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Author's Note:
After having given up years ago on writing I find myself in front of the keyboard once again. The times and my tastes have changed, but I've remained a huge Fallout fan. Trying to start my own version of the Fallout universe has always been a personal desire but I've never willed myself to act until now. Obviously there won't be much change to the initial story as this is an attempt at "world building" but you will see some artistic license here and there. Presently I have a third of chapter 2 written that I would have liked to continue today but I have had a small snafu with the upload process and not only had to redo my initial upload but the edits I made before I posted it as well. Without further ado I present, Baptized by Fallout.
-Wolf
Edit: I'm re-uploading my current chapters in an attempt to enact better spacing between breaks cause I honestly hate the way it looks.
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Baptized by Fallout
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Prologue
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The history of humanity follows a linear path mired in pure conflict and unadulterated warfare. From as far back as they can trace through the written word and beyond, they have fought a constant campaign of domination against the world around them. Always in the name of fear. Sure, they may disguise it as something noble, moral even…but it always boiled down to a singular cause: fear.
Fear of oppression, fear of dying, fear of starving…
At first it was just against the nature that sought to hold them to a natural order. Humanity stood tall and thrust their chains away. They tamed wild beasts, cultivated the land, built where there was nothing, and rebuilt where they lost everything. They continued to shape and mold the world until they found themselves its master, at least in their own eyes.
Certainly, calamities happened that threatened to wipe them from the face of the world. Time and again the Earth tried and failed miserably, she might add…to rid herself of the plague she inadvertently birthed. She could push them to the brink, but every time they would return stronger than before. Humanity continued breaking their limits, pushing forward with each new age.
It soon became clear that the only enemy of humanity…was humanity themselves, as evidenced by their records. Petty squabbles over differences like religion and culture, and always underneath all the bluster…some type of fear…driving the conflict.
Humanity seemingly reached their pinnacle after the Second World War with the discovery of nuclear power. The turn of the century found itself fraught with dwindling resources, in turn sparking the fears of starvation, of not having enough. It pushed forward the deadliest armed conflicts the Earth would ever come to know.
October 23rd, 2077 was the day one world ended, and another began, the day the bombs whistled as they cut through the fall sky. Leaving their mark in the short history of humankind. Iconic mushroom clouds rose high, followed by hellfire as humanity began to pay the steep price of their fear mongering. The continuous infighting culminating in a brief "Great War". The Earth would never be the same.
Even in their most dire hour, humanity would refuse their end. They would cling to the coattails of Life, fearful of Death's nuclear embrace. Humans would wrench their fingers in the fabric tightly, holding fast as all they built crumbled around them.
In the span of a morning followed by days that would turn to years, the doomsayers and watchdogs were proven true. Nuclear war happened. Humanity found itself on the ropes, and it was all their own god damn fault.
Even having stared oblivion in its gaping maw, humankind still fails to supersede the things that drive them. Fear will continue to birth new conflict, wars will ignite, and battles will be waged...the cycle continues.
And war…war never changes.
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-Sometime in the year 2227, Maggie Walker's Death-
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"It's cold…so cold."
This singular thought permeates his every molecule as he hazily wakes. Ice cracks across his body as he comes alive in small, jerky movements. Turning slowly, the man comes to the realization he's trapped in some small, cramped space. His joints are stiff and near unresponsive. It feels like sludge is pumping through his veins. Each breath he takes is ragged, and thoughts, slowly trickle in the back of his head. Clues, trying to help him piece together his current predicament.
The fog parts slightly letting a name slip to the surface, his name…
His name is Jonathan...Jonathan Walker.
Flashes of a farm in rural Pennsylvania dance before his eyes, tractors, baling hay, bonfires with family. Simply good ole country life.
It's 2066, and the Chinese invade Alaska. The Sino American War has begun. It is so close to home and it terrifies him.
He's seventeen in recruiters' station, signing his name on the dotted line while the sergeant smirks and says, "Welcome to the fight, son."
He massages his forehead with a frigid hand. There's more there, trying to stitch itself together.
A dim memory of a bowling alley in south Boston plays out like a movie. He's nursing a cold one with some of the boys from his unit. They're on a rotation home to catch a break from the fighting before it's back to the front.
A new group arrives at the lane next to them, his eyes are immediately drawn to the brunette in the group. She is absolutely beautiful, the brightest star in the room… their eyes meet across the lanes as he smiles at her, Maggie, from behind the rim of his pint and waves. She looks away for a second, before she meets his gaze again with a wave and smile of her own. It was all the motivation he ever needed to get out of that chair.
The bluest eyes, like sapphires fill his vision. An old memory, one of chestnut colored hair tied in a messy bun on a Sunday morning teases his mind. She passed the bar and became a lawyer, a damn good one. She's nestled in the crook his arm while she peruses a heavy case file with frustration, pouting, hunting for the edge she needs to lock it down.
He rises above fog again, eyes raking downward. The glimmer of a gold band around his ring finger takes his attention and he sinks back down into the depths.
They married, a small ceremony marked by family and close friends. He remembers watching the shape of her mouth as Maggie formed the words, "I do" and feeling the smirk that played across his lips as he took her in his arms, sealing her title as Mrs. Walker with a kiss.
They bought a house in Sanctuary Hills, a new development outside Boston to start their lives. He's fumbling with paper instructions for a new crib, cussing because IKEA is still a colossal pain the ass. A glowing, and very pregnant Maggie passes him an open beer with a playful smile.
An attractive young nurse checks the babies as they sleep peacefully in the maternity ward. He's on the other side of the window chewing a cigar with his best friend, as he beams at a baby boy to his left. He remembers the swelling sense of pride at the snoozing bundle, and that his name is Shaun.
"I…have a kid," the words come out strained.
His focus shifts back to reality, having pieced together enough mystery for the moment. He realizes there is a small window to his cramped room. Peering through, he sees there are people outside his would-be prison. Someone in a white containment suit, small, maybe a woman? The other is a man, older than himself, bald. This one doesn't wear a suit instead he's armored, looks like a tough guy. Together they're paying an awful lot of attention to the pod across from him. A sinking feeling pools in his stomach, pulling him into one last key memory.
A broadcast plays on the television, the anchor is solemn as he reads his report. A familiar dread closes around his heart. Maggie stands next to him, clutching their son to her breast. The Chinese have taken the nuclear option, and bombs were erupting across the United States. An ungodly wail builds outside, the air sirens.
He remembered running towards the vault behind Sanctuary Hills. Keeping pace with Maggie so her and Shaun wouldn't fall behind, he wasn't going to lose them. Soldiers block the way, trying to maintain order in the chaos even though they're just as terrified of what is coming.
The sergeant at the gate waves them on after he realizes who the young family before him are, Jon thanks his best friend. They make the platform and as it begins to descend that's when they hear it:
A sound like a hundred lightning strikes, followed by a telltale cloud.
They barely clear ground level when the shockwaves rush overhead, and he knows their dream of a white picket fence is gone.
"I love you both," the last words he ever told his wife as his family steps into the pod.
The doctor said they were just for decontamination, but he knew that was a lie the second the first blast of coolant started pumping in. The world faded quickly as he had no choice but to suck in the frost.
He knew the pod belonged to Maggie now. It hissed loudly, the hydraulics groaning as the door rose. He reached out, his hand falling flat against the glass. The one in the containment suit steadied Maggie in her pod as she started to fall forward, who drew her first breath of fresh air in likely ages. It tore a terrible cough from her lungs, the force of which causes the bundle in her arms to wail.
"W-where's Jon..." She asks weakly, barely audible over the squalling babe.
Her question goes unanswered, instead the suit with their free hand begins to take ahold of her squalling infant.
"I've got him."
The way the suit says it, it lacks warmth, compassion. Like Shaun was just an objective. Motherly instinct kicks in and Maggie drew back sharply. The suit persisted, trying now with both hands to rip her son away.
"What are you doing! Stop! JONATHAN!" She cries out, her baby blues going wide with panic.
Rage floods his veins now, nothing else matters. Jon started pounding on the small portal, but he's ignored. The bald man groans and rolls his head, shrugging his shoulders. His hand slips down near his side and Jon's stomach ties itself in knots because he sees the big barreled, .44 holstered there.
"I'm only gonna say this once…let the kid go," he growls, pressing the heavy barrel under Maggie's chest.
"I'M NOT GIVING YOU SHAUN!"
A single shot rings out and she slumps back into the pod. Her arms go slack, and Shaun slides free. The suit shuffles away from the pod with his son, trying to sooth Shaun's deafening cries.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Jon turned hysteric, screaming at them, "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"
He may as well be screaming into the void. He pounded the window as hard as he could muster, he had to get out there, he NEEDED to be out there. These PEOPLE, no, these FUCKS just shot his wife. They were stealing his son for god knows what.
Maggie's pod started to close up, and the suit strode completely out of view, but he knew they were still there. Shaun's crying hadn't relented in the slightest.
The bald one comes up to Jon's pod. He sneers at him and makes a finger gun motion, mocking the wrathful father. Jon's fury intensified, like hell itself had begun stirring underneath his flesh. He was still smashing the portcullis with a clenched fist, but that bitch wouldn't give an inch.
The bastard smiled at him, "At least we still got the backup".
"I'M GONNA SLAUGHTER YOU! YOU HEAR ME!" Jon roared.
"YOU BALD, PIECE OF SHI-" He stopped short, because the familiar hiss of coolant filled the chamber.
They were putting him back under. SHIT! NO! NO! NO! Shaun! Maggie! His family needed him!
His body began slowing down, locking up...freezing. The furnace of vengeance that churned inside him was no match for the overwhelming blizzard around him. It felt like the world was starting to fall away and there wasn't a god damn thing he could do about it.
Darkness slid around him in a tight, inescapable cocoon. Jon struggled to process this feeling of helplessness. His heart ached a thousand times over, and despair welled up within him. He needed a miracle and God was fresh out.
His mind slowed to a crawl as it found itself rapidly encroached by the ice once more.
His last thought as the chilling frost settled back in:
Hell…sure is cold.
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Chapter One
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Sunlight washed over Sanctuary Hills. Once a budding, new development of nuclear families just outside Boston…now lay in ruins. From a distance, a handful of homes stood steadfast, maybe a third of the decrepit domiciles having finally collapsed from a lack of obvious repair. Rusted vehicles and fallen trees dotted the former path from his homestead, amongst other debris.
The sole survivor stumbled down the old dirt path from the hills. He could hardly believe the stark contrast of seemingly yesterday to today. Although he couldn't believe a lot of things right now. He had just survived ultimate nuclear annihilation only to have his wife murdered in front his face, and young son stolen by whackjobs. Not counting that he had just clawed his way out an icy tomb to find...this wasteland.
Jon clutched the combat rifle in his hands tightly, pausing to survey the long view before him. He drank in the decay of the new world, grimacing.
What a fucking mess...
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The pod door protested as it opened, unceremoniously dumping its sole occupant out on his face. Jon just groaned, passing out there on the floor.
Sometime later he roused to feeling of cold steel below him. It was always so damned cold. It was a wonder he hadn't just froze to death yet.
He wasn't sure how long he was unconscious, but he knew he'd had about enough of it.
With stiff joints popping, he stumbled to his feet. Jon fell against the pod that had been opposite his when his last bout of consciousness socked him in the gut. The surprise sucked the breath from his lungs. MAGGIE! New vigor found him as he cupped his hands over its window. He starred into the darkness inside, just barely making out her outline.
SHE WAS STILL INSIDE!
He hoped against hope that he might still have a chance to save her.
He pulled the red handle on the terminal next to her, "C'mon, damn it c'mon" he cursed, slapping the side of the release as if that made any difference. The solid metals stung his open palm.
The pod door whined, raising slowly. It seemed to take eons as it raised high enough for him to step inside.
Jon took her hand in his, cupping her face with other…a different sort of cold than the room around him pooled inside his gut. The cold feeling of...death. He knew just from the way her hand felt heavy in his, he knew this feeling. He'd felt it before with soldiers under his command, brothers in arms that died in his care in Anchorage...but Jon didn't want to admit it to himself. He didn't want to admit it because that meant facing…he'd lost her.
He pulled Maggie into his arms, falling into a pile at the base of the pod. He wept, he begged, he pleaded until finally he just cried in silence clutching her cold form to him.
Jon waited for hours, waiting for some sign. Any sort of sign at all that in his heart he was wrong. That he didn't know the truth. That he wasn't just sitting here, warming a corpse.
She never stirred once, never growing warmer than room temperature. Which wasn't much of change to begin with.
Jon had known deep down, the whole time she was gone. He knew it, but somehow couldn't accept it, or wouldn't accept it.
He laid her back in the icy casket, taking care to help her seem as at peace as he could. The pod door sealed with a slow hiss, at least this way, he could come back and bury her up above where she belonged. She was a beautiful, brilliant supernova that sometimes Jon felt he never deserved.
She loved summer, the lively world that they knew with all its lush beauty, and warm sun. She loved fall even more. Sure, the trees fell dormant, cold winds would settle in, and the world would became gray, but it was the sense of renewal Maggie had appreciated. The seasons would pass, and summer would come round again. The forests would live again, leaves thick with green pigment. Warmth would return to Boston. Going without it for a while, just made her more thankful for it she would say.
She deserved a spot up there...
He clutched her wedding ring in one hand as he placed the other on the sealed tomb.
"I'll find Shaun, Maggie…I promise," he swore.
He also swore to himself that the bald son of a bitch that shot her was going to die. Him, and any other piece of shit that had a hand in this.
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Jon wasn't so sure if he wanted to bury Maggie here anymore. This absolutely was not the world they had left what felt like yesterday. The vibrant, lush greenery was gone, replaced by sordid, brown death. Trash and refuse piled everywhere.
The world so full of beauty that Maggie had admired was nowhere to be seen, instead it was this unrecognizable land tainted by the distinct air of sickness and decay.
It felt like an Indian summer, the air was hot and arid. Jon crossed the small foot bridge. It had become unstable, rickety like it'd been here longer than a couple years. The stream below gurgled loudly. Jon seemed to remember it being bigger.
He walked down the overgrown sidewalk, careful not to trip over any debris. It was an all too familiar place but utterly alien at the same time.
It looked as though no one had been here in ages. Wild, gnarly vegetation had grown everywhere but as Jon approached, he stopped. He felt relief at seeing his home still standing but it was quickly replaced by an alertness as he gazed over his former street. In particular, the house that had been directly across from his.
All the houses so far were unkempt, wild, but this house, ridiculous as it was showed some form of care…trimmed hedges, or as trimmed as dead bushes could be anyway. The walls had been patched with sheets of steel or plywood. The roof had received much of the same treatment though varying tarps had been weaved into the patchwork as well. Likely to keep out any inclement weather. The windows were heavily boarded. All signs of a potential survivor.
Jon raised his rifle, dropping into a patrol stance as he approached. He cursed himself for falling for into a sense of nostalgia after escaping the vault instead of continuing to treat this strange land as hostile territory. He suppressed his urge to call out. At this point, who knew what the fuck he would find here.
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Jon cautiously walked down the long hall from the pod room. He wondered what had happened here. He already knew the vault wasn't secure, that was for damn sure he thought to himself as he made an unconscious fist.
Last he came this way, the hall was lit, bright with the hustle and bustle of the security forces and staff as they enacted protocols, readying the facility for the residents. Now, the only source of light came from underneath the floor grating. The auxiliary lightning made the corridor seem ominous.
There was no way some lone gun could have taken the whole security force if they busted their way in here. Not at least without taking some gunfire, but aside from the scar on the bald dick's face there hadn't been a scratch on him. He had to have come with a team. Jon was trapped in that pod with a small view of the outside, the whole lot of them could have been standing at the other end of the room and he'd have been none the wiser.
Or worse, maybe something happened prior to his son's kidnappers. Something that made strolling in here to murder a mother and swipe her infant a breeze. Possibilities swam circles around his thoughts, but they didn't help him now.
He could see a body in the dim light towards the end of the corridor.
Jon maintained his low profile, knowing the only thing he knew here was uncertainty. No point in giving any potential threats a clear shot at his vitals...
He approached, recoiling lightly when he realized the "body" was a pile of bones in a vault suit. They looked like they had been crawling towards the door at the end of the hall when they bit the big one. The skull lay on the vault floor, jaw agape.
Total decomposition…just how long had he been on ice?
He tore his eyes from the bones and toed towards the door. It opened with a faint hiss.
Peering around the corner another empty hallway greeted him. Jon could see clear down to what looked like a cafeteria. It appeared, as though the vault was abandoned aside from the dead, but you never assumed. Assumptions meant mistakes, and mistakes meant casualties.
Nearing the next door, Jon noticed an extended baton laid atop the crates stacked there.
Better than nothing he supposed.
He picked it up and swung it in an upwards arc, testing its weight. Solid enough.
Suddenly Jon heard a shrill squeak, followed by scurrying sounds across metal. His attention was drawn to the doorway of the cafeteria, where long dark colored antennae protruded followed by bulbous black eyes. Mandibles clacked excitedly. The antennae wriggled, and the eyes seemed to regard him for a moment before the creature came into full view. It clicked its pincers excitedly again and fluttered its wings...it looked like a dog sized roach...
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
The giant roach rushed Jon, causing him to lash out with his foot and send it flying. It landed on its back, wings sputtering as the insect righted itself to face him again.
It made its shrill cry again as it fluttered its wings to aid its leap. Jon swung the baton instinctively towards the creature. He made contact catching it in the side of the head, knocking it away from him. He heard the crack of its carapace as he struck it. The thing smacked into the steel wall with a thud and slid down to the floor twitching as yellow gunk oozed from behind its eyes.
Not sensing further danger from the super bug, Jonathan crouched low to examine it. He remembered studying insects in Biology back in high school, having observed one under a microscope amongst other insects once upon a time.
Here it was, an honest to god roach the size of a dog. He wasn't seeing shit.
"Maggie, what have I just stepped into?" He wondered aloud.
Jon had tried to open the door to the main walkway that brought Maggie and him to the start of their tragic story. The vault was currently on lockdown, according to an automated PA message. He was going to need the override from the Overseer's terminal if he wanted out of this graveyard.
Fortunately, only a handful of giant bugs had stood between him and the Overseer's office.
With this section of the vault he currently occupied seemingly infestation free, Jon took the opportunity go ahead and gather supplies. Using a pillowcase, Jon started snatching up anything that wasn't nailed down. Which honestly didn't take long because there were so few quarters. Vault-Tec had never offered a tour of the vault, and Jon was certain no one else was offered the chance either.
Otherwise people might have started asking questions about the lack of accommodations. Most of Sanctuary Hills had been offered slots in this vault, in particular Jon. At least the goofy looking salesman in a long coat on his porch one morning had claimed.
"Yessir! Thanks to your prior military service, you and your family have been pre-selected for Vault 111!"
His exact words. Jon wasn't interested at first, as he didn't think the Reds would ever be batshit crazy enough to go full scale nuclear. He relented at Maggie's behest, citing her concerns of "what if?".
"What's a little assurance?" She had asked him.
There were just enough rooms in here for what looked like the staff and security forces. Desperate people wouldn't care at first, but the knowledge of limited living quarters ate at him. It meant the whole icing bit was planned from the start, and the staff, Vault-Tec FUCKING KNEW IT.
Jon's blood boiled at the thought, "Just more bodies to add to the pile" he grumbled.
He dumped the sack out on the Overseer's desk. He had collected what little remained in the way of food from the cafeteria, some Cram, Pork'n'beans, a few more odds and ends. There were only a handful of bottles of water, which he supplemented with tap water using some empty bottles he found in his search of the rooms.
It was enough sustenance for a few days until he could get the hell out of here.
He'd also found a couple cartons worth of smokes, a roll of chew, a bottle of Kentucky whiskey, toilet paper, three lighters, a spool of wire, and several bobby pins. Each item would undoubtedly serve some type of use, whether bargaining chip or comfort. Jon also found a small supply of stimpacks, and a pry bar, and most importantly he found a working gun and ammunition.
Having took stock of his finds he loaded everything back up. Hopefully, he would find a good pack or more weapons in the security office once he ended the lockdown and opened the escape tunnel.
Thankfully. The Overseer's terminal still worked. It was user friendly enough, but Jon didn't want to immediately end the lockdown. He wanted to poke around, maybe figure out what transpired here while he slept. Maybe find a clue to help him in his quest to find Shaun and put a bullet between the bald man's eyes.
He read some of the exchanges between the staff. Jon growled as he read e-mail after e-mail. Yeah, they knew what the fuck they were doing. Testing the effects of deep cryo on the human body. Jon breathed deep and slammed an open palm on the desk making the terminal jump. He wanted to chuck this computer at the wall and destroy it, but he had to remind himself he needed it still.
According to records, they were only supposed to seal the vault for 180 days or until a signal from corporate. That signal never came, and the conscious residents of vault 111 split into two factions. Those that wanted to stay, and those who wanted to leave. It seemed overwhelmingly the security force wanted to return to the surface, and they did after a quick bout of violence. The Overseer had initiated the lockdown after that and took what vital supplies and weapons there were and squirreled them away here in his office. Guess that explained why the only weapon Jon found was here.
Jon eyed the next option down...
"Cryo Containment Status"
The thought hadn't even occurred to him in the hours since he woke, that neighbors of his could be trapped in the same frozen hell he had too. Jon clicked the mouse and brought up the list, the possibility of not having to shoulder this burden alone appealed to him. As quickly as that glimmer of hope flared to life, it was snuffed out. He was looking at a list of all the residents in cryo, and every name, "deceased" followed, a lot of those names he knew. The only difference in the list was his own name, Jonathan H. Walker, "unknown".
Jon pushed away from the screen and hung his head in his hands. In this moment he felt numb.
Numb to this nightmare that was now his life...and for now, he was alone, utterly alone. Maybe he died in the pod, and this was just some personal hell Satan dreamed up for him.
"No," he thought, "I'm not dead…and Shaun is out there somewhere!"
Ending the lockdown was easy. Jon stowed his supplies in preparation to return for them once he completed his sweep of the remainder of the vault.
He had encountered a small troop of roaches between him and his goal. Jon was tired of fending off these skittering trash disposals, so he was thankful when it seemed to be, he had exterminated the last of them. He didn't want to waste the ammunition he had found, so he opted to keep bashing their heads in with the baton he had found previously. In retrospect, a few bullets might have been a good trade off. Their bites hadn't broken the skin, but they damned sure pinched!
Jon, still high on his victory over the mutant roach hordes of Vault 111 found himself standing in the entrance of the vault. The same place he swore he'd shakily worked his way through processing with his wife only yesterday.
His first stop of course was the security office. There was an open security gate in the back of the room, inside sat a couple of combat rifles on the weapon racks, and another 10mm pistol like he had found earlier. Not a lot of ammunition, or spare mags but enough. There was some security armor as well, but it was bulky and low quality. More like riot suppression gear. Jon decided ultimately that it would hinder him versus what little protection it would provide, and he left it where he found it. A gun belt though, that would be handy.
More importantly, next to a new weapon, he found a sturdy pack to transport his supplies.
Having returned to his previous stash and stocking his new travel bag, Jon stood in the entrance of Vault 111 once more. The pack felt comforting against his spine, reminiscent of the days he carried a ruck in the army. His confidence boosted by the iron on his hip, and rifle slung across his chest. Whatever waited outside, he felt somewhat prepared.
Jon approached the big, yellow terminal. It was obvious the imposing, red button would be the key to his freedom. He raised the worn, plastic cover, giving the vault platform a side wards glance. He pushed the heavy button down, feeling it sink with a satisfying click and... nothing. He pressed it again...
Still nothing.
"FUCK!" Reverberated throughout the room.
He stepped back, starting to rant and snarl. He was going to be stuck down here with the fucking roaches of the apocalypse! He stomped and heard a crunch under his heel. Jon jumped thinking he'd inadvertently stomped another of those skittering bastards. His nerves relaxed a hair when he realized it was just another of the few skeletons lying about the place.
This one had obviously been a scientist, judging by the lab coat.
"What's that?" He pondered, eyeballing a device that hung loosely on the grim specter's forearm.
Jon knelt and picked the device up, it slid free of its former owner with a clatter of bones on steel. If he correctly remembered Vault-Tec made a huge deal over these things when they first announced the vaults, claiming they'd be essential to life down below. Curiously, he locked its clasp around his arm. It took a second, but the device began to whirr sensing a new bio signal. Green lines of code flashed across its screen as he wiped the dust off. He played with all the buttons, watching the screen as he did so. Finally, "Vault Unlock Sequence" displayed across the screen.
"Jackpot,"
"Insert Master Key," it read.
He looked at the cartoonish animation of the Vault Boy grabbing the knob and pulling it out, waving it handily. Jon copied the motion a found the knob did in fact detach from the main device on a long cable.
"Interesting,"
He pressed it into the matching slot on the console and unsurprisingly it was a perfect fit. The screen changed yet again, "Open" flashed in bold letters.
He tried the red button again. An blaring alarm sounded this time, the yellow caution lights began to flash as heavy gears squealed above Jon's head and the folded walkway began to extend out as the trademark cog shaped door moved.
"Time to get the hell out of here,"
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He had to admit, it felt stupid crossing the street without any cover. Jon briefly considered the possibility of friendlies, which meant he might find help here as he began closing in on the house. He also considered the thought of more hostiles and chided himself. Maybe that vault security armor wouldn't have been such a bad thing to have after all. Too late now.
Maybe whoever was here was indeed friendly, and maybe they weren't. Either way, Jon was ready for both.
He heard a muffled, wracking cough from around side of the house. Jon froze, this was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don't moments. He wanted to clear the house first, at least the shoddily fortified walls would provide some cover but if someone was outside…he didn't want to be caught between two lines of fire.
"Eh...fuck it,' he whispered to himself.
He'd take the single target, if anyone else ventured from inside the house he'd just work his way around the back and around. At least he wouldn't be pinned between two bogeys.
He started swinging wide, catching a view of the car port. Or in this case, "workshop". Various benches were lined up. Most notably to Jon though, was the empty power armor station.
Jon started mouthing, "WHAT THE FUCK!" Why the hell would someone have that without a suit?
Peg boards hung on the wall opposite, a litany of tools suspended from them. Shelves with all types of parts and electronics sat underneath.
He was fast approaching the corner where he heard the cough emanate from. The wind picked up wafting the smell of smoke and fire Jon's way, almost like cooking. He was starting to make out a firepit. Cinderblocks encircled a small fire, with black grate laid over top supporting a rather large pot. More cinderblocks piled next to the ring, making convenient seat for a figure who stirred the contents of the stew pot.
Jon had no idea who, they wore a heavy coat and long pants, gloves, and strangest of all, a full-face assault mask. It was odd, as warm as it was. Which made it even more suspicious. If they noticed him, they made no action which by now they should have.
"I've been waiting for you for like an hour, you can put the rifle down bud..."
The voice was raspy, like this person burned three packs a day, but it was decidedly male.
"Who are you?" Jon demanded.
The figure hung up the ladle and threw up their hands, "Pal, I could ask you the same shit!"
"How many people are here?"
"Heh, you, me and the wastes. I don't get visitors here usually, except for Trashcan Carla, ha-ha," he chuckled.
"What the hell kind of name is that?"
"I dunno, some goon called her that one day and it just kinda stuck. She's a trader, no one lives here but me, so she comes by every so often and brings me stuff, I give her salvage. It's a living," the stranger shrugged.
Jon lowered his rifle slightly, "What did you mean you've been waiting for me?"
"I guess you didn't hear with the blast door an all that other shit. A lot of these vaults, when they're about to open got these audible alarms, and buddy, they're fucking loud. The hills were ringing for like a couple minutes, so I kinda figured I'd see some people walking down the path soon, and don't say it ain't you! The Pip-boy is a dead giveaway!"
"Just me..."
"Eh, that's a shame. Sorry to say, I got a bit of morbid curiosity, most of the vaults here have usually been some weird, fucked up social experiment. The only one that seemed legit was 81. They're a bit west of the city, reclusive bunch,"
"You don't say," Jon grimaced at the stranger's commentary.
"Look man, I already made it a point telling ya I knew you were coming. If I wanted to hurt ya I'd have done it way before now. I respect you probably had a shit day but we're good here. Cop a seat, get some nosh, and tell me about yourself. I'm Benny, what do ya call yourself?" he motioned to the empty lawn chair that faced him.
Jon sighed and let his rifle hang. The guy did have a point.
"...Jon," he answered, as he took the empty chair facing his new acquaintance.
"John, like John Henry, right? Great. Solid name. I hope you like Mirelurk etouffee!"
"No, Jon like J-O-N, Jonathan,"
"Just as good!"
...well, at least Benny seemed the friendly sort.
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