The Nanosuit was developed by ISA Research and Development in conjunction with Robco and Cambridge Laboratories, using research procured from the Big Mountain Research and Development Center. Only one was ever made and it was continually upgraded to its current, sixth, generation. It was made up of a shifting nano weave controlled by a neural connection synced to an extensive cybernetic system. It's powered by a series of microfusion breeders, which support all of its six combat modes, its multispectrum goggles, respirator, and of course, the jetpack.

The jetpack may have been added at my insistence… it had a lot of practical applications.

I do not need to justify demanding a jetpack from the lab, jetpacks are awesome, anyone who disagrees has clearly never had a jetpack, or been a kid.

All kidding aside, the jetpack was useful. As was the sword, a simplified version of the shifting nano weave that allowed the suit to shift combat modes also allowed the sword to shift from a tanto, a blade slightly longer than the average combat knife, to wakizashi, a foot long curved sword, to a full two foot long reinforced katana, each form carefully engineered by traumatologists, engineers, and expert bladesmen to be the most effective tool possible.

These tools had been designed with a single person in mind, me. I was the only person who could use these in truth, all of it was designed to work in conjunction with my implants, both working in conjunction to operate at maximum efficiency. From what I understood, the model of my implant system was eventually simplified and standardized to provide the basic pipboy implant array.

Still, there's a difference between Da Vinci's original Mona Lisa and the thousands of reproductions since.

Were there any reproductions left? What happened to all of the art in the world? I knew a few Van Goghs survived, I had them in my bunker. Most of the Louvre's paintings had been in the basement of the Lucky 38, saved from the flames of a burning Louvre during the Decimation of Paris by my father's security forces. Had Vegas survived? I knew that had become Robert House's obsession for the twelve years I had been in the Activity, leaving my father to handle the majority of RobCo's business.

Why was I thinking of all of this, of technology, and art, and history?

Because, as it turns out, the nuclear hellscape created by end of humanity is boring.

I mean, I don't know what I was expecting. The trip to Concord had held my focus easily, I had been in an unfamiliar environment, fresh off of the grief of Nate's death and Shaun's abduction, desperate to do something to get a grip on the situation.

Now, working my way through the dead forest between Walden Pond and Sanctuary Hills, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. There was of course the initial shock of the ravaged lands that were a lush and verdant forest what felt like a mere two days ago. That lasted about five minutes, then came an appreciation for the kind of starkly beautiful desolation that now surrounded me, that didn't last long either.

Now, it was just… brown

Everything was just a dull brown or grey or tan, and that was in the waning light of dusk, now it was all washed out by the coat of green through my mask. Granted, the bare trees and lack of plant life played in my favor, with my goggles, I had a clear view of my surroundings on all sides.

Another thing that I had noticed before turning on my night vision, was just how dark it was. Without the ambient light from Boston proper, from Concord, from all the little lights that had allowed the general population of the prewar world to operate at night. Once again, this played in my favor, nvgs were hard to come by in the old days, almost solely used by the military due to the costs being too high for most police departments, much less next generation tech like mine. This meant that I was likely the only person able to see in the dark, meaning that I would see someone long before they saw me.

And anyone who'd ever carried out a night operation would tell you, if they can see you, and you can't see them, you're dead, and vice versa.

The only bit of excitement came when I passed a cabin, there were about six red heat signatures standing out against the green, as my thermal combined with my night vision. They were hunched over, dressed in rags, with warped features from what appeared to be a full body burn scar. They stumbled around, occasionally tilting their heads back and sniffing the air like animals. I had to assume these were the ghouls that I'd been told about.

One looked right at me, and my hand fell to my sword. I had no idea if it could see me, staying absolutely still, I waited.

The seconds ticked by as the thing just stood there, staring at me.

Then it turned and started back towards the cabin, and I slowly put some distance between myself and the tiny pack. They seemed animalistic, feral even, but Asher had said that they had once been human.

That could be a dangerous combination, I'd have to remember this place as a possible security risk.

I slinked through the dead woods, Walden Pond couldn't be much further, I was sure of it. And I was proven right when I finally came to the edge of the dead woods.

The pond was far shallower than I remembered it. Old tires and barrels, a busted refrigerator or two, once hidden at the bottom, were now plain for all to see. Amazingly, the replica of old Thoreau's tiny cabin still stood next to a ruined gift shop. I'd never been one for transcendentalism, one couldn't be in my line of work, but even I'd read the book that bore this tiny pond's name.

Philosophy aside, my current focus was on the flash of red against the green. A large cloaked figure moved slowly, not like someone who was wounded, or tired, or even lackadaisical. He, it, whatever, walked like a predator, low posture, hood shifting as his head swiveled from one side to another. Each movement was deliberate, calculated, not a single bit of energy wasted.

This wasn't one of the raiders, or if it was, these raiders weren't like the morons in Concord. Well, if he was a predator, he wasn't the only one at the pond that night.

I moved forward, just as slowly and carefully as my cloaked counterpart. The skin of my suit shifted subtly as I moved, patterning and repatterning itself to match my surroundings, the nanites in my suit spread through my implants, streamlining my nervous system to make my movements more fluid and graceful.

Working my way around the pond, I never let the cloaked figure out of my sight. There were no signs of anyone else in the area, but I knew that the gift shop had a basement, and the drainage pipe in the lake was large enough for a person if they were crouching. When I was halfway around the lake, there was a small splash in the water. Instinctively, my eyes flicked to the source of the sound, it couldn't have been for more than a fraction of a second, but when I looked back, the cloaked figure had disappeared.

A second later, I felt the point of a long knife on the back of my neck. "I have no particular desire to kill you, but there are two possibilities either you are with the raiders I seek, or you seek them as well. In either case, you are of use to me."

The voice was rough, like his vocal cords were coated in jagged rocks. I raised my hands, as a sign of cooperation and to position myself to disarm him. "I'm here to kill them," considering he thought I might be one of them, and the fact that he had a knife in my back, it seemed he wasn't a fan of these raiders. Thus, the truth was probably the best policy here.

The knife dropped away, "Good, these raiders need to die."

I slowly turned around to face him, and realized just how large he was. He had to be eight or nine feet tall, it was impossible to tell his build through the voluminous cloak, but he had strangely long arms and appeared to be doubled over like a hunchback. The hood cocked to the side as he retreated. "Apologies, but I must locate these raiders quickly."

Nonchalantly I asked, "What's the rush?" A timeframe can tell you a lot about a person, especially their goals. Though I was fairly certain that I wasn't speaking to a human.

He regarded me with what could have been curiosity, his face too well hidden by the cloak to tell. "There was a small homestead a few miles from here, these men burned the house to the ground, executed the father, and kidnapped the mother and her two children. I must find them before they are killed."

Oddly noble, possibly a lie. Still, whatever his reasoning, it seemed that our interests were aligned. "Well, it seems we're both here to deal with a threat to the locals. Shall we get back to work?"

The hood shifted up and down, nodding. "Time is of the essence, and battle is close at hand. I apologize if my appearance unnerves you, but we lack the time for proper introductions. Do not attack me."

Before I could question this, he ripped his cloak away with a showman's flourish. I took a step back, the reasoning part of my brain fought muscle memory and animal instinct to stop my hand from drawing my blade.

Standing before me was the same bulletproof spike monster of death I'd faced in Concord. There were slight variations, this one was more grey, the horns were shorter and went upwards rather than down, the face was more elongated, the claws were longer, and the toe claws were more even. My mind broke him down to details, to be able to process the whole terrifying picture. It was only training and experience that whittled the time down to a matter of seconds, a normal person probably would have stood there, riding that fine line between terror and confusion, for at least an hour.

I shook myself out of it, "Alright, my name's Madison by the way."

The beast looked at me, his reptilian eyes held interest and… admiration. "Goris, now, I have followed them here, but their scent is muddled here, obscured and intermingled with refuse and filth."

Well, at the very least, that confirmed they were here. "Let me have a look around."

The beast, Goris, was an apex predator, that much was clear. But nature's boon was also a weakness, humans had advanced because they had to. Nature, in its new and twisted form, had given Goris's kind long claws and teeth that could tear through power armor, skin that could stop bullets, and apparently a highly developed sense of smell. These were amazing abilities, but they made him reliant on them. He could probably follow the faintest scent for miles but, that reliance, that trust in his natural abilities made him miss some of the traces of humanity. Such as the small traps hidden in the gift shop, easily disarmed.

Or the note that gave the exact location to the entrance of the raider's hideout, pinned to the wall next to the basement door.

I blinked twice as I stared at the note, amazed at the level of sheer stupidity these idiots demonstrated.

Still, a plan formed in my mind, a simple pincer movement. I pulled my lock picks from a compartment on my belt, it was surprisingly sturdy for something as mundane as a gift shop. It took me a few minutes, but the lock yielded to my training. I tested it as carefully and quietly as possible, the handle gave, and no drug addicted lunatic stormed out to die at my hands, good.

I slipped back out of the gift shop to find Goris with his head tilted upwards, sniffing the air and searching for a scent. For the first time, I noticed the pack strapped to his back, where his cloak had to have vanished to. One had to marvel at the level of delicacy and control he had to have, not to tear everything he touched to shreds with those massive claws of his.

He affixed me with those reptilian eyes of his, he slowly ran each of his claws over his tail, for a second I thought he was stroking it, a nervous habit of some sort, then I realized, he was sharpening his weapons. He did not speak, merely waited for my results.

"They're in the basement," I drew my blade, leaving it in tanto form. "There is a door in the shop and another entrance through the sewer."

His head bobbed, seeing what I was getting at. "I will not fit through the sewer, I will go through the shop."

We were on the same page, good. I took the earpiece nodule form my pipboy and held it up for him. He must have recognized what it was, because he took it daintily in his claws and put it in what I assumed was his ear. "When I give the signal, we storm in at the same time. We don't give them enough time to kill their hostages."

"Agreed, good luck." With that, he turned and stalked towards the gift shop. I stared after him, I was about to conduct a hostage rescue operation with a large mutant killing machine in the basement of the Walden Pond gift shop.

My life has become infinitely stranger since coming out of cryo, and it had only been two days.

Still, I moved along the edge of the lake until I was close as possible to the drainage pipe. I did this mainly because I didn't want to get too wet, but the second my feet touched the water, I had a practical reason. The Geiger counter on my pipboy started clicking and the gauge on my HUD went deep into the red.

Well, guess I wouldn't be doing too much swimming anymore, I took hold of bars of the grate, either time or the raiders had worn down the edges, allowing it to slide in and out easily. I set it to the side and slithered inside.

A few feet in, there was a fork, down the right-hand tunnel, a section of the pipe had been cut out, and the light of a fire slipped in. The voices of the raiders carried in the small space. "So this guy made sure he had everything he needed before he started his camping trip in that little shack up top. Double checked his list and everything. That's why they call it 'being Thoreau.'"

Actually it comes from an Old English word meaning from end to end, but I doubted that these idiots wanted an etymology lesson. Another voice, "Oh… and this guy invented trance…transyl."

"Trainsdentalism, moron. You sound like an idiot." The first voice again, if these two were the ones running the show, the note and the fact that the pipe was unguarded made a whole lot more sense.

I peered around the edge of the pipe, my night vision adjusting to the light, there were only two of them in the tiny cavern. They stood by the fire while two bound and hooded figures sat shivering in a small stream of filthy water. My suit was insulated, but according to the thermometer on my pipboy, the water was cold, and more worryingly, still mildly irradiated. It wasn't as bad as the stuff outside, but prolonged exposure could be problematic.

I whispered into the microphone in my mask, "Go."

I surged out of the pipe, my mask and suit turning me into a black, many eyed, nightmare melting out of the shadows. The first idiot, the one closest to the captives, didn't even manage to turn around before I was on him, sliding my tanto, hilt deep, under his collar bone and into his subclavian artery before ripping it out and shoving him to the side.

The second one screamed, his intermingling with others coming from the cavern leading to the basement. It sounded as if a tornado had been unleashed in the other room, one with teeth, and long sharp claws. He leapt for his gun, a pipe pistol lying next to a bedroll a few feet away, his eyes wide with terror. My foot shot out, tripping him, he landed on his stomach. I followed him down, slamming my blade into the back of his neck, neatly severing his spine from his brainstem.

His death was instantaneous; his comrade wasn't so lucky. Bright red, arterial, blood sprayed from the wound, the raider blubbered as he desperately tried to stop the flow. I left the dead raider and knelt before the bleeder. His eyes were screwed shut and he was calling out to his mother, to god, to anyone to save him from the monster in front of him.

I'd like to say that I took no joy in his terror, in his pain, but that would be a lie. He had kidnapped children, taken a husband from his wife, destroyed a home, broken a family. He didn't even have the excuse of youth like Asher, he looked to be in his mid-thirties, older than me. I reached out, pulling his eyelids open with my gloved fingertips, making him stare at my masks inhuman visage as life flowed out of him.

Making him know the fear that he inflicted.

And an idea occurred to me.

Then I pulled a stimpack from another compartment on my belt and slammed it into him. The bleeding slowed and stopped, an extremely complicated process, that required an MD, PhD in microbiology, and another PhD in pharmaceutical sciences to properly understand, occurred, and the raider stabilized.

I pressed a small button hidden on the side of my mask, activating my voice synthesizer. It was one of my favorite little gadgets because it made my voice sound like some kind of computerized demon.

His breathing steadied, the sudden lack of pain probably felt euphoric, so much so that he probably forgot where he was.

My blade against his throat and the glowing eyes of my goggles quickly reminded him where he was. He opened his mouth to speak, but I clamped my free hand over it, covering his nose as well, cutting off his oxygen. "You will not speak."

I pressed my blade harder against his windpipe, a tiny bit of blood seeped out of the shallow cut. He kept very, very still. His terror and his sense of self-preservation paralyzed him. "All of your friends are dead."

My voice was like electronic death, a futuristic reaper come to collect their evil souls. "You live only as my messenger. You will go to Lexington, to the Corvega plant. You will bear my message to them, to Jared."

He started twitching, it was involuntary, a desperate body's attempt to get life-giving oxygen again. I released his face, he attempted to take a deep gulp of air, but his swelling neck was met with the painful reminder of my blade. He tried to swallow, his mouth clearly dry. "Wha…What's your message?"

The horror in his gaze, the desperation in his voice, the disgusting scent of him literally pissing himself with fear. I hate to admit it, but I love this part of my job, bringing overgrown bullies to heel, reminding them that there are monsters far worse than them lurking in the dark.

"Tell them that the Reaper is coming for them, tell Jared that I'm coming," I almost said, for his sould, an oldie but a goodie, but then I remembered something Asher had said. "Tell Jared that I'm coming to take his sight."

I stepped back, he stood up tentatively, still expecting me to kill him. The second his back was to me, I kicked him in the small of his back, sending him down on all fours. "Go," I yelled, stretching the o for effect. He scuttled down the pipe and it was only when I heard the grate knocked free by the fleeing fool that I turned to the captives. For the first time, I noticed the size of them, too small to be the mother, the children, had to be. I removed my goggles and mask, didn't want to scare them.

As I slipped the goggles off, I caught Goris in my peripheral vision, standing in the side tunnel. It occurred to me that he'd been watching the whole time I'd been doing my Reaper routine. Behind him stood a half-naked woman, clothing torn and eyes streaked with tears, she cowered behind Goris's massive form.

His reptilian eyes shine in the firelight.

"Interesting."

….

And we're doing another two this week. The surprise for those long time fallout fans such as myself is of course, Goris. For those of you don't know, he was a companion in the first game. I have loved the idea of a talking deathclaw companion since I first heard of Goris and it is a crime that Bethesda has refused to provide us with another one.

You might have noticed in Ch. 4 that I've upped the threat presented by deathclaws. That's because I don't really feel like the deathclaws in game truly represent the deadliness of the creatures in the lore. These monsters should represent the pinnacle of pre-war genetic engineering and post-war evolution, they should be nigh-impossible to defeat with conventional weaponry. Successfully fighting one should require cunning and creativity or overwhelming firepower, preferably a mixture of both.

Because of that, I'm going to keep encounters with them on the rare side, other than Goris of course

BTW, I'm thinking of putting out a couple of side stories, one is a kind of faux-official list of government and military contingencies prepared before the war just in case, stuff that I may or may not bring up in this story. The other is a kind of journal style of my protagonist's great great grandfather going through WW2 as an SOE operative and exploring the points of divergence between our history and Fallout's. Would you guys have any interest in those ideas?

Another long AN, need to stop putting you guys through these.

Either way R&R people.