CHAPTER 56
Xenophobia.
There had been a lot of... Questionable, to say the least- experiments that had gone on before and after the war in what would become the Enclave, and they all revolved around varying, unethical things and techniques.
Some were simplistic- how did the human body react to THIS kind of trauma? Or this kind of burn?
Some were needless and sadistic- what would happen if we injected three subjects with an experimental strain of the GARGANT Virus and put them in a room with twenty clean ones?
Some were a little more calculating and interesting- how can we collapse the molecular matter of a human being and reassemble it somewhere else at any distance in the world?
-That last one was something the Enclave had tested for ages, and had never really mastered.
Of course all kinds of horrible, outlandish data had been gathered from the internal representatives in Vault-Tec with their 'Social Experiment' Vaults, which the Enclave High Command was very happy to collect the archives from decades later after the inhabitants had met their peril.
More results had been gathered from tests run by Enclave Scientific Teams within the Capital Rig or Raven Rock, or the M-100, or even Area-51 and Little Skull- and these were all kinds of things, like weapons' reports, munitions creation processes, chemical cocktails and how to use them, medical science and logistics science...
But teleportation?
Out of all these things- the development of aerial assets in the form of the VB-02 Vertibird? The re-adoption of pre-War U.S. Army ground and air tactics that had allowed them to smash the largest nation in the world back in the 2060's and 70's? There had been no teleportation matched.
Mighty aggravating too, if Laslar could add.
The Institute. Big-headed scumbags who thought it just swimmingly dapper to duck in their little foxholes of metal and shields, and let an army of robotic freaks do all the dirty work for them. The Institute were cowards.
Blatant, boot-licking, unadulterated COWARDS. And Laslar hated them like he did everyone and everything else he deemed cowardly.
That was why, as he left the vicinity of his new Vertibird, with ten of his men, including Sergeant Luft, in tow- he felt a rank stench upon the air that was the very cowardice he strove to eradicate, every day of his life.
The Institute Courser named- 'XM-988' -walked ahead of them with a triangular formation of eight other synthetic warriors- and as if to make the situation seem more... TRUSTWORTHY... (A nasty word in Laslar's opinion)- they all had their backs to the Enclave soldiers, but that meant nothing, because the Institute had seemingly forgotten that Laslar's whole team had signature readings in their helmets.
There were synthetic snipers everywhere.
A whole squad to the east, in the upper stories of one of the CIT buildings, in the Great Dome up ahead, on the exterior roof itself- and in the Architectural School to the west- Laslar didn't need a reading to understand tens of Ion rifles were trained on him and his men.
Knowing full well that scientists within the Institute facility were listening to their radio chatter- after all, this was a rather risky situation that these people had put themselves in -Laslar had already briefed the combat team on radio silence, and what to do against varying situations.
There were four guys left with the Vertibird and its two pilots- their job was to monitor, in turn, Institute communications and maintain whereabouts on all signatures in the campus properties. The plan here was to barter the Deathclaw into their posession- even though XM-988 claimed the Director of the Secession was willing to simply part with it- Laslar had suspicions that there was more at work here then a warding off for the Enclave's favor.
To him, and to the rest of High Command- a war with the Institute was a thing to be avoided, as, not only would the losses it would encur be unneeded and simply wasteful- but, arguably, by defeating the Institute they would be destroying the only resource worth taking from them- and that was the people.
The bright minds of the Institute and the technologies they had created would be ruined in extensive combat throughout their facility- and if they were ever to fall beneath the Enclave, Eden, Laslar, and every other officer wanted to ensure it would be as bloodless as possible, for the benefit's sake.
The Institute had powerful squads of cohesive and wickedly fast reacting synthetic soldiers- but they only had so many, and the Enclave outnumbered them vastly with a near 20 Division strong professional army.
The Institute would put up a fight, but... not THAT big of a fight.
The goal was the same though. The Enclave showed as an emissary, today, not a conquerer.
So this brought up the discussion around teleportation.
"-We shall commence transition procedures at the base of the Central Structure." XM-988 droned from ahead. "Do not be alarmed by a sudden feeling of lightheadedness. I've been told it passes within seconds."
Laslar grunted to the pleasantries dismissively.
All of their Power Armored boots clacked and rung roughly against the dirt-filled lots of the courtyard for the campus- in contrast to the Enclave's bulky lumbering, the synths were skeletal in their movements, limber, and silent, the only sounds they gave off being slight whines of servos in their knee joints.
Laslar spent a good minute examining one of them with his eyes darting across its spindly, white-colored form.
The synthetics were matted with stains of soil, mud, some of their armor was cracked and there were portions of it missing altogether- exposing the 'Un-Armored' curves of synthetic metal making the outer coverings for their circuit-laden interiors.
These were 'Generation-2' classifications of their models- Laslar understood that 1's and 2's weren't even capable of complex, independent thought- it was the 3's that were advanced enough to provide such intricacies.
But even as tools, as weapons- seeing the unkempt forms of many of the synthetic operating systems was a sight good for morale- at least for himself. Spoke to the Institute's limitations.
Eleven sets of heavy boots clocked and clacked onto the first steps of a great flight, leading up to the pillar-lined mouth of the Great Dome's front entrance hab- there were grand wooden doors that once, had probably been polished and well kept- and now were riddled with holes and tears.
The synthetics scaled two-steps at a time with each rise and fall of their silent feet- the Enclave soldiers had to clumsily tip-toe up behind them.
"The teleportation matrix can home in on our position inside the Central Structure's foyer." XM-988 informed them all. "Beyond the doors, we request all members of this party to remain still, as to avoid possible setbacks."
"Setbacks? Elaborate." Laslar grunted as they reached the top plat of the flight.
"Organics particularly are at risk of dismemberment if teleportation procedures aren't followed precisely. This is still a work in progress, Superintendent."
"Mighty fine of me to overhear that..." Luft rolled his eyes. "Your snipers aren't very disciplined, Courser, half them gave away their hiding places, moving from window to window like that... C'mon."
"Forget it." Laslar said. "I'm not here for snipers or teleporters. Do what you have to do to get us below ground."
"Assuredly, Superintendent, we have no desire to implicate hostilities. Merely precautionary." XM-988 even held the great door ajar when they reached the frame.
The synthetic leader clenched the rusty, bronze handle, dangled his Ion rifle by his hip and stepped inside the creaking, tall entryway- the whole door moaned on ancient hinges, and dust slithered down its ruined surfaces everywhere.
XM-988's synths stood on either side of the frame- and the darkened interior of the Great Dome of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology school and campus, was revealed as a great mass of shadows overlooking an empty wing, with an overloft from the second and third stories above.
Laslar ground his teeth and stepped into the frame without so much as a pause- his men outside, including Luft, DID pause before going in after him.
XM-988 swung the door shut and followed behind them- the old, large frame smacking roughly as it was sealed- BMMmmmm... -And then it echoed throughout the barren halls of the Great Dome.
"THIS, is the Institute?" Luft asked naively, hefting his Laser rifle in his grip, and casting glances about the dark, rubble-strewn warrens and wing. "Messy, don't you think?"
"Shut up." Laslar warned in a grumble. "Keep it low key, this isn't a typical deployment. Let me do the talking."
"Aye-aye."
"Courser, are we ready?"
"Certainly." XM-988 held up one of his porcelain looking arms- and beside a cylindrical launcher that had a small feed of three tube-like darts sticking out the side of it- he holstered his Ion rifle over his back, used his free hand to click a few sigils on his wrist. "Begin transfer."
Laslar rolled his eyes and watched the synthetic commander with impassability.
...The soldiers started to glance between the two of them, and Luft was sifting on his heels, wanting to open his mouth again.
...Now what?
Laslar huffed and went to speak-
CHSK! zzzzzzzzzzz...
-There was a quick flash of whiteness, so quick, that you could blink and miss it- he suddenly felt uneasy, Laslar supported himself with a catch of his right boot behind where it had been planted- he blinked a few times and realized he felt nauseous.
Luft and the eight other men were in similar dissarray- their armors' systems tried to compensate for the swimming sensations they were being afflicted with to little avail.
"What happened?" Laslar growled, raising his Tri-Archer from the hip.
"Welcome to the Institute, gentlemen."
"-Who-?"
Laslar spun around to a voice he had not heard before.
He gasped when he took in his surroundings.
The ten Enclave soldiers were now standing on a podium of reflective, bluish chrome- there were skeletal moorings of polished steel and silvery metals that formed an enwrapping ribcage around the podium, and supported curved panes of glass dividing their bubble from an external rotunda of wire and pipe-laden walls lining a chute descending downwards.
Thin, rectangular light fixtures lined the top rims of the chute and beamed illumination through the glass bubble of the podium- five struts of toothed pillars surrounded the glass on all sides, and Laslar realized that they were on a lift, that lowered down the shaft that the glass kept them from.
He looked at XM-988, the synthetic now standing before him, with a slightly shorter man now beside him- in a white lab coat, with tan trousers, black dress shoes- with gray hair making a messy bundle on top of his head, and the stubble under his nose being the signs of a recently shaved mustache.
The man had to be in his forties, maybe early fifties- he adjusted one of the sleeves of his lab coat and straightened it with a roll of his shoulders- smiling at Laslar and the group of soldiers he had brought.
"Director Ordy, head of staff of the Secession of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, at your service, Superintendent. A, Mr...?" Ordy angled his head.
Ch-CMM
-The lift podium jolted lightly, and then, the toothed pillars started to phase past the glass of the lift, upwards- the chute started sifting upwards too as the elevator descended. Laslar glanced at it, and looked back at Ordy who hadn't even blinked, waiting for a name patiently.
"Laslar." The Superintendent grunted. "I hear you have a Deathclaw I want."
"The Subject, indeed." Ordy nodded, still smiling- it made Laslar angry, seeing the grin. "We would be willing to part with her."
"On what grounds?" Laslar sneered. "There's no such thing as giveaways, DIRECTOR." -He used that word in a spitting sense.
"On the grounds that you take the subject and LEAVE." Ordy kept on baring his teeth to it. "I'll be quick about it, Laslar Seduun,"
-Laslar reclined his head with a bit of an impressed snicker.
"-Me and my team have very important work, projects, and knowledge that we independently maintain and utilize for our own interests and purposes, THUS, we do not have any incentive to cause conflict with or even maintain contact with, the Enclave, or anyone else for that matter.
Furthermore, that subject is quite an important asset to me, and if it means losing that asset to preserve the safety of this installation, then my hand is grudgingly forced to bid to your whim with this. Please understand, that I'm trying to set the table as to avoid any possible interaction or run-ins, so to speak, with each other in the far or near future. Does this sound agreeable?"
"VERY." Laslar frowned. "What have you contained the 'Claw in?"
"A stasis tube of our own design. Tranquilizers subdued her, and we continuously pump mitigated chemicals into her bloodstream to prevent possible struggling."
"How do you plan on transporting this freak to our 'bird outside, Director?"
"We're giving you the tube as well." Ordy folded his hands.
"Agreeable."
"We should be arriving now."
Ordy turned around as the mechanical, chrome chute outside the glass of the lift suddenly lifted away for a tube of exterior glass descending straight downwards.
Glancing over the chin of the podium's floor, the Director smiled- as he always enjoyed the view from this height at the top of the lift. Laslar ground his teeth, and stepped up beside the Director to gaze down at the sprawling magnificence of technological brilliance below.
This, was the REAL Institute.
Like skyscrapers, there were four curling structures that were lined with flourescently aqua-lit windows that splayed in the form of buttresses across a plated, curving, smooth-textured bubble ceiling of chrome, centered with the glass tube of the lift.
These buildings acted as spines down an oval-shaped chamber of massive proportions- they flowed down walls lined with more windows, skywalks that curled out and angled back into the varying levels of the walls that were entirely transparent tubes.
There was a plateau of curling chrome with thin railings that extended from the midsection of one of these wall buildings- it wrapped in a circle around the tube of the elevator lift, forming a platform for the podium to base and disgorge its passengers.
The plateau made a walkway that extended outwards to a gate on the building's face- mechanical, motion-sensing- there was a line of synthetic soldiers on either side of the walkway, guns holstered by their hips, faces staring across at each other blankly, and silently, like statues.
Below this walkway was a rotunda lower-level, lined with doors and gates at the feet of the four spinal structures running down the titanic oval-chamber's flanks- there were three large, wheel-locked water gates down there facing towards the south- Laslar noted they were angled in the direction of the bay outside, above ground, and he knew why.
Small groves of trees were being grown between each of the four massive towers in what looked like miniature forests of varying greenery and top level- there were ringing walkways at the towers' bases, just above the doors on the ground rotunda.
A waterfall was descending from inside one of the groves from a fissure in a brief hill of stacked stones, producing mist that glowed ambiently with all the white and blue lights illuminating the entire chamber.
"Splendid work, I hope?" Ordy hummed in musing.
"Impressive." Laslar said. "How far to this holding pen of yours?"
"We've kept her in stasis in the Sector-2 Labs." Ordy explained.
CHK-cmmm... The lift jolted again, metal rang, it stopped descending, and a pane of curved glass that Laslar hadn't even seen beforehand- folded away on the bubble of the lift's pod, allowing a clear step off the podium and onto the chrome of the raised walkway at this level.
Ordy gestured for the opening, and stepped out onto the walk- his shoes clocking against the metal.
Laslar followed him, boots thudding in transition from the slight bevel in height-difference, his ten men followed closely- the lift rose an inch from the releif of wieght, and XM-988 spiraled around them to stand beside the Director.
"If you'll follow me, gentlemen," Ordy gestured for the gateway at the end of the walk, down the two rows of stilled synthetic soldiers. "Sector-2 Labs is towards the center ring of our facility's chamber structures."
"On with it." Laslar nodded.
The group proceeded between the twin rows of synthetics silently- all of the Enclave servicemen had their eyes locked on the androids- they kept their guns in grip, all Plasma rifles besides Luft- and Laslar himself contrasted his men's concerns with a blank stare to Ordy's back.
The motion-sensors for the gateway picked them up- and the big metal doorway, relfective across its curved surface, slid aside on both flanks in the blink of an eye- revealing a hallway of blue walls and a bulky, multi-plated chrome ceiling.
A pair of lab-coated men crossed from one bulkhead to another further down the door-lined passage as Ordy stepped through the frame, and the Enclave men followed.
Whilst they trekked, the passage remained relatively inactive- every now and again, pairs, or threes of men and women in lab coats with blue shirts, red and tan ties- emerged from ajar bulkheads on either side of the tunnel, and they waited for the entourage to pass before crossing.
"You're not much for conversations, are you, Superintendent?" Ordy asked up ahead suddenly.
"No." Laslar grunted. "How far is this lab?"
"We have to pass by Retention-1 facilities, and after that, Sector-2 Labs will be right before us."
True to the Director's word- eventually the hallway broke for a three-way intersection, with a doorway just ahead, and, completely ignoring the passes that went left and right, Ordy stepped up to the door and waited for it to slide aside.
SHK
-Ordy and XM-988 stepped through the pill-like entryway easily, Laslar and his team had to shuffle and duck through it after them.
A large rectangular, ware-house like chamber was revealed to them- and on both sides there was a racket being produced from whirring machinery, spinning cogs, sparking wires and screaming welders. Laslar saw people walking among quads of glass tubes that had networks of robotic arms descending from their roofs that went all the way up to the ceiling, probably two stories.
Inside the pods were half-assembled bodies of varying synthetics- mostly Generation-2 models, but there were some that were silvery, skeletal, very thin and lithe...
...He realized the workers standing among these pods, tapping away at wheeled console carts, and clicking their spindly fingers on electronic touch tablets were indeed these skeletal beings.
Generation-1 synths, the workforce. They looked... Disturbing.
"Interesting." Laslar narrowed his eyes as one of the Gen-1's stalked nearby- its limbs utterly silent in traverse, its thin feet clicking against the plated, bluish-cream colored tiles of the floor.
"State of the art!" Ordy called over his shoulder through the noise.
They reached a bulkhead on the other side of the factory- a pair of Gen-2's armed with rifles stepped on either side when the Director approached, the door slid aside, him and the Courser vanished beyond, and Laslar and his team again had to struggle to squeeze after him.
Another hallway, straight, no other ways.
This was getting tedious.
"Director." Laslar growled.
"Right here, gentlemen." Ordy smiled. The last door slid away, the frame being thankfully larger- and the entire party stepped through it. "Sector-2 Labs."
Rows and rows of consoles made the beginnings and most of the center of the chamber- it extended outwards, barred from them by a railing, and two small flights of steps on either side of the podium after the doorway that lead down a level.
The ceiling was two stories high- laden with pipes and interconnecting wires and ports- the computers were patrolled and manned by a team of maybe thirty or thirty five Institute staff members, and a cluster of Gen-1 synths.
On the sides of the chamber there were large energy cells and storage tanks- a few workdesks with strewn tablets and papers.
At the end of the room, across from them- there were four tanks, translucent, cylinder shaped with bubbling, yellow interiors- they were capped with pipe-crossed structures of chrome and white metal, they each had a console at their bases, and they all had four large wheels on carriage mountings.
All the tubes were vacant.
Except one.
Laslar felt his heart jump.
"Welcome to one of the thinking hearts of the Institute, we-"
"Take me over there." Laslar grunted, interrupting Ordy's speil.
The Director glanced at him, sighed, and nodded along XM-988.
The group descended the stairs, and, immediately, all of the scientists working and bustling about were stopped in their tracks by this group of armed foreigners traversing THEIR lab.
All talking, footsteps, and clicking of keyboards stopped- even the Gen-1 synths were looking up- but at their masters, awaiting orders.
"There's no need to be alarmed," Ordy held his arms up as he walked. "Superintendent Laslar Seduun is with the Enclave, he means no harm."
Laslar shot around the Director, and left both him and the Courser, and his own men, behind as he bee-lined for the pods in the back of the chamber.
A few scientists stepped deeper behind the rows of computers as Laslar passed by the flank of the array- he soon stood before the four pods, concentrating on the second one to the right- where a great, bulky, humanoid shape was shaded and levitating within.
It had long arms, big hands with big nails that could cut through steel- there was a breather mask cupped over the tip of its long, reptilian snout- it had a slender waist that evened out for greater distribution at the thighs and ribcage.
He had finally found it.
His God damned experiment.
Laslar grinned sadistically.
"Luft, unlock the wheels." Laslar said gleefully. "Chesser, Lihan, Gril, push it behind me and the others."
"-Excuse me," A woman interjected from behind.
Laslar spun around with a feral snarl leaving his lips.
"-WHAT." He growled.
"-You can't take our subject, it's irreplacable!" The woman was wearing a lab coat, was older, had black-ish'-gray hair and looked like a rather unpleasent person to converse with.
"Now now, Valerie," Ordy hurriedly stood between the computers and Laslar, holding up his arms. "-We discussed the release of the subject, to the Enclave."
"We discussed representatives visiting," Another man wearing big spectacles, called from inside the rows of computers- he stood up, he was bald, and he was wiry thin beneath his coat. "Not ARMED SOLDIERS, taking our subject."
"I told you all, that the subject was to be released!" Ordy roared.
"We debated it, there was no concensus!" The man snapped.
"And WHY would you let them in?!" Valerie cried. "They're outsiders! Wastelanders! Who knows what kind of diseases and parasites they brought with them!"
"DON'T," Laslar barked, jabbing a finger. "-Refer to ME, as a Wastelander."
"Don't POINT at me!" Valeria growled.
"-Please people! We need to avoid-"
"You all don't seem to understand," Laslar called out amongst the chamber. "You all do not have a CHOICE, in this matter. The Deathclaw, is MINE, has always been MINE, and will now be under MY possession, is your facility worth an animal?"
"Director," Valerie quivered. "-This is, inexcusable."
"-I have to add my disapproval too, Director." The bald man called over.
"Both of you must come to terms with the fact that the Enclave, is NOT our enemy!" Ordy said. "We give them the subject!"
"What about that loud mouthed model we got with her?" The bald man suggested. "Maybe you'd want the next best thing, Superintendent?"
"What is he talking about?" Laslar snarled. "Give me the fucking reptile and our business is DONE."
"...We found the Wastelander, you know Superintendent, the one causing us both many issues?"
"You found him?"
"We found his robot."
"...Show me."
"Right this way-"
"Rest of you, stay with the pod." Laslar snapped. "Let's go, Director."
-0-0-0-0-0-
The old courtyards of the campus for the CIT were in some pretty rough shape- and that was saying something, because, well, EARTH, was in rough shape. There were still some miniscule swathes of grass growing around here and there, there were fissures in the walls of some of the buildings that belched out mounds of debris forming mountains several stories high.
Sections of wall had fallen away on parts of the enwrapping school buildings, exposing rectangular or square-shaped 'Skeletal' sections that were crisscrossed with rusty steel girders and rotted interior floors.
His sensors within the helmet of his X-01 were still yapping up a storm about the Enclave Vertibird, and the small amount of sigils still persisting around it.
He wasn't close enough to the other sections of the campus- but he could pick up some more distant robotic signatures that were on higher elevations than he was- and undoubtedly those were more snipers.
Sanford felt his gut doing loops as he quickly tried to get himself out of the open upon leaving the front entrances to the courtyards of the campus. He left a building full of destroyed synthetics behind him- and in the wake of that victory his thoughts were still not easy.
Luckily, as he cleared the doorframe, swept his aim about- he noticed one of these mountains of debris that had cascaded from the out-folding girth of the building's structure by the side of a flight of stairs he emerged onto.
Sanford jogged down the brief flight, his boots hitting soil, and he hid behind an outcropping arm of stone, that had once been a window's arch on the Architectural School's side. The rubble here had been laid out and compressed for so long, that it literally looked like a mound of dirt stuck-through with stones, bricks, metals and woods.
Sanford remembered a comment Hancock had made about how detail-lacking rubble seemed to be.
What a bunch of nonsense.
It made Sanford grin.
Adjusting his scope on the rifle- he peered out of the cover he had alotted, and he saw, parked out there, right in the middle of the courtyard, landed over the crumbling, faint remains of one of the many concrete walkways intersecting the fields- was a VB-02 Vertibird gunship, inactive.
The dark drab craft had an 'E' with a ring of stars emblazoned on its tail fins and on the top ribcage of the fuselage- Sanford saw movement by the craft's flank, and, hanging under there without a care in the world it seemed, was a fully armored Enclave soldier.
It was the standard Power Armor he had seen on most of the other Enclave members he had come across- there was a rifle in his grip, with glowing green pylons sticking out of a wiry mess on the top of the frame. Plasma gun.
Sanford had come out here ready for a fight- but... it seemed that the guys hanging out with the gunship had no idea he was here.
Didn't they have scanners just like his?
Sanford had noticed that a lot now- it seemed the Enclave had a very, very hard time pinpointing him, and he couldn't understand it.
...Sanford jumped a bit, suddenly, unexpectededly- he looked down at the cutlass magnetically holstered to his hip plate, deactivated.
He could've swore he had heard someone talking.
"...Garn! Check it...!" -A voice droned out from inside the Vertibird. The soldier that was standing under the wing glanced over his shoulder, turned around, and hopped up to step inside the ajar troop bay door in the Vertibird's ribs.
Sanford blinked at his own irrationality. Of course he heard talking, these freaks didn't even know he was there.
So far the armor-piercing capabilities of his newly improved gun had been working wonders, but... Sanford admitted to himself, he was a tad wary of simply trying to mow down the Enclave soldiers, that armor was good.
He recalled that instance where he had shot one of them point blank in the head with the combat shotgun back at the gas station- that guy wasn't even stunned before Sanford killed him in that tussle.
Sanford grumbled.
Well, he had nothing else to shoot them with, so... Here he went.
He flicked the control knob on the gun's frame to -'S'- for semi', and checked the scope again without needing to.
He slowly inched out to aim over the corner of the large slab of curling stone he hid behind- he tried to flatten his body and armor as much as possible behind the rolling hill of rubble. He lined his sights with the Vertibird's troop bay- the crosshair of his scope at its ajar center.
Sanford didn't have to wait long for the soldier from before to walce out and take his place under the wing again, Sanford caught his head in the epicenter of the hairs and followed it magnet-like.
He was close enough, couldn't be farther than twenty five yards.
Sanford bit his tongue, shut his left eye, and held his finger over the trigger.
He waited a second, saw the guy huff in idleness beneath his suit- and fired.
PM
-A quick snapping sound, the drone of fried ozone, a single red beam shot out.
The munitions hit the man's helmet temple- there was a flash of sparks, his whole head jerked roughly to the side, and his hands opened up and dropped the Plasma rifle he had been holding.
The Enclave servicemen spun completely around on his heels- like some sickly interpretive dance -and then tumbled on his side with a rattling of steel, and a thudding of heavy tonnage impacting the earth.
Sanford almost sat bolt upright.
...It... Worked.
Oh hell yeah.
"...NICE..." He smiled down at his own gun.
His sensors started going nuts again.
First thing he did was slip out of cover, behind all the rubble.
WHM-WHM
WHM-WHM
WHM-crsSSKK!
-Dust erupted all over the spot he had been in.
Ion shots.
The synths had already determined where he was, and they were probably quite keen on notifying the Enclave in that Vertibird.
Sanford looked around- he had kind of trapped himself back here, because the only way he could avoid running out into the open of the stairs was to try and climb over the debris behind him, which was suicidal, putting himself at an open height like that.
His sensors eventually identified a few synthetics on the roof of the Great Dome building at the end of the campus courtyard- maybe five or six, and they were relocating.
He made sure the sigils were still moving- then he crouched over and aimed from the exact same spot- lining his scope up with the squared roof of the Great Dome. He scanned for a bit. There.
A bunch of skinny robotic people running across a rooftop? Nothing suspicious there.
Sanford started firing.
PM
PMPM
PM
PM
He caught one in the chest, another in the gut, ANOTHER in the chest- he missed six shots in a row.
Leaning back when the synthetic survivors vanished up there, back behind the lip of the roof- he cursed and switched sides for his battery charge. He was NOT, a designated sharpshooter. Sanford hated sharpshooting.
whmwhmwhmwhmwhmwhm- The roar of an engine, spinning rotary blades.
Sanford went wide eyed and aimed around the corner again-
-But there was an Enclave soldier standing by the side of the Vertibird with a long-nosed, thin barreled, bulky-handled rifle. The guy was no joke- he snapped that mutha' up and nailed Sanford's shoulder pauldron all the way from where he was, even in cover.
pw-TINNG! -The shell made a bouncing ring in the air as it rebounded off the layered metals of his shoulder.
Sanford gasped and fired as a few potshots as he dove back- one of the bolts flew right by the soldier's head, and it planted into the left engine of the Vertibird.
As Sanford read his readings for the suit's integrity in his HUD- he heard a stopping sound, like, a beating piston in a car when one of the cylinders wasn't working. He peaked around the edge again- and before he was forced to duck when Plasma fire peppered his position- he saw that black soot was misting out of a small gash in the engine's flank, wisking away as the blades were turning.
That shot had punched clean through? AND he had killed another soldier before with a single shot?
Sanford suddenly adored long-range shooting. He switched to 'A' on the frame's knob.
PMPMPMPMMPM
-The Enclave soldier with the Guass rifle flew back- his breastplating blowing wide open for a gash of blackened crimson- sparks and flecks of destroyed organic matter made tendrils through the air as the guy fell out on his back.
There were two other soldiers standing beside him- and they actually faltered for a brief minute at the sight of their comrade getting bulldozed.
They glanced at each other and started running to get back inside the Vertibird- whose troop bay doors were still open even though it was trying to lift off.
Sanford aimed out again.
This time, he lined up his scope with the Vertibird's bubble-like cockpit.
PMPMPMPMPMPMPM
-The beams punched into the thinner armor- and while all Sanford saw were flashes of red, sparks and a single lick of flame- unbeknownst to him, his assumption had been right on the dot, and those beams pierced the bubble canopy of the craft, and then proceeded to bounce around the interior of the Vertibird's cockpit.
Before the destructive end to this fight- briefly -the inside of the Vertibird's pilot chamber looked like someone had thrown in a bucket of chum with several fragmentation grenades- messy.
Sanford ducked when response fire forced his head down- but from behind cover he was able to watch the Vertibird suddenly list as it ascended into the air.
The craft got up a few feet, smoke started broiling from a series of punctures in the bubble observation slots- and suddenly the right wing swung too low.
WHMWHMWHMW-wwwwwwhhhhHHHHHMMMMM- The propellor ate into the soil of the ground- the blades slowing in their buzzsaw-like rotation as they churned through pounds of dirt and shattered into trailing, blackened strips that were catapulted all over the place.
The whole aircraft shuttered and jerked- the wing was propelled backwards- in the direction of the spinning, dirt-eating blades of the engine- the fuselage angled up at the sky and the tail plowed into the ground.
The Vertibird looked like it was tearing itself apart- flinging pieces of itself, the earth, and the quick flicking shapes of vaguley humanoid shadows from the two Enclave soldiers who were caught in the propellor and chopped up.
A flash of light sparked in the fuselage.
Sanford's jaw dropped in horror- he tossed himself in a ball behind the mounds of debris.
psk-BMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
-A fiery mushroom cloud, three stories tall, bloomed as the blackened hulk of the Vertibird abruptly popped open and released a pluming, broiling fist of flame that jutted up into the cloudless blue sky, and lit up the whole courtyard a faint shade of amber.
Metal and soil, and MORE metal flung around everywhere in a flailing, spinning hailstorm all over the place- Sanford coudn't observe the majority of the explosion as he was covering his helmet with his gauntlets.
If he hadn't been in the armor, he would've felt a wash of heat being dispelled from the Vertibird's bright, fiery death- but the suit still rang out temperature alarms even though he couldn't hear them over the roar of the explosion.
The burst echoed and rebounded down all across the MIT section of the city- and the fire and soot didn't start to revolve away and fade down to the smouldering wreck of the aircraft for another few minutes.
Sanford eventually willed himself to scramble on the ground- unballing himself, grabbing at the stone above his helmed head- he stood bolt upright and observed the mounded, black, fire-licked remains of mechanical and metal scrap that USED to be the Vertibird.
The right wing was sticking out into the air from the flaming mess- bent, and scorched all over- almost symbolizing something like the aircraft's personified last clench to the heavens for survival.
Sanford's quivering palm clenched over the cranium of his helmet.
bn
bn
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BN
BMM
"-WOAH!" Sanford ducked when one of the landing gear's burnt wheels bounced across the dirt three times, then hit a plate of metal sprawled out before his rubble pile, and catapulted through the air right over his head.
The giant donut-shaped object vanished in some of the smoke kicked up across the courtyard behind his position- he heard plaster snap and rocks crumble. Then silence.
Sanford looked back at the wreck, now crackling with embers.
"...That was... That was fucking awesome." He smiled slowly.
-0-0-0-0-0-
They had to retrace some of the prior route they had taken to reach the Sector-2 Labs- but they diverged for a leftwards turn, took an outer ring hallway in a half-U-turn, and they ended up in a section that Director Ordy coined the 'Specimen Internment.'
"Just be cautious when approaching some of the holding pens, MOST of our subjects are sedated, others are not."
"Why's that?" Laslar asked.
"We can't always get the darts to work, and it's harder to get someone close enough for a hand-injection."
A bulkhead slid aside- and immediately, the first thing that filled Laslar's hearing was a deafening, throat-walloping scream of inhuman proportions. He aimed his Tri-Archer at a pane of glass that was marked with drawling white lines, made by claws and teeth, and misted with spittle.
They were in a rectangular chamber that extended down to the left, lined with panes just like this one- and behind this specific one, was a hunched over, quadruped of scabby fur and rippling musculature.
Laslar quirked a brow at the interned Yao Guai bear behind the containment barrier.
It was a huge mutated animal- it had pupil-lacking white eyes, rows of razor sharp teeth, there were cuts all over its face and its furry body from a hundred scuffles, and there were patches of scabby rash that ran swathes down its dusty gray hide.
The creature growled- its throat quivering as it hunched over and stared with seeming hatred towards the humans outside its pen- which was a detail-lacking cell with a drainage cap in the center. Harsh.
"We call him Larry," Ordy snickered, nodding at the glass. "Feisty."
"Where is this Mr. Gutsy?"
"So you have seen him?"
"Yeah. Now where is he-?"
"HELLO! Hell-O! Hello!? Lemme' outta' here you Mao Zedong worshipping, cousin' porkin', shit-slathering BASTARDS! I'll rip off your legs and decompact your constipated asses with your own FEET!"
"...Follow me." Ordy's eye twitched.
Laslar was close behind the Director as he strolled down past cell after cell, each filled with some varying kind of wildlife from the Commonwealth and beyond.
Laslar stopped by the glass of one of the cells when he noticed something familiar to him from a place long gone- for inside this cell was a ball of curled, dirty scales, that bundled its limbs and tail over its bulky, rounded body in the corner.
A reptilian head rose from its front legs- its jaws hanging open a bit, revealing sharp teeth, and a flicking tongue that tested the air in Laslar's angle behind the glass. It blinked one of its amber, black-slitted eyes, and a chittering hiss sounded from the back of its throat- a thousand spines layering down its back and tail shivered.
That was a Komodo Mutant, Laslar hadn't seen one of them since Texas.
He doted on the creature as it wallowed in its own entrapment inside the cell- followed Ordy once more without a word.
"-Calm yourself, model, you're not getting out any time soon." Ordy smiled into the glass of the cell at the end of the block.
"-I'll show YOU -'Getting Out'- you wrinkly scumbag! Go take some viagra so you can actually make your nagging bitch-ass wife happy for once in your miserable lives! HA! Take that! First thing to go is the MIND, you lost your wang' first! PUSSY! HA-HA! Ha-ha! U.S.A.! U.S.A! U.S- HEY! I know you!"
Laslar stood beside the Director and gazed inside the glass.
There was a drab painted, Mr. Gutsy model robot that was laying on the floor of the cell- with occasional sparks of flickering energy zapping by its arms and its dark engine thruster, it raised one stalk-like eye off the ground to observe the two of them.
Laslar sneered.
"What'd you do to it?"
"We tried removing its weapon systems, but the robot proved... Difficult."
"-HA! Ah-ha! YEP! Put that ole' big-nosed Communist boot-licker in his place I did! THE BEAUTY OF THE BUZZSAW, baby! WOOO!"
"We used an EMP charge, it worked, to a degree."
"-Can't keep the HAN' down, you fuckers! And same thing to YOU! Texan Slut-bag! Take your rodeo sitcom and shove it up your used, diseased, Rusky' abused ASS!"
"Where is your commander, override command section- delta 6, remove personality any, answer command." Laslar grumbled into the glass.
Hancock sat immobile inside the cell for a second.
Ordy opened his mouth to speak-
"Superintendent, we tried using the pre-War Army-"
FFFFTTTTTTTT -The flap on Hancock's storage compartment towards the rear of his chassis flapped open for a second, and disgorged a misting contrail of soot into the air.
"-WOO! 'Scuse' ME! Aw, GOD UP IN HEAVEN-!" Hancock cackled. "-Holy crap! That's a stench to undo the makers that is! OH, OH CHRIST! I think I shit myself! SMELL YOUR DOOM, COMMIE' FUCKS! SMELL IT!"
"...Lord..." Ordy put a fist over his nose, Laslar turned on his suit's air filters.
"I don't want THAT." He spat. "You can keep that. Give me the 'Claw."
"Oh what's the matter, you Horseshoe-Lickin' Prick?! DEMOCRACY NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! Fuck you! AND FUCK EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR!"
"I can only imagine what kind of sick, sick man this Wastelander is..." Ordy commented. "-To have a machine like THIS."
"AH-HAHAHAHA! You just see, bigot!" Hancock laughed. "Ole' San' of the ford', is gonna' walk right up in here, and he's gonna' BURN YOU ALL ALIVE, for what you did to me and that oversized Iguana! YOU JUST WATCH! AH-ha! INCOMING DOOM!"
"Can you shut him up?!" Laslar barked, already having stomped to the other end of the cell block. "I'm taking the Deathclaw, we're DONE."
"Laslar, please, listen to me-!"
"-Oh no! The big bad Texan-Fuck-Face is gonna' eat me! HELP! HELP!" -Hancock mocked, his buzzsaw twitching on the floor. "I'm going to ENJOY watching this! See you in hell, you jeriatric FIEND!"
"-Go ahead." Laslar turned away to hail a sudden crackling from his communications mic. He listened.
"Superintendent? What's-?"
"You're out of your fuckin' mind, Director." Laslar pointed his Tri-Archer right at Ordy's head- the Director leapt back and held his hands up, eyes big. "Luft's saying my 'bird just got iced."
"-I specifically gave the synthetics orders to process you and your men as friendly-!"
"Then WHO ELSE, could've blown up, my FUCKING AIRCRAFT?!" Laslar barked.
"-Ooohh-HO! Here he comes! SANFORD! Ah-ha! SAN-FORD! Holy freezer-fried-gym socks! You people are SCREWED!" Hancock announced gleefully inside the last cell. "-Say hello to your inbred mothers' for me! I'LL BE SURE TO PISS ON ALL YOUR GRAVES! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!"
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