AN: Still here? Great! It means you found the courage to read. Hopefully it stays that way.
As for me? Not doing good. I just realized how many taboos I'm gonna have to break to make the story work and come up with explanations for them (wonderful!), which will probably earn me death threats or something. Oh well, if it fails, at least I'll learn something from it, right?
Moving on.
Supreme Commander and President for Life, Dave, was hardly a person easy to live with, as his wives Rosie and Jessica could attest. He ruled with an iron fist the moment he "inherited" his father's kingdom and was wary of outsiders, except merchants, of course, because of something he called "public relations", a term nobody in the Republic of Dave knew anything about. The only time they ever trusted a visitor was some time ago, when a wandering youth stumbled upon their farmstead (a term Dave prohibited using, as his Republic didn't go past the shoddy makeshift fence around them, thus it would make him look bad) by pure coincidence. Ironically enough, it took that one lost soul to overthrow Dale and replace him with Jessica, his second wife, though the revealed much later. Dave hoped, nay, expected to win the election (also something the youth came up with). It was a Republic. His Republic. And in it, he was the ruler. It was so logical.
But they had to vote for Jessica, didn't they?
And so Dave, enraged by the betrayal, exiled himself from the republic and went into the ruins of Old Olney, which was the equivalent of signing one's own death sentence, due to the rumor that it was infested with Deathclaws, easily the most fearsome beings in the Wasteland. But when he came there, all he found was their corpses. Someone came and killed them all. He made a mental note to raise a statue in the honor of the mysterious stranger who defeated the enemies of the New Republic of Dave.
Two weeks into his exile and he already began feeling lonely. He missed his regular fun nights with his two wives. He missed that dumb farmer boy whose name he hardly remembered. He missed his home, his thirty-square-meters of paradise Could he, the ex-Supreme Commander and President for Life, been wrong? It was a question he began asking himself. After all, there had to be a reason why they all voted for Jessica, even though he was the only man in the whole god-damned Republic. He was the only literate member there, being an ex-employee back at Tenpenny's. What did she have that he didn't? It made no sense whatsoever.
Then, on a fated day, while scavenging for supplies among the ruins of Old Olney, Dave had found a lonely little bunker where someone in the distant past has stashed a library's worth of books. Dave's jaw dropped. Books weren't uncommon back at Tenpenny's Tower, but none of them were in such a good shape as in that bunker. Having an ungodly amount of free time, as nobody in their right mind wanted to get close to that place, David took it upon himself to read the books, even if "avid reader" was a trait he would have never used to describe himself. Of all the genres that were there, he went for the box labelled "Politics". If there was a god, it revealed itself to Dave on that day. At first, he had trouble understanding the more complex terms, but the more he read, the more his knowledge expanded, even more so when he dived into "Philosophy", a term he was unfamiliar with.
Everything began to make sense. He had found answers to many questions. He understood why, for example, his old man wished for a kingdom rather than a republic. He understood why democracy was a mistake, how economy worked and all those little tidbits of trivia that made the Old World such an enthralling place. He couldn't believe what he missed out on an all his forty-something years of life.
And thus, a new and enlightened Dave returned back to the Republic with a copy of Plato's "Apology of Socrates", a book he held more sacred that the Bible, and began his grandiose speech that had eventually won them over. It took half an hour to regain his position as the President, only this time he swore on his life that he would take a different approach to ruling over his country. After all, a country could work only when it's ruler was a philosopher, whatever that meant.
When the next caravan arrived, Dave himself greeted the merchant, not one of his underlings, as it was the custom before his exile. From the man he learned that a new item began circulating in the Capital Wasteland, a type of fruit known as Punga, which was both healthy and profitable, though it had strict requirements for farming. Dave spent more than two hundred bottle caps to buy the merchant's whole stock. He gave a third of it to his citizens, a way to show them that putting their trust in him would be a good decision in the long run, then used the rest to make a farm of his own. Thus began the Republic's expansion.
In less than two months, the People's Republic of Dave doubled in size. New buildings were built; an armory to store the ever-increasing arsenal, an extension of the sleeping quarters for any immigrants willing to work on the farm, and the Dave's National Library, where he unloaded all the books he had found back in Old Olney. During that time, a small contingent of slavers dared to pass too close to his territory for Dave not to take action. Killing them proved to be a blessing, for he acquired four new loyal subjects to his cause, among them his third wife, a black-haired girl named Amy.
It was a love on first sight, as it was with the other two. There was something mesmerizing in the way she stood up to those that wronged her. She stood out like a sore thumb due to her skin tone, her deep blue eyes and short hair. Dave wasted no time in asking her hand. She accepted, equally infatuated with her significant other.
Days came and gone and the People's Republic kept flourishing. Two new families moved in and quickly adapted to the countr's customs. It was a dream come true for Dave, who was the first in a long line of rulers who had done something to expand his nation and make it more than a simple community. Things took a new turn in Dave's life, however, on a night of passionate lovemaking with Amy, an acivity that became a hobby of his.
"I want to show you something." she told him after a kiss. For reasons unknown to him, she stood up, gathered her clothes and told him to meet her in an old, abandoned shack near the fence, where they could have all the peace they wanted. Dave sighed, yet complied nonetheless.
A trip to the outside world reminded him of how closely the Wasteland is related to Hell. The air was warm and unbearable even by night. Seeing stars was a rarity the more one came closer to DC, itself covered under a blanket of clouds that carried dirt and radioactive particles for who-knows-how long. His republic stood on a convenient spot, where the animals that inhabited the Wasteland were rarely a bother, though an occasional, frenzied robot could come and visit them without a warning. Not that it was unwelcome. Robots made good sources of scrap metal.
He walked into the abandoned barracks, making sure that nobody saw him, as per Amy's request. He had found her waiting inside, reading a leatherbound tome he was sure he didn't have in his collection.
"So, what was this thing that you wanted to show me so much?"
Amy signed a page and closed the book, putting it on a metallic shelf. She pointed at a charred plush toy in the corner, said a word he didn't recognize and obliterated the object with something that could only be described as a laser shot from her hand. He gave it a brief thought before concluding.
"Alright, I'mma head out."
"Wait!"
Dave stopped dead in his tracks, his back turned to her. He realized how stupid of a move it was, so he turned around and raised his hands to his sides. She gave him an incredulous look.
"What are you doing?"
"...You're not gonna shoot me?"
"Dumbass. If I wanted, you'd be dead already."
"Okay." he shifted uncomfortably before mustering enough courage to ask, "Um, is there a reason why you wanted to show me... that?"
And then, with the most serious expression she could have come up with, Amy turned to him and said...
"I'm a Magus... or the closest thing to one. I doubt a true Magus even exists anymore."
"So, you're a... robot? Synthetic?"
Certainly didn't felt like it, he thought.
She shook her head.
"No, I... I can do magic..."
She shivered under his blank look.
"If that's your idea of a joke, then I congrat-"
"It's not a joke!" she replied, slamming a palm on the shelf, "I might not be a miracle worker, but I can do things nobody else can! I inherited my Magic Circuits, you know?"
"Well, if you can do that, then how come you became a slave?"
She massaged her temples. To Dave it looked like she was preparing her whole life for that question.
"I... everything is messed up. It's all wrong."
"What do you mean?"
She then went on one of her rants, which pissed off everyone around her, but to Dave was one of those little quirks that made her unique. He wasn't blind to the sheer jealousy his other wives expressed whenever he spent more time with her than with them.
"It's all wrong." she repeated, "Mana became deformed, inimical even. The War destroyed everything. There's something out there, like, a presence that is a cancer on reality itself. It keeps draining a world that is already on its death throes. I still don't know many things, but I do know that performing even simple spells can give me a severe headache. We had to adapt, you know? We are like Molerats in mud while the Holy Grail is calling again and..."
"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on. "Holy Grail"? What's that?"
She looked him in the eyes. It promised horrors beyond his imagination.
"Another war is coming, Dave. We have to win it, or it will be the end."
"Of what? Us?"
"Everything."
Agatha was happy.
Being a woman of her age was an achievement in itself for a place like the Wasteland, where better souls than hers met with tragic ends. The songs that poured from her radio station, those that she made herself at least, were dedicated to all those brave men and women who, as Three Dog had put it, were fighting the "Good Fight". She didn't think highly of her effort, as she believed to be far less carismatic than the owner of the Galaxy News Radio.
There were days when she thought it would be better to give up on her project and enjoy what little of her life remained in peace. Those were painful days, when she would be reminded of her dead husband, of the life she lived and all of the tragedies she went through. Before the young wanderer with the heart of gold showed up on her doorstep, before he volunteered to risk his life for what might be the only musical instrument left in the Wasteland, those days were much more common, being unable to express herself through music. She might have been alone, but she always had her music.
After anouncing her usual break on the radio, Agatha sat on the sofa and dived back into her memories, back into the days when she was still young, still unaware of the brutality of the world. Her mother was just like the woman that came before her. Brash, haughty and with a talent that put many to shame. She and grandma rarely went along with each other. Her mother would roll her eyes whenever grandma started rambling about music and how it was magical.
Oh yes, her grandmother was obsessed with magic. She would begin one of her lectures as soon as someone uttered the damn word. Tarot reading, clairvoyance and all those other things that made mother mad as all hell. Other musicians regarded her as yet another eccentric among many. Her mother taught she was just a manipulative bitch.
Young Agatha sat well with both. They liked her for different reasons. Mother liked her because she received her gift for music. Grandma liked her because she was the only person who was willing to listen without thinking of her as a daft old woman. One day, coincidentally the day before she died, grandma called Agatha to her room. She sat on a worn out bed and beckoned her to come closer.
"Never be like your mother. I can't believe she is blood."
Agatha listened to what could as well be her last confession. There was a lot of things to take in; her happy moments, her sad moments, her victories, her losses, her hopes and dreams, her disillusionment with life when she married with grandfather. Even in her old age, Agatha remembered her grandma's words.
"Fools. All of them. When they look at themselves they see the next Mozart or Bach. What I see is just wasted potential. Little girl, listen carefully. The world is gone. Its wonders are gone. the Old Ways are gone too. The torch that our family carried out of respect for our ancestors was rejected by your mother, as if she knew what was best for the family. You are the only one, child. If you refuse, our family dies with me and you will become like your mother, another wasted potential."
Agatha didn't understand what was she talking about. She just accepted whatever offer she had given her, as she didn't like making distinctions between her and her mother. When she said yes, her grandma began crying, though she didn't understand why. Mother was furious when she discovered that Agatha had inherited the Magic Crest.
From that day onward, her mother treated her like a stranger. She would force her daughter into long hourse of practice with the Stradivarius, into any possible activity that could occupy enough of her time so that Agatha couldn't delve into the "family curse", as her mother used to call it. And so Agatha lived with the Crest, thinking nothing of it up until now, many decades later. Her mother thought that she had successfully shielded her daughter from Magecraft and its influence. Then again, she didn't have the Crest, so Agatha didn't judge her for her ignorance.
Strangely enough, Agatha found no real reason to delve into Magecraft. She was old and nobody bothered to stick their nose into her business. There was one sweet merchant who brought her supplies every now and then, but that was all. She didn't even have targets to practice on. She was utterly alone.
Agatha woke up from her nap. Stretching her old body, she stood up from the sofa, picked the Stradivarius and resumed her daily programme. As she played the violin, a thought occured to her, one she never had before. What if there was way to enhance her music with Magecraft? Better yet, what if there was a way for music to develop and prosper with Magecraft?
Maybe it was a dream. Yes, that had to be it. Maybe it would be nothign but a dream from another daft old woman. After all, as far as her inherited knowledge told her, why bother doing something useful for the good of all when you can learn how to curse thy neighbor before they can do the same to you?
Agatha connected deeper with her instrument, unaware of the reddened skin on her hand.
Before Susan could enter into the ruined building, she checked her surroundings, making sure that no criminals or monsters followed her. Despite being an abandoned store in the middle of the nowhere, the Wasteland offerend no shortage of nasty surprises, from diseases to things that could haunt one's dreams. It saddened her to no end whenever she would behold a scenery, only for her mind to start imagining how it was before the bombs fell.
To think this used to be America.
Susan wiped the sweat with her unfirom and opened the door with a slight push. The interior of the abandoned building was a depressing, but not unwelcome, sight. Centuries of dust floated in the air, its particles visible on a few thin rays of sunlight that found their way through the walls. If there used to be supplies, they were long gone, leaving behind what the raider of the day thought of as useless junk.
"It's me, Danny."
A thin shadow lay in the corner of the building. It sighed as it lowered a hand that held a plasma pistol. Susan walked towards and dropped a duffel bag near a broken refrigerator.
"You alright, Susan?"
He would ask her the same question whenever she would return from her trip of scavenging. It gave Susan some comfort, in a way, using it as a sign that the wound he got didn't have a big impact on his health.
"Found some Stimpaks and a Med-X. No food, sadly."
"'s alright. I'm fine as long as you are safe..."
She would gladly call him out on his bullshit, saying that he should worry more about himself and his injury than about her.
"Show me the wound."
"Don't..."
Before he had a chance to complain, Susan opened his uniform to check his chest. Blackened flesh under his right breast made her cringe in rage. She was no doctor, but she had a vague idea of how awful it was to get your lung torn open by a .308. She was in the Enclave, after all.
Danny held her hand before she could apply a Stimpak.
"Danny..."
"I'm not gonna make it, Susan. The living need it more than a soon-to-be-dead."
"Stop saying stupid things, damn it! I didn't go out there just to see you die in front of me."
"Heh... Some things are inevitable... It's just how life is."
He wiped away a tear from her eye. She held his hand.
"I'm not important in the grand scheme of things. America is important. And if I have to give my life for it, if I have to give my everythign to offer these people a better tomorrow... then so be it. Don't rob me of my death."
"...I'm sorry..."
He chuckled, "For what?"
"For not being able to help when it mattered the most."
His chuckle turned into a weak laughter, soon followed by painful coughs.
"When our base was destroyed, you were one of the few who stood their ground and kept fighting to the end. You didn't drop your weapon and ran away like those fucking cowards. You fought until the battle was over and I respect that. Those savages may have won a battle, but the war is still going on. We still have our base at Adams. Don't lose hope, Susan."
How could she lose hope in the Enclave's ideal? It was the dream of every soldier in its ranks; to remake America from its ashes, like a phoenix gives birth to itself after being devoured by its own wild flame. If they could rebuild the greatest nation that has ever existed... then, who knows? Maybe they could rebuild the world. To begin again.
Her partner's frantic coughs woke her up from her daydreaming.
"Before I go... let me give you something..."
Danny fished out from one of his pockets a small, metallic box, urging Susan to pick it up.
"That's... a very special thing... it will reveal its secrets to you... when the time is right." he chuckled, "A special gift... for a special girl..."
She uttered a quiet "thank you", trying with all her might to not break down and cry like a frightened child.
"Never give up, Susan. You can do it. Only you can turn our dream into... a reality."
With his last, dying breaths, Danny began singing "You're a Grand Old Flag" as much as his current state allowed it. Susan was silent for a short moment before picking up the song. They sang together, until Danny passed away.
Only then did Susan allow herself to cry.