key elements of the setting present where possible, but with some changes while letting the Fallout setting remain center -stage.
I wrote a few chapters in the summer before leaving the idea alone. Those are what will be posted over the next few days. WATCH OUT. This story incorporates various community mods into the setting, which is also "realistic" scale instead of the game's extremely shrunk world map.