Wayne was no stranger to walking. He'd grown up around cars, and up until the bombs fell, he spent almost all his post-war travels in his used Corvega. After he stepped out of cryostasis, though, he'd been doing a LOT of walking. So much walking that the first few weeks after he stepped out of the Vault even his military-trained ground pounders were giving him a hell of a pain.
That being said, this was up there with the trek to Diamond City in the 'long-ass walk that rends muscle to a protein-and-lactic acid slush and turns the bones to sawdust' department. The V.A.N.S. system Tinker Tom had installed on his Pip-Boy had been invaluable in tracing a path back to his house and performing a limited geo-mapping of the forest around him, but unfortunately, it couldn't do anything particularly advanced without satellite map grid coverage, something that he wasn't expecting to have here. It was odd that his Pip-Boy couldn't locate him, but maybe it was somewhere that Vault-Tec hadn't bothered to map, unlikely as that possibility seemed. Wayne noted sourly that it wouldn't be the first time Vault-Tec had betrayed him- only fair that their withered husk would do so from beyond the grave.
He'd spent the better part of sunshine trekking around the woods, trying to find any footpaths or travelling lanes, but so far, little luck. He found some old, dilapidated structures, almost ancient in their architecture and design, yet with influences from what seemed to be multiple cultures. Not that he was the expert; his uncle had been an architectural history major, whereas Wayne had stuck to being a grunt, and later, a Veterans Affairs employee. No college degree needed there. Regardless of their origins, the buildings were uninhabited, and had been for far longer than Wayne had been alive- no signs of life anywhere.
Wayne took a seat on a rock outcropping and opened his canteen, taking a long swig of purified water that he'd kept in the fridge for emergencies. The fridge had no power now, so he probably needed to head home and cook something fast before the food started to spoil worse than it already had. The fresh meat was likely already gone.
"Ah, shit," he muttered, voice harsh and raspy from exertion. "These must be some big woods."
Wayne decided the food could wait, at least a minute longer, as he leaned back against the rocks and cleared his mind. He had wanted to get away from the Commonwealth, and badly. Too many bad memories. Too much bad met too much evil on a daily basis, and something inside Wayne broke on the journey from Sanctuary Hills on the day the bombs dropped, to wherever the hell he was now. He rarely felt anything anymore without chems or booze to loosen him up, let the screws loose, and even then, it was often things he didn't want to feel. He couldn't help but notice the similarities in his trajectory to Cait- when they met, Wayne was still a puritanical, kind-hearted man who wanted to make something out of the world he'd been dropped into, while Cait was a no-nonsense addict with no hopes or ambitions for a world after the high. Now, their roles were reversed. He'd 'given Cait her life back'- her own words, while he'd slumped into an alcohol-and-chems induced fugue state after…
After Danse happened.
Wayne idly wondered if he was the only person who really cared about what happened to Danse. He'd never had the chance to ask the Brotherhood after he did a complete 180 and stabbed them in the back for making him a savage. Anyone could argue till they were blue in the face that Wayne 'had a choice', but oh, what a lie that 'choice' was. Wayne was only one man, wrestling with a giant, and like all men who wrestle with giants, Wayne lost. For all their talk of loving Synths, the Railroad showed no sympathy and asked no questions, even Deacon only gave half-hearted apologies. Piper, Deacon and Preston had offered him some kind words, Strong had said nothing, and MacCready and Cait, well… fucking chewed him out. He'd decked MacCready for that. Their relationship had barely recovered by the time he'd joined the Railroad, and while MacCready's opinion on Synths had changed, and they'd become something resembling friends- hell, Wayne had risked his neck to get MacCready out of the Gunners, to save his son- Wayne had never really been able to forgive either him or Cait, though God knew he tried. It hurt him. They were good people underneath it all, unlike him. Their fear was only natural.
Wayne never really had any love for Synths. Did he believe in the boogeymen? No. Did he care about the Institute's attempt to play God? At first, also no. But what happened to Danse had changed him, hit him hard, and deep, in a place he'd never wanted to go. He didn't fight to free the Synths because it was the right thing to do, even though it was. He saved hundreds of synthetic lives solely because the only one he had cared about, he couldn't.
Wayne shook his head, and took another swig of water. Contemplation be damned, he was going to grab a stout from the fridge and take a break, once he did a bit more trekking. He slowly pushed himself off the rocks, checking his rifle again as he resumed his slow march forward into the ever-thickening tapestry of blood-red leaves and ruddy, iron-rich ground.
Much to his surprise, however, he heard a horn. A train horn, not too far to the east. A railroad for the man from the Railroad. How fitting.
Wayne pounded dirt to the east, legs and lungs burning as he pushed through the wood in an attempt to catch the train, but, alas, by the time he reached the railroad, it was already gone. Still, that was a much better start than his original location. Railroads meant trains, trains meant train stations, and train stations meant people. That was a good start.
Wayne looked down the tracks in both directions, seeing little that would denote anything resembling civilization other than the long, winding train tracks on either end. He'd pick a direction to follow later. For now, he needed to head back in and rest. He'd been walking all damn day. Tomorrow, he'd figure out how to catch that train.
Night had fallen by the time Wayne had returned. With a nightcap of warm Gwinnett Ale and a hit of Med-X to ease his troubled mind, Wayne was pretty much out on his feet not an hour after he got in the door, with only a bit of Salisbury steak and mac and cheese to resemble a meal. Of course, without any power, he had to resort to more traditional means to make a meal. The fire outside his home was but embers now, and Wayne was content to watch them burn out from his bedroom window as he laid in his bed, half-in and half-out of consciousness.
He'd spent too much time thinking, now, and even the Med-X could only do so much. While the pain was a distant, dull one, the memories weren't gone. Every good and bad moment he'd spent with his so-called friends and allies flashed in his minds' eye. MacCready's frantic desire to save his son. Piper's determination to discover the truth. Cait's struggle to come to grips with the addiction that was killing her. Danse being confronted with the knowledge that he was the very thing he hated so much. Wayne wondered what they saw in him, what anyone saw in him. He was nobody, a dead man from a time that people barely knew, but still wanted to go back to, ignorant of all its unique faults and foibles, far worse in some ways than the world after the bombs. Kellogg had the right read of him- he wasn't built for the Wasteland, even if he'd survived it up to now.
Still, he had survived it, and this would be no different. Nothing in the Commonwealth had found a way to kill him yet, nothing here would either.
Sleep didn't come easy, and it hardly came at all. His Pip-Boy's chronometer was a bit messed up from whatever had happened with the teleporter, but he could at least tell that two hours had passed since he last closed his eyes. He still felt sore from the waist down, and like shit everywhere else. Two hours of sleep wouldn't be nearly enough to make the trek back out to the railroad, let alone to wherever it ended. He needed to try and rest.
Wayne turned over in his bed, away from the window. His power armor stood silent vigil over the bottom floor of the home, the massive, beady eyes of the X-01 empty and lifeless without their occupant. The Railroad's lantern was proudly emblazoned on the rust-black armor's chestplate, and on the right shoulder, the image of a train steaming down the tracks. Danse had helped him calibrate the armor, a long time ago, before it got its current paintjob. He'd been travelling with Wayne when he stumbled upon it in the ruins of 35 Court. The Brotherhood didn't much like the X-01, they'd been reliant on the T-platforms that Wayne knew well from his Anchorage days, but Danse had made a point of studying every suit of Power Armor he could find, learning every in and out in case he ever got caught in the field without his T-65. The suit was equipped now with bright blue headlights in the eyes that could light up targets with 60,000 lumens, a medic array that could directly inject stimpacks and Med-X into his bloodstream as needed (and, as much as Wayne knew Danse would have despised it, other chems, with a bit of modification), upgraded hydraulic systems in the bracers and greaves, and high-impact shock-absorbent servomotors in the legs that allowed him to push the limits of the suit's mobility, and a jetpack assembly to boot. He was a tank with legs that could do combat rolls, run at 25 miles an hour, and fly.
When Danse had died, Wayne had cannibalized pieces of his T-65 to upgrade the suit. It'd felt like the right call. He didn't have the heart to keep the suit, anyhow, especially when he stumbled onto the Railroad.
A dull thud roused Wayne from his fugue state. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but it had most certainly been close. Sitting up on the edge of his bed, Wayne focused his attention to see if there were any follow-ups, or if he'd just had another episode and started hearing things that weren't there.
Another thud, louder this time. From the floorboards.
Wayne opened his nightstand and pulled out the 10mm handgun he stored there, and a fresh magazine, loading the weapon and taking a quick look down the sight before looking down at the source of the noise. The floorboards had buckled a bit, and with another thud, they rose further, splintering and sending a nail popping up into the ceiling before landing at Wayne's feet. He cocked the pistol, fired a round into the floor, and was met with a harsh, guttural hiss as dark smoke rose from the floorboards and a low skittering sound filled the house.
"Great, now I have a pest problem. Perfect, perfect, perfect," Wayne grumbled, standing up from his bed and looking to his power armor once more. 'Too excessive', he reasoned, instead turning to the locker he used to store his spare weaponry. Holstering his pistol on his belt, he opened the locker and started digging, eventually settling on the old laser rifle Danse had given him. Considering where his mind had been all day and night, it was only fitting. Grabbing a few microfusion cells from a box underneath the stored weapons, he slapped one into the charging port, and the noise around him was drowned out by the low hum of the rifle charging up.
Wayne noted that he felt a bit sluggish, still. He needed a pickup. Shutting the locker, he went over to the medicine cabinet, right next to the power armor rack, just in time for something to screech like death warmed over and punch a hole in the wall, sending him stumbling backwards and readying his rifle, before firing a couple of shots into the hole, sending whatever it was screaming again and scurrying off.
"Never heard that sound before," he noted as he dug into the medicine cabinet, digging through the messy, disorganized mess within to grab a couple of stimpaks, some Med-X, and the main event, a dose of Psycho.
With no hesitation, Wayne pulled up the sleeve on his long coat and found the vein, practice and repetition making the whole process as routine as breathing. As soon as he hit the plunger, he felt it. More alert, more aware, more angry. All of the thoughts that had crept into his mind over the past few hours were replaced with rage. Rage was an emotion Wayne had become experienced at processing over the past year of his life, since he stepped out of that Vault with only one objective on his mind.
Revenge and rage were what kept Wayne going until he joined the Brotherhood, and when he left it, they welcomed him back with open arms. Whatever had decided to disrupt his rest was in for a world of pain.
Wayne walked to the door, and kicked it open to reveal some sort of creature attempting to dig into the ground in front of him. All black, with a few bony plates of white on its back and head. That would explain what was in the floorboards. Wayne fired a laser blast into its head, sending it scurrying out of its divot with black smoke pouring from the glowing entry wound, deep red eyes wide in alarm as it attempted to wheel around to face him. Wayne didn't give it the chance, firing beam after beam until finally, the creature fell on its side and stopped moving. Then, he fired another.
Before he could properly examine whatever the hell he just killed, Wayne felt something dig deep into his left shoulder, the pain barely a footnote in his drug-induced haze. Wayne threw said shoulder forward, stumbling from the weight of another one of the things as it lost its grip and fell directly on top of him, grabbing another bite out of his arm as it fell off of him and onto the dirt. Wayne gathered his thoughts quickly, dragging himself up and planting his boot on the creature's stomach as it gnawed at his arm, pinning it down as he pressed his laser rifle to the side of its head and fired, killing it instantly with a plume of smoke.
Pulling himself free, Wayne examined his arm, his jacket sleeve tattered and covered in blood and forearm bleeding something fierce. He hardly even felt it- not a surprise, what with all the chems. Pulling the Med-X out of his jacket pocket, he gave himself another dose, even the slight pain he felt when he looked at the wound now long-gone. He could dress the wound when he finished off the rest of these things. Judging by the sound, there were at least one or two more.
Sure enough, another one of the creatures burst from the ground in front of him- judging by the hole in its arm, it was the one he'd shot through the floorboards. Wayne was quick to react, throwing his boot out and kicking it to the ground before holding down the trigger on his rifle and blasting the thing until its arm lay a smoking heap separate from the rest of its writhing, screaming body. A few more beams silenced it for good, just in time for Wayne to note a final assailant in his peripheral vision, diving at him just in time to catch the butt of his rifle in mid-air for its trouble and sending it into the house through the open door. Wayne slung his rifle over his back, and reached into his boot, pulling out his combat knife and giving it a quick twirl in his hand to a reverse grip before stepping inside, where the creature scurried about relentlessly, trying to find a way out of the room, no doubt.
With no escape in sight, the creature quickly went from 'flight' to 'fight', leaping at him once more as Wayne brought his already injured arm up, catching it mid-leap as it attempted to bite and claw at his face. It was heavier than it looked, to the point where Wayne's attempt to slam it down was more of a graceless shove onto the floor, but it achieved the desired result. Throwing all of his weight down, Wayne mounted the beast's chest and jammed the knife into its neck, before slowly dragging it across, sending smoke into the air and filling Wayne's senses with an acrid, deathly stench, sending him back off of the thing in a coughing fit.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed through hacks, spitting and sputtering and attempting to catch his breath. "What were those things?"
Once the smell had mostly cleared and his wits were back about him, Wayne turned to look at the creature. It had two chicken-like front legs, long and powerful, and a thick, spiny tail. Its head was bird-like, but at the same time, more reptilian, and its teeth were long and crooked in a beak-like mouth. Wayne stood to his feet and prepared to remove the creature from his house, only to find that… well… it was removing itself. Its corpse slowly began to dissipate into smoke, the same smoke that had bled from their wounds.
"Huh…" Wayne muttered, shaking out his injured arm. He'd need to bandage that. "Not in the Commonwealth anymore, that's for damn sure…"
Back to the medicine cabinet he went, digging out a roll of mostly clean bandages and one of the stimpaks from his jacket. As soon as he injected the stimpak, he started to regret it, all of the pain he'd deferred to the Med-X hitting him like a freight train, causing him to involuntarily groan as he depressed the plunger, trying his best to keep his arm steady. That wasn't the end of the pain.
The fridge held whiskey for times like this, as iodine was hard to find in the Wasteland. Wayne had a half-empty bottle, and he'd probably use another half of that on a wound this bad. Ripping off a length of bandage and placing the remains of the roll in his teeth, he grabbed the whiskey, pulled the top, and started to pour, thankful that he at least had something to bite down on. The pain was immense, but that meant it was working, in his experience. Once he'd given the alcohol a bit of time to seep in, he took the bandage and wrapped his forearm, throwing the tattered remains of his sleeve on the floor. He'd deal with that later. The bandages were clean enough for his liking, but he poured a bit of whiskey on them to soak, just in case. With that done, he capped the whiskey and put it back in the fridge, before throwing his coat off to the floor and going back to the door, shutting and locking it. He doubted he'd have any more visitors tonight, but he also doubted he'd be doing much sleeping after that little experience. Still, it was worth a try.
Wayne went back to his bed, and took a seat with a long, deep sigh. Wherever he was, it wasn't going to be a walk in the park to get back home- whatever those things were would likely make sure of that.
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Morning came after fitful rest, but thankfully, the only thing that interrupted it was Wayne's erratic body clock. No more animal attacks, no more gunfire, just the morning sun beating down on his face through his open window.
He'd resolved to get on those damn train tracks, maybe even hitch a ride on a train, but that raised a problem- the train wasn't gonna stop in the middle of the woods. He could walk to one end or the other of the tracks, yes, but there was no telling how long the walk was from one end of the rails to the other. The better bet was to jump on the train, but at that speed, he'd get his arm ripped off even trying.
Not if he had his power armor on, though.
Making a marker on his Pip-Boy to his home, he turned on V.A.N.S. again. With the train, he'd probably be able to chart out most of these woods just passing through, which would make it easy to find his home again once he'd found a way back to the Commonwealth. Then, he turned on the armor. He had plenty of fusion cores stocked up- at least four dozen, considering they were hard to come by in Far Harbor compared to the Commonwealth- and the one in the suit was almost brand new, so getting to the train would hardly cost him anything.
Stepping into the X-01, Wayne watched the suit power up, HUD lighting up a bright white and bringing up the system diagnostics. Green across the board. Good to go.
The power armor could afford some extra weight, so Wayne made an effort to pack as much extra as he could. His laser rifle, the handmade rifle, the pistol, a cut-down combat shotgun, and an automatic plasma rifle would likely cover all his bases, as would a satchel full of grenades. A super sledge and his combat knife for close encounters, and plenty of meds in his pack would make sure that he could address any wounds he might suffer, should he need to ditch the armor for some reason. All in all, 'walking tank' was now a very accurate descriptor.
The door wasn't big enough for the X-01, so Wayne went out the same way he brought the suit in- the second floor. Jumping onto the forest floor, he set off in the direction of the train again, his vitals popping into view on his HUD. So far, so good. About a twenty to thirty minute hike to his objective, then, the wait for the train. Once it arrived, grab a hold and hang on. The suit had more than enough strength and mass to keep him aboard.
When he reached the rail line, there was no train in site, much like he figured. To kill time, he pulled up the audio player on the HUD. MacCready had given him that holotape before he left for Far Harbor.
The tape began to play the opening notes of Fleetwood Mac's The Chain, and Wayne smiled. He remembered the song. It was one of his old man's favorites. After 200-odd years, Wayne was pleasantly surprised that he remembered it, or that MacCready even knew it.
As the song reached its first chorus, Wayne wondered what MacCready would say if he were here. No doubt he'd be far more freaked out about being lost God-knows-where than Wayne was, hell, he'd probably break his no-swearing rule. Piper would be freaked out too, but also sort of excited to explore it. Hancock would probably be too high to care, which, honestly, was about how Wayne wanted to feel about it. Curie would probably be grabbing every leaf and piece of flora for 'study' that she could, Strong would be looking for more of those animal things to kill, Preston would be worrying himself sick over the Minutemen in his absence, Cait would be wherever the fuck Strong was, and Danse-
Wayne wasn't sure what Danse would do. Probably help Wayne rally them all together, get an idea of what to do, and move forward. He'd probably suggest catching the train, himself.
Not that Wayne would ever know.
He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, imagining the conversations that would and wouldn't happen as his travelling companions debated what the hell to do, but the song had long ago ended, and he was currently at the tail end of Rhiannon. Man, MacCready knew his stuff. He also could see, off in the distance, an approaching train.
"Alright, then. Here we go," he said, psyching himself up a little bit. The jetpack was fueled, the servos were fully functional, and he was ready to roll. As if on cue, the next song came on- Hair of the Dog.
"Okay, RJ, okay. We're gonna have to talk more about this," Wayne muttered appreciatively, bobbing his head along with the guitar riff as he watched the train approach. "You got this, Wayne… you got this." Taking a few tentative steps back, he readied himself for the jump. He'd never done anything like this before, the closest he'd come to this sort of stunt was jumping out of a Vertibird, which was its own kind of crazy, but the point stood- trying to jump onto a speeding train was probably the dumbest idea he'd had in a long time. Not really much time to back out now, though.
Once the train was close enough, Wayne fired up the jetpack, and started running, before throwing all of his weight into a jump, flying towards the train at full speed. He barely managed to avoid smashing into the cars, sailing into the space between a fuel tank and some kind of coal car, grabbing the bars that held the former in place to keep himself from flying to the other side of the train and firing his Jetpack to reduce his momentum as he swung around the bar and landed on the side of the fuel car, only a thin foothold separating him from a painful landing at what had to be at least 100 miles an hour.
Wayne let out a sigh of relief as he turned towards the front of the train, tightening his grip on the bar in his hand and watching the forest pass him. "Now," he said, "let's see who got the trains running again."