A/N: As per usual, R&R is appreciated!
She wanted to go back already.
Her vision was still white as she stumbled out into the world, like a child being born again. Squinting, Ellie tried to make out shapes and colors, though the task proved difficult. She questioned herself, wondering if she'd died while escaping, or if she'd died in her sleep. All was far too surreal. Slowly, her vision blurred, white dissipating. She could see brown for miles, buildings scattered and broken. A kind of smog hung over the land, lightly tinted with green—a strange hue. Rubbing her eyes, expelling excess water, she was finally able to get a good look at the world around her.
What had happened to the America she'd heard stories about? She knew bombs had fallen two-hundred years prior, but the destruction and chaos they caused—she couldn't believe it. The air smelled crisp and sweet, but toxic as well—almost like cyanide, but far more ruddy.
Like rust and illness.
The girl's nose crinkled as she looked around. A small collection of houses stood erect in front of her, though most were destroyed, only the frames intact. Dirty, mangled and in heaps. Eleanor knew right then that the Great War really had been as devastating as she was lead to believe, though the stories hadn't prepared her for actually witnessing the destruction. How could humans even live out in a place so barren and dead?
Gripping the handle of her bat, Ellie moved down the side of the cliff she stood on, slowly, terrified she'd be shot at or attacked and dragged away by some monster. Boots stomping heavily, kicking up dirt and rocks, she found a road leading toward the cluster of homes, and she followed it.
Curious.
She could hear music in the distance, coming from the destruction ahead of her. Bat at the ready, she moved forward slowly. Something was flying around.
"What the fuck," she whispered, watching it move closer and closer. The voice of an old man projected from a kind of—robot, it seemed.
"Put your faith in John Henry Eden, great America, and baseball will live again! Comfort, recreation, healthy competition - all will live again! This country WILL live again!"
"H—hello?"
There was no response. Only music, oddly patriotic, came from the orb. It didn't even seem to notice the taller-than-average girl as it whizzed by, twitching and bobbing along in the wind. Ellie had never seen anything like that before: a flying, talking ball of whatever it was, complete with antenna. A radio of some sorts.
"Who is John Henry Eden?" she thought aloud, staring at the bot from over her shoulder. Was he some supreme overlord of the destroyed world? Shaking and terrified, she pressed forward through the ruins, hair standing on her arms and the back of her neck.
But—there was a certain eerie charm about the place.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a soda machine, sitting underneath some large, metal construct. Finally, something familiar from the vault. Padding over, she checked to make sure it was safe, and then went to work. She shook the machine, kicked it, and smashed her bat into it before breaking the lock, resulting in the door flying open. Startled by the outcome, and from almost being sent flying backwards by her own stupidity, she dragged a hand down her face, scratching at the skin harder than she meant to.
She scoured over the contents, finding three sodas and a grouping of bottle caps. Quickly, she stuffed all of her findings into the small bag she had on her, and continued down the road.
Ellie hadn't even noticed the large sign at the end of her path before she ran flat into it. She'd been looking at her Pip-Boy, trying to find any signal that could be connected to her dad. Only smacking into the sign brought her back to the present, and she stepped back. It'd clearly been placed there after the war . . . long after the war, though it was just as decrepit and rusted as everything else she'd come into contact with.
MEGATON—written poorly with some kind of homemade paint, along with an arrow pointing to her right. She peered over toward where she was being directed, only to see metal rising from the earth. Wary, but wanting to investigate, she walked slowly toward the mass. From the pits of the apocalypse, walls made of steel soared above, dwarfing the young girl like she was just a speck of dirt on a pane of glass. They must've rose a good fifty feet toward the sky. Centered, was what appeared to be a part from an airplane, rigged to chains and cables. A familiar robot stood guard, greeting her in a monotone voice. Ellie hadn't even seen the sniper above her, moving to open a pair of large doors, as she was too perplexed by what was in front of her.
The motor that'd once been still began turning and creaking, speed growing until a gust of hot air wracked the vault dweller's body, sending hair that had escaped the bun on top her her head back, flicking at her neck and shoulders. The gates whined and protested against the sudden movement, as though they hadn't been opened in decades. Nonetheless, they obeyed the motor, revealing another gate for her to pass through.
Hesitant, but hoping for some kind of safe feeling, she strode forward and under the sniper's nest. Bits of dirt and rust fell on her like snow. Maybe those gates hadn't been opened in years. The inner doors were a task to slip through—heavy and old—pipes for handles.
Once inside, Eleanore's senses were overloaded. The same sickly sweet smell lingered in the air, mixed with foreign food, leather, some kind of shit. She stood in one spot, staring at everything she could see from the top of the hill. Crater. There was a bomb at the center of this strange town. Eyes wide and doe-like, she wanted to turn and leave. But, he might have passed through. Someone may have seen him, even spoken with him. And she had nowhere else to go.
Not paying much attention to the massive constructs around her, she walked down the hill, thus bumping into an older man—clad in a duster and cowboy hat. He was like one of the men she'd read about in those old Western novels.
"Pardon me, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. "Say, you're new 'round here, ain't'cha?"
Fumbling over her words, bat over her shoulder, she tried to speak, though it came out mostly as nonsense. "Iyes. IamI think. Neverbeenhereno."
"Slow down there, girl. Hey, you're from one of them Vaults. What brings you here?" the man responded, gesturing to the vault suit tied around her waist.
"Y—yeah. I am. I'm lookin' for my dad. Middle-aged, gray hair. Seen him?" She asked, trying to calm down.
"Can't say I have," he responded, rubbing his chin in thought. "I'm Lucas Simms. Mayor, and sheriff if I have to be."
"I'm Eleanor. Please, if ya can remember anythin', I need to know."
"Maybe. I do remember someone like him passin' through here not too long ago. Didn't stay long. He was up in Moriarty's saloon for a while. I'd check with him."
Finally, a lead.
"That's good. Thank you," she said. "Wh—what is this place?"
"This here's Megaton, named after the old bomb down there. Those crazies from the Church of Atom worship the damned thing. It hasn't posed any threat yet, but if someone rigged the thing to blow, well, we'd all be dead meat."
It was still active? How? Oh, how the vaultie panicked, though it was purely mental.
"Hasn't anyone tried to disarm it?"
"Nope. I don't trust none of these people with it. But, you're not from 'round here. I'd let you take a crack at it. Might be some caps in it for you if you can disarm it."
"Caps?"
Shit. He'd forgotten. Vaultie. Those folks knew nothing about the Wasteland economics.
Simms dug into his own pockets and plucked out a bottle cap, bent up and beaten.
"They're used as money. Pre-War currency's been phased out. So, someone decided one day to use bottle caps off of old sodas. I'd say they work just fine."
Eleanor nodded, examining the small bit of metal he held between his fingers. Though strange, it seemed to make sense.
"So," she started, face twisting in all sorts of ways, "if I wanted to buy, say, a really big gun, I'd have to lug around a huge bag of those?"
"Yup."
Eyes squinting and brow furrowing, she nodded again. She should've expected that answer.
"I should probably go talk to that Moriarty guy then," she announced, fumbling with what little she had.
"He's your best shot. But be careful 'round him. Shady guy, if you ask me. If you need supplies, Craterside Supply is right up the ramp there," Simms said, pointing in the general direction he spoke of. "Moira runs the place. Strangest woman I've ever met."
"Alright. Thanks—again."
She watched as Simms walked by her, continuing his rounds as though she'd lived there her whole life. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least. She watched the man round a corner and disappear before heading up the ramp he'd pointed to. She'd half ignored the cow beside the ramp, only stopping to watch it once she noticed it had two heads. Sputtering like an idiot, she passed without saying a word.
It was crazy—how man had built all of what surrounded her.
Homes. Shops. Bars.
Everything she encountered was held together with rivets, welded into place, tied off with thick, steel cord. At first, she was afraid she'd stir the whole town with her boots connecting to the metal, but as she listened closely to the world around her, the same echoes could be heard from all reaches of the town.
Eleanor was more comfortable, though still terrified out of her mind. She still shivered. Still considered that she might just be dead and in Hell, though the place didn't seem all that bad. All she could go on were stories told to her by her father and other residents inside of the vault. Most had been horrific.
But now, she didn't think they were right about it all. Humanity had carried on, though it seemed to be hanging on by a thread.