+++Against All Tyrants, Dreaming+++
The hell of it is, now that I think about it, none of us realized the gravity of the situation until it was far too late. I didn't fully process how I'd ended up strapped to some high-tech medical gurney in a place that didn't look quite like a hospital. The exceedingly thin man leering down at me didn't notice how whatever sedatives he was using weren't quite strong enough. All of its (because I refuse to call that thing a he) attention was focused on the spiky metal object in its hands. More specifically, it was focused on getting it past the metal grille that forced my mouth open and kept me from turning my head.
I felt metal clink against my teeth, and something about the feeling, beyond the haze of not-strong-enough tranquilizers, it took me back. Maybe I was realizing this was what it was like, to be on the wrong side of a bad situation for the first time in a long time. To be kneeling with hands and legs tied together while some asshole, some piece of shit claimed it was nothing more than bad luck that brought you there. It was a familiar sensation and I didn't welcome it at all.
The filters that replaced my heart worked overtime, and adrenaline washed away the sedatives. Nylon straps kept my arms at the side of the bed, but they probably weren't meant to stop someone who wasn't half-awake and almost dead. They gave way, and I gave the thing a right hook to the side of its head. It kept its grip on the side of the gurney and flipped us both onto the ground even as its face rippled in waves from the hit. It felt like I had punched a sandbag made of dead skin and filled with ballistic gel.
Maybe this was Big Mountain, and this was some elaborate experiment run by Mobius.
Although if that was the case, I wanted to see where it would lead.
The imitation of a man got to its feet, all four limbs suspending its torso in the air. It hissed, like a night stalker does right before lunging. While I struggled to free my other arm, it skittered over me and the overturned hospital bed. I finally found a buckle and depressed it, not stopping to wonder why it wouldn't use a key to keep it locked in place. Or that my Pip-Boy was still attached. Well, at least its incompetence made it easier to get the cage off my head now that I could use two hands.
The restraint-helmet thing only just started to roll away when I heard a whine and saw a green glow on the walls. Plasma weapon, behind me. My legs were still anchored to the toppled bed.
Fuck me.
I brought my head to my chest, and fumbled to free myself with reflexes that were some mix of jittery from excitement and sluggish from the drugs. It wasn't very conducive to getting free on time, and something punched into the gurney.
Fortunately, most of the heat seemed to be absorbed by the undercarriage.
Unfortunately, the sheets caught fire, and so did my feet.
This did have the added benefit of weakening my bonds, which seemed to be melting into a tar-like substance. Whatever it was, it wasn't a synthetic fabric. Sensation was coming back to me in pulses, and about once every three seconds I would take full notice of how part of me was on fire and feel the dizzying sensation of a sudden headache that was gone the next moment, then back again. Probably something more than just ineffective sedatives was at play here, but that thought wasn't a priority.
I kept low, even as the next attack came and just about disintegrated a desk. In a beam, I noticed. Huh. It would make for interesting loot. I finished patting down my legs to smother any flames and removed the melted restraints, only occasionally feeling the pain of 2nd degree burns. Then I kicked out and sent the flaming half of the gurney skidding across the floor.
The thing's movement reminded me of an Old World holo I saw once, had these little balls with eight legs called spiders, the creepy things. Mr. Thin Mint easily avoided the burning wreck, all four limbs in full use to help it scale onto some wall cabinets. There was a sleek, oblong gun in one of its hands that danced with green light, capped with three sharp prongs at one end. It didn't take aim at me though, despite the fact I was in the middle of an empty room and had just sent whatever cover I had careening into a wall.
The thing didn't shoot me at all. It cocked its head to the side—then jumped, pencil-thin body seeming to melt into the ceiling. It took me a few seconds to see the grate it had pushed itself through.
I worried it might come back, so I didn't spend any longer than a few seconds with my back turned to its exit.
The room, now that I could afford to take notice, was spotless. Bright, too. This might be a good time to mention that my vision seemed more than just a little hazy and saturated, like someone switched my eyes to technicolor mode. Still, I could make out the details. Small wheeled table next to where my gurney used to be, with tools that looked more fit for construction than surgery. One metal door that was locked and didn't have an access terminal. No windows. I looked at the walls again, noticing something for the second time. This place didn't just look clean, it looked new and clean.
I stopped in front of a yellow metal chest that was bigger than my now-destroyed bed used to be in better days, and I tapped the gold button at the center. It popped open. Inside, I found my gear.
Oh right, almost forgot that someone stole all my stuff and left me with a shitty hospital gown. Again. Thanks, Mobius. It explained why no one did a good job at making things difficult for me, but the man-spider-thing was still a mystery, one that I looked forward to killing. Let me just say that the last time gene splicing ever resulted in a 'successful' experiment it gave us giant wasps and rattlesnake dogs, so I'm a little prejudiced when it comes to creatures made in a lab. Maybe I'd hunt my would-be surgeon down, but that would have to come later.
I went over my belongings, making sure to be facing the door and the ceiling vent as I did. Elite riot armor, neatly wrapped in its own duster with the helmet sitting on top. The guns I'd been carrying, plus ammunition. Assorted grenades and knives, some items of sentimental value. It felt good to have them weighing on me again, even if I still felt like I was on the worst- the second worst drug trip of my life. I smoothed my hair down as I lifted the helmet, pausing momentarily when I felt a patch was missing. My helmet came down, adding a dull red tint to everything and calming my artificially-saturated vision. Missing hair, possibly to make room for limited brain surgery while I was out? Another thing to investigate, right now I needed to focus on getting out and finding out where the hell 'here' was.
The door slid into the wall just as I finished securing my Bowie knife and I reacted on instinct, handcannon of the Ranger Sequoia pointed at the man charging through the door before his blocky rifle finished its high-pitched humming noise.
I'm not one to shoot first and ask questions later, but this guy clearly is and we all have bad days.
The revolver's first two shots were center mass and they staggered him. That was a little surprising, until I paid more attention to his attire. That armor looked tough, now that I could get a good look at it. Uninterrupted segments of black padding over a full dark grey bodysuit, a tactical vest, and thick armored plates over vital areas, ringed with red coloring. Boots that managed to look both intricate and durable, claw-like and all metal. It looked like it could protect the wearer as well as almost any suit of power armor.
But I'd killed people in power armor before, and the helmet did leave his mouth exposed. My whole body tingled, as if I could feel the neurons firing before I activated VATS and watched in the usual detached way the Vault-Tec combat system seemingly took over for me. My aim shifted a degree and I sent a single .45-70 cartridge straight into the man's mouth before he could recover.
One time, I saw a Legion Centurion get shot in the head at an angle that made the bullet bounce off the inside of his helmet several times, turning it into a dented metal bowl that held partially-liquid gray matter and chips of a skull. That was exactly what happened right in front of me.
The rifle clattered to the ground, its previous owner wasn't far behind. Its new owner, for that matter, picked it up. Very light, I wasn't expecting that, considering its size. An obvious magazine, selective firing modes, and a scope that glowed with red light. I held it to my shoulder and looked through the sights. Neat, it even had an automatic rangefinder for whatever was in its crosshairs. I pointed it at the glowing corpse on the ground, marveling at the built-in thermal sensor before I pulled the trigger. Nothing.
Not even an 'unauthorized user' sound. It didn't hum or click, either, so that meant it had batteries and- I ejected the magazine, full of oddly shaped cubes that were decorated with small but sharp spikes on one end, reminding me of a meat tenderizer. Maybe it was DNA-authenticated? Man, the Think Tank really outdid themselves on this one.
Assholes.
I lifted the soldier's hand up to the trigger, and squeezed one of its sharp fingers against it. Still nothing. Probably wasn't out of the question that it didn't work if the registered operator was dead, which was a huge pain in the ass. Although it might make for interesting salvage, or another trinket to sell, it was very light after all. I dematerialized it with the rest of my gear and walked out the door.
Then I took one good look outside and decided immediately that this was not the work of Dr. Mobius and his merry band of fuckwits.
Buildings in every direction, adorned with lights in every color. The Strip had nothing on this. I don't even think the Old World could compare. The streets were literally shining, that's how clean and new they were. I could see actual skyscrapers that dwarfed the spire of the Lucky 38 in every way, and it didn't hurt that none of them were marred by broken glass and centuries of disrepair. It was like someone had been given unlimited untarnished metal and glass to build a city, and it was all reflecting off itself in a maze of mile-tall mirrors. I couldn't even see the stars, the lights were too blinding. I don't know how long I stood there, gaping like an idiot, but I did know one thing for certain when I snapped out of it.
This was all a very fantastical lucid dream.
It had to be, it had everything I wanted in it! Someone tried to mysteriously experiment with my brain, the only people who had tried to kill me were wearing really cool armor, and an entire city or two had been restored, right there in front of me!
Plus, there were so many things to do, now. Find out what the man-spider wanted with me, get the strange soldier's weapon to work, investigate my surroundings, I felt more alive in that moment than I had in a long time, and it felt good.
Something stomped its way from around the corner, but I already had a Stealth Boy up by the time it came by, and a glossy white robot with a block of a gun stomped right past my invisible ass. I don't even think it would have noticed if there wasn't a field to make me blend in almost perfectly against the black of the street. It was moving like it had a mission, and even though the machine lacked any eyes I could follow the robot's nonexistent gaze to its destination, a short white building with man-sized DNA helixes for lawn ornaments and a column of fire rising out of the roof that was only a block away.
I asked for adventure, and that's exactly what I got. This was the best dream ever.
I broke into a sprint, modulating field struggling to keep the light around me from revealing too many artifacts before it gave up and died just as the white robot (which I could now see had a mortar on its back) went through the glass double doors. Four more of those black-clad soldiers went in after it, weapons up and in a formation that allowed them to cover each other as they advanced towards one end of the lobby.
They didn't look behind them so I ambled over to the broken window at the front and realized, while I wasn't carrying the launcher, there was still a high-explosive missile on me that was begging to be used. One that I hadn't dropped at home because I could have needed it later.
I love it when past-me takes care of future-me.
The missile glowed itself to existence in my hands, and I flipped open a cover on the warhead. Few people know this, because few people read the manual, but you can manually set these things to be detonated like a proximity mine, or a grenade that explodes on contact. I swung the panel closed, then tossed it over my head and through the window. Over the sound of a strange gunfire report I didn't recognize but had to be the robot, I heard a clack, the whirr of the bot's servos, and I thought aw shit, it only detonates on impact if the warhead hits something, that was a bad throw.
Another few clacks and I was about to stand up and see if I could just shoot the thing when a cloud of fire billowed out of the window above me. And all the other windows, and the doors.
Never mind, then. I hopped through the scorched window, helmet filtration doing its thing as black smoke swirled all around me.
"Mo-"
A coughing fit. I looked towards the source of the noise, of the voice. It sounded a little too growl-like to be entirely human, but I was high and in a dream, so who was I to judge anything based on what it sounded like?
"Mor tala balan!" the voice said in between hacking, and then I saw. Amongst the aftermath of the explosion was one corpse, and three of the soldiers who didn't look too good, to make a long description short. They hadn't been standing close enough to the missile for a kill, or maybe their armor was blast resistant. No sign of the robot, though.
"More balaten!" one of them repeated, head bent too low to see me. I stepped forward and crouched down, then shot them all in quick succession with my new firing position.
"Where you're going, there will never be any more balaten," I said as I looted their corpses and reloaded. Their armor was trashed, and I would bet it was probably fused to their skin if their blistered and disfigured mouths were anything to go by. I probably should have picked up the other one's stuff in the med bay thing, but that was too late now. At least I would get to see what these guys were after, and get a few more mystery rifles that survived the missile. I walked through the door, hoping for a surprise.
Apparently, it was a man, a woman, and a very strange robot that had all its limbs rounded off. I got a strange feeling of déjà vu. Weird.
The couple were also pointing their guns at me. Rude.
"Identify yourself," the man spoke first. He sounded older than he looked, but with an appearance that was every bit as gruff as his voice, it wasn't surprising. That was one hell of a fashionable sweater, though. It was very well laundered, I was noticing a pattern here.
Wait, didn't he ask me something? Oh yeah.
"No," I slurred out, trying not to chortle in the middle of my reply. "You identify yourself!"
I felt really strange, and kind of good now that the fighting had passed. Bubbly, that's the word I'm looking for. How strange that someone gave me a sedative that only got stronger after the operation had taken place.
Fashionable Sweater Man and the woman shared a glance then kept their rifles trained on me, but I didn't show an ounce of fear. Whatever machinations they were working on wouldn't be of any effect against me. This was my dream, and it would answer to me.
"Central, Firebrand has cleared the enemy air units and is going to be on your position in thirty but you have to move now, she's almost out of fuel. Get going!"
"Who's the radio girl with the sexy voice?" I tried to ask, then realized somewhere along the way I'd turned my helmet speakers off. Oops. I holstered the Sequoia and flipped it back, wondering how I managed to deactivate them in the first place if my hands were full. "Hey, can you hear me now?" I tried.
They seemed to relax an inch, rifles pointed only slightly away from me. "We hear you, and you still haven't identified yourself."
What I wouldn't give to be wearing that sweater…
"Name's Th' Courier," I mumbled out. Damn, my tongue went numb in the middle of that sentence.
The woman's radio buzzed, "Central, this is Firebrand, I'm bingo on fuel but almost on your position, you guys had better be there when I am!"
"Should we be leaving or..?" I trailed off, confused.
Eyes never leaving my visor, the man knocked a grenade against his chest, then threw it at the wall. The explosion didn't make any of us budge. "What happened to the ADVENT outside?"
Of all the questions I'd been asked. I mean really, dream or not, what did he think gunshots and a fireball signified? Truly, my subconscious wasn't very creative in questions to ask, or names for bad guys.
"If you mean the people in black, they're dead. So again, are we leaving or is there something here we still need?"
The woman got to her feet and raised her rifle, wincing in the process. "I don't know who you think you are but-"
"Kelly."
Sweater Man said it with a tone of finality that cut right through my feel-good haze, and I returned his stare with full clarity.
"Can I trust you?" he asked at last. It was like he had stared right through my visor and past my soul in the process. This was no time to lie, Sweater Man could see through me like I was glass.
I nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."
He picked up the white robot, eyes leaving mine only after he seemed satisfied with what he saw. "Then get aboard, we're out of time," he said over his shoulder while walking through the makeshift exit.
The lady threw a hissy fit at that, her own stare of disbelief tracking him. "Sir, you cannot be serious-"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
I stuck my tongue out at her and tasted respirator. Yuck. Still, it was the thought that counted, as a pair of ropes came down from a Vertibird with twin jet engines. Sweater Man and the round robot took one while the lady and I shared the other. "Hey there," I managed without slurring, but she just glared before looking straight up. A winch started to bring us up, making the city zip by in a trail of colors that captivated my attention until a ramp slid under my feet. Oh, right. I found my way to a seat, trying to stifle a yawn. I felt really tired, and I hadn't even been awake all that long. Still, I really wanted to see what happened next.
The craft shuddered, then we were off. Somewhere along the way I passed out on the floor and had to be buckled in for the rest of the ride to who knows where.