Elder Lyons looked out the window of his office and couldn't help but smile at the young boy outside, running laps around the Citadel. Though he was only a child, the old man expected a great deal out of him. Every day he was trained by the Brotherhood's finest, so he would be forged into the perfect soldier. He was worked hard, but he always had a good attitude. They had made him enamored with the idea that he would one day become the Brotherhood's greatest Paladin, maybe even Elder, and the backbreaking labor was all he knew.

One could say that it was cruel, to do such a thing to a mere child, and Lyons couldn't blame them. The fact that they were taking away the joys of being young didn't please the Elder, but it was necessary. Besides, the child owed them his life, he had been rescued by a Brotherhood squad when he was an infant. His family had fallen victim to a raid, and the two Knights who found him didn't have the heart to leave him. So, they brought him to the Citadel.

And we're sculpting him into a fine young man. Elder Lyons thought with immense pride.

-----------

Emmett's entire life revolved around the Brotherhood. He was allowed to go on short excursions with a team of Knights once in a while, to get a feel for what his future would be like, but that was the only time he'd ever leave the Citadel. Most of his waking hours were spent training with his mentor, Clark, or in the laboratory with scribes, which was something like his school. He'd learn things that were considered relevant to his purpose, they even allowed him to learn about history. Scribe Rothchild was his teacher some of the time, though the scribe was often busy. Rothchild was much more open than any of his other teachers, Emmett felt comfortable around him, an odd feeling for the young man.

"Why doesn't everyone in the Brotherhood train as much as I do, Scribe Rothchild?" Emmett asked one day.

The Scribe looked at him and patted his head, "Because of you, dear boy. You work so hard, so that they don't have to."

"But, if everyone trained just like me, wouldn't we be unstoppable?" the scribe couldn't help but smile at the wonder in the boy's eyes.

"Perhaps, but I don't think everyone here is dedicated enough for that. You may be the only one who's willing to sacrifice their life for the cause. Besides, you're... special."

"I'm not sacrificing anything, and I'm not special. I'm just another soldier for Elder Lyons."

Rothchild's eyes suddenly changed from amused to upset. "No! Don't say such things! You have to realize that you're a prized asset, born for remarkable achievements, not an ordinary everyman! That you're an individual, not a facsimile of the Knight that stands beside you. You're not Elder Lyon's tool, you have a mind of your own. You must remember to always, alwaysask questions, but not aloud. Think for yourself, or you may end up hurting the world more than helping it, you understand? And most importantly, you must know how to say 'Sir! No sir!' if absolutely necessary." the Scribe clasped Emmett's shoulders and stared deep into his eyes. The intensity of Rothchild's short speech made it a thing Emmett never forgot.

Rothchild and Elder Lyons had always been on opposite ends of each other. Both were good men with good intentions, but with different ideas. Elder Lyons valued soldiers who would do whatever he commanded without question, he wanted solid, unmoving cattle. Scribe Rothchild preferred integrity and men with substance. Their conflicting views often confused Emmett. He held both of the men in high regard, but Lyons was always the man he tried hardest to please. Emmett rarely had a chance to speak with Lyons, but every time he did, he felt a renewed zeal to become remarkable.

Perhaps it was Scribe Rothchild who had planted that seed in Emmett, the one that had grown in him for years, the seed that gave him the one thing he wished he never had, compassion. He despised it, not only would it limit him, but it would bring him more grief. He was supposed to be emotionless instrument used to repair the world, not a human.

-----------

Today, Emmett was eighteen, and considered a full man. He went to meet his best, and practically only friend, Sarah Lyons in the cafeteria after his morning run, and wasn't surprised to see her waiting on him.

She didn't tell him Happy Birthday, or even mention it. He thought she forgot, but it didn't particularly bother him. Birthdays had never been big for him, why should the eighteenth one meen anything more?

He didn't think as his legs brought him to the training yard, awaiting Clark. When Elder Lyons appeared instead, Emmett gave the man a firm salute and wished he had remembered to shave.

"Hello, Emmett." Elder Lyons called, "I'm sure you know what today is."

"Yes, sir!"

"You're eighteen years of age, it's your first day of adulthood. A rather significant day, my prodigy has become a man." the way Lyons said my prodigy made Emmett want to beam, but he knew it would make him seem childish.

"So, we've gotten you a gift. It's been something that our scribes have worked on for some time. Here." Elder Lyons said, passing a bundle wrapped in cloth to Emmett, "Unravel it."

Emmett obeyed, once the object was naked, he was a little confused, but it did not show on his face. He would be grateful with any gift.

"It's called a Pip-Boy," Lyons told him, knowing that his look of gratitude was a mask. "It's a very useful little device we've recently acquired from the Vaults, and I think it's going to help you out quite a bit. May even save your life a few times."

"What's its purpose?" Emmett asked, trying not to offend anyone.

"It has a lot of uses. There's a map of all the recorded points of interest in the Wasteland, an internal Geiger counter, and a radio that you can contact us on. There's also something called V.A.T.S., Vault-Tec Assisted Targeting System. It's unbelievable technology, I'll leave it to the scribes to explain it to you."

"All of that in this small bracelet?" Emmett asked excitedly, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment, "When will everyone receive one?"

"It could take a while figuring out how to reprogram them, but we do have more to work with." Elder Lyons told him, "This however, is not your only present. As an adult, it's now your duty to start really contributing to the Brotherhood. You'll be given a real task, one that will take a few days, and one that will perhaps even be crucial for us. You'll still be safeguarded, of course, but you must remember that this is not a picnic. You're not only going to go out looking for a small band of Super Mutants, you're going to see much of the Wasteland. Your squad will consist of Paladin Clark, Knight Dirk, Knight Lyons, Knight Rhett, and Paladin Cecil."

"Yes, sir!" Emmett exclaimed with so much animation, the Elder had difficulty with stifling a smile.

"That's it. Report to Paladin Clark, he will lead the squad, and will brief you on your objectives. Oh, and Emmett?"

"Sir?"

"Happy Birthday." the Elder had an idea of how much this meant to Emmett.

"Thank you, sir!" Emmett turned to run off, and as soon as his back faced his Elder, he had a wide grin on his face. His day just went from ordinary to extraordinary.

--------

Clark wasn't in half as good of a mood as Emmett was in, and he didn't even acknowledge the fact that Emmett was eighteen. He couldn't have cared less. All he cared about was getting the job done, and being efficient about it. That's all he ever cared about.

"Listen, you maggots, and listen good. Cecil and I are the men in charge, you disobey a direct order from either one of us, your ass is grass. Some of you are Knights, but that doesn't make you special. You're not tough shit just 'cause you've got the rank. Keep that in mind."

Paladin Cecil spoke up, with a less gruff, but still authoritative voice, "We're headed for the GNR outpost, to pick up some scientist, and escort him to Rivet City. Our path is crawling with muties, so don't expect it to be smooth sailing. For most of you, this is one of your first missions, and it won't be any small task. This is a high priority objection." Cecil said, maybe exaggerating a bit, "This man means a lot to Elder Lyons, so keep him alive."

It wasn't much of a briefing, but the whole mission was a bit of a halfbaked plan to get this scientist out of the very dangerous GNR outpost ASAP. Besides, nothing in such a chaotic world was particularly organized.

"Alright, ladies, do whatever you need to do before the mission, and get it done fast. Adams," Clark called, "I believe you have some business with the scribes. Get to it."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" everyone under the rank of Paladin chorused.

Emmett made his way to the laboratory, counting on someone to recognize him and help him out. It was time to get that Pip-Boy thing on his wrist. Once Scribe Peabody spotted him, he quickly approached.

"Emmett! Just who I wanted to see. I've been dying to get that Pip-Boy into action. Follow me, this could be some touchy work." the scribe lead him into an isolated room with a workbench.

"Not to be rude, sir, but if you could do this with all possible haste, without damaging any form of quality, it'd be appreciated." Emmett requested.

"Yes, yes. But I make no promises, it may not seem it, but there are many complexities in this process. I certainly hope you don't mind me slicing your arm a bit." Peabody had taken his arm onto the bench and was fiddling with the Pip-Boy, to get it open.

"I'm sure it will be worthwhile."

"Indeed it will. No more talking, I need to concentrate."

Emmett said no more, and the scribe began his "complicated work". While he was working on Emmett's Pip-Boy, he kept himself busy by explaining V.A.T.S..

So much for concentration, Emmett thought.

"There is a needle hidden inside the thick wall of the Pip-Boy. That's the catalyst. What V.A.T.S. does, is make things seem as if they're going in slow motion. They're not really, you're simply incredibly focused on them. You'll find that, while in V.A.T.S. mode, you can't very well think of anything but your target. You're able to move faster, due to the fact that your reaction time just shortened significally. It won't make you lightning quick, but you will notice a difference. This may seem far-fetched, but I'm in no way exaggerating. What happens is, through that needle, something called 'amphetamine' is pumped through your bloodstream. This gives you a sort of high, and you will feel like you're on top of the world, but it will also be temporary. Once it wears off, you'll be drowsy, and it will have the exact opposite effect. Use this sparingly, however, not only can you run out in no time, but it is highly addictive. This amphetamine is exceptionally strong, so don't be fooled by the small amount it injects."

"Wow, that's... amazing. To think, all of that happens when I, what, press a button?"

"That's it. It's a small one, and a bit hard to press, but it's well worth the action. Once you press it, the needle shoots into your veins and you're one deadly soldier. I've just inserted the cartridge of amphetamine into the Pip-Boy, we're ready to put her on!"

Once the accessory was wrapped around Emmett's wrist, he started to tinker with it.

"I'd teach you how to use it properly, but since you're short on time, I'd better not. I know how Paladin Clark can be. You'll have to figure it out on your own, it shouldn't be too hard, you're smart enough, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Scribe." Emmett called before running off.

He headed straight to the Equipment Room with an excited anticipation, he would get to wear one of those sleek Power Armor suits. He'd worn one before to get acclimated to the feel of them, but he still couldn't get over just how damn cool they looked, and how powerful he felt with one on. The other soldiers were already suited up, so Emmett knew he'd have to hurry. Luckily, Sarah was there, and ready to lend a hand. They were a close pair, even though Sarah's father was protective of both of them, and worried that allowing a blooming relationship between the two could prove to be a fatal mistake.

They eventually fit the armor onto Emmett, and not a moment later did Paladin Clark strut into the room with that dauntless demeanor that even Elder Lyons envied. Permanent scowl still engraved into his face, he stared at them, searching for anything missing or a flaw.

"Let's move." was all he said.

They had nearly made it out of the Citadel when suddenly Scribe Rothchild called Emmett's name. They stopped, although it agitated Clark, because Rothchild outranked all of them. That didn't stop Clark from fixing an impatient look on his superior. Rothchild took Emmett to the side a bit, to have an individual conversation.

"Emmett, I know that while you're out there you will witness terrible things. Things that you are not ready for, but things you will have to see. And I'm afraid my words cannot prepare you for these. So all I ask of you, boy, is that in the name of the greatness given to you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the morals that have been instilled in you, do not let your perception of man be despoiled by the evil, the inane, the cretinous, and by those who have no place in our world. Do forget that man's legitimate posture is upright and proud, unlike these savage subhumans who crawl on all fours. Play the man, and keep your fire burning bright, even when you've encountered the most diabolic animal imaginable. Do not let the hero in your heart crumble, in lonely frustration for this seemingly unreachable goal you have. The world you thirst for can be obtained, it exists, it's real, it's yours."

Emmett could think of nothing to say, the scholar's monologue had moved him. All he could manage was an awestruck nod for the Scribe, and he was dismissed with a warm, caring smile, something he did not receive very often.

The entire journey to the outpost, Emmett could think of nothing more than Rothchild's words. At first, he didn't fully comprehend them, but they were starting to sink in. He understood the old man's concern, and he would not forget it.

There you are, everyone. It's been a while since I've visited this site, but I'm planning on making up for lost time. Expect more frequent updates.

Twenty points to whoever got the "Play the man" and "burning bright" allusions in the third to last paragraph.

Review, praise, criticize, or flame me as you see fit.