Chapter Twenty-Six
Patrick and Colonel Granger continued north for another day, by which time they were well into the no-man's land that was the border between where the Brotherhood claimed to control, and the land that officially owned, if not fully occupied, by Assiniboia. Due to the frequent radiation storms, the lack of transport, and the possibility of war between Assiniboia and the BoS, very few people lived in the area, and those that did lived in small, fortified outposts that was reluctant, even hostile, to allow outsiders in.
Patrick and Colonel Granger couldn't stop, as sleeping in a place like this would either result in your death or mutation into a ghoul if a sudden radiation storm blew in. They continued north until to try to find a railroad, as the UAR had a line that connected Devil's Lake and Bomber City, the main towns of the District of Devil's Lake, which would be their way to get back to Assiniboia and something resembling a habitable place to live.
"About time too," Colonel Granger said when Patrick mentioned that. "I haven't showered in weeks at this point." Patrick couldn't remember the last time he got to fully clean up.
Patrick turned on the radio to DBS, where he managed to catch the last half of the £5000 Quiz Show. A lady - Margaret, Patrick believed the host was calling her - had already won three quarters of the money, and was going for the final question. The studio audience, one of the few DBS shows to have one, was finishing clapping, most likely after Margaret got the last answer right.
"For the whole £5000, and to have your name engraved on the Winners board, can you give me the answer to this question?" The host asked in his stereotypically loud voice. "What was the name of the Prime Minister of Assiniboia who disappeared while hiking north of Winnipeg? You have twenty seconds, starting now!"
A loud, almost cartoonish tick-tock of a clock filled the airwaves. It made Patrick jerk up and look around, hoping that nothing nearby would have heard the sudden loud, jarring noise. Fortunately, nothing was nearby.
"Um, is it… Prime Minister Tilmashenko?" the contestant asked, stumbling a bit over the pronunciation.
"Prime Minister Tilmashenko. What a name! Is that your final answer?" the host asked. "Remember, if you get it wrong, you will go home with nothing but whatever is in the Consolation Prize box."
The audience started shouting and screaming, trying to make themselves be heard over each other, drowning out all noise. "Uhhh… yes!" Margaret shouted over the crowd. Half the audience, the half that believed she had the right answer, cheered and clapped, but the other half was silent, some groans and boos from those that thought she was wrong slipping through the cheers."
"Well, is she right?" he asked.
A loud, angry buzzer sounded. Patrick once again looked up and hoped there wasn't anyone nearby that would want to shoot him. He most likely wasn't going to listen to this again out in the wasteland.
"No, I'm sorry Margaret," the host said, in his loud, boisterous voice that was trying, and not fully succeeding, to sound sympathetic as the audience in the background groaned and sighed in disappointment. "The answer was actually Prime Minister Jeffrey Hardy, Prime Minister from 2176 until 2181 when he vanished while on a holiday hike near Lake Winnipeg. He has never been found, despite a massive search, but the rumors of where he is has become a legend throughout Assiniboia."
"Darn it!" Margaret said. Though she was clearly ready to say something less polite that couldn't be put on the radio. Or at least, not on DBS in the middle of the day.
"I'm sorry Margaret. But, let's see what you get as a consolation prize!"
A multi-key jingle sound. "You won a Brahmin! A first rate dairy Brahmin, quiet and ready to go to pasture, or to your freezer, whichever strikes your fancy!" the host said.
"But I live in Winnipeg."
"This fine specimen comes from Double N Ranching in Por La Pra. Double N Ranching: Only the best meat!"
"I don't have a pasture though," Margaret said
"Thank you Margaret for coming on!"
"And I'm a vegetarian! Can I just get some money?"
"That's it for the £5000 Quiz Show! Tune in next time when another contestant tries to go for the big bucks!"
"This is stupid!" Margaret shouted. "I want-"
She was cut off as the DBS jingle began to play. Patrick shut off the radio as the announcer finished station identification, and the announcement that the next program was Wellington, the soap opera based on the rich and powerful area of Winnipeg. Patrick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Grandma Morrison loved that show, would stop everything for an hour to listen to it. Patrick, and Grandpa for that matter, rarely paid attention to the show, except when the occasional gunshot or scream would make Patrick startle from whatever he was doing. But the sound of the theme song took him back, right back to when he was at home, before this whole mess happened.
He even found himself humming the theme song, the obnoxiously catchy ear worm that had been on the air for decades now. Possibly over a hundred years by now.
"Hey, what's that over there?" Colonel Morrison asked, pointing to the east.
Patrick looked over, squinting to make out whatever he could. "I dunno. Looks like a lot of old cars along the road, all heading north. Don't know where that would be though."
"Want to go check it out?" Colonel Granger asked.
Patrick shrugged his shoulder. "I was just about to ask you that. Might as well."
Patrick and Colonel Morrison turned to the northeast and began to walk toward the line of cars, and eventually reached an old road. While the broken pavement and ruined power lines hanging off to the side wasn't new, the fact that the cars on it, most of them the nuclear or fusion powered ones that were starting to be made before the bombs fell, but the occasional gas guzzler also sat amongst the rusting remains. The only difference was that the ones that used gasoline had a hinged flap on the back end where the gas was put in. For the Highwaymen and Corvega's that used the more modern tech, refueling it usually involved plugging in a new battery or two that would last for hundreds of miles.
"Lots of cars," Patrick said, peering into them. There weren't many that still had windows, and in a few Patrick could see skeletons or bones, with ragged and torn pieces of clothes scattered among them. Toys, suitcases, bottles of Nuka Cola or alcohol, boxed food; anything and everything someone would have packed into a car if they were going away for a while. In some, twigs and grass was arranged into nests for birds or small animals, the long line of metal hulks a perfect shelter for many animals.
"Yeah, and it wasn't cheap to get those cars back then," Colonel Granger said as he looked at the cars. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars for just some of the low end stuff, upwards to a million for the more advanced cars."
"Where were they going?" Patrick asked.
"I guess we'll find out."
They continued to follow the road. Patrick stopped Hardtack, climbed down, and picked up one of the bottles of Nuka Cola in the back of one of the cars, and popped the cap off. But instead of throwing it away like he used to, remembering Hardingville, be slipped the cap into his backpack. Just in case. He took a drink from the flat, irradiated, and sugary drink. It quenched his thirst, despite the radiation, the lack of flavors, or anything else. He enjoyed it just the same.
Patrick remounted and carried on, sidestepping around all the rusty hulks of cars. At last, near a small outcropping, they found a parking lot where a lot of different vehicles were parked. A barbed wire and chain link fence surrounded the parking lot, with a broken down checkpoint being the only entrance, but there weren't many signs, metal or wood, on the outside that could be read to determine where they were. Patrick and Colonel Granger entered the broken pavement surface, and looked around. On the far side, a small concrete structure that seemed to have stood the test of the time remarkably well, stuck out of the ground like a grey pimple on the brown landscape. Some models of vehicles like Patrick and the Colonel had seen walking to the base where parked on one side of the lot, with a lot of empty room still. On the other side on the lot, an entire fleet of derelict trucks was parked, with the remains of canvas covers, all with a white star painted on the side.
"US Army vehicles," Colonel Granger pointed out. "And a lot of them."
"And there are quite a few of the cars here, though not all the spaces are full. Why would that be? And why are they all out here in the middle of nowhere?"
Colonel Granger looked around. "I don't know… but I bet that bunker there would have the answer."
Patrick dismounted from Hardtack and tied her up to one of the old trucks. Colonel Granger was already walking up to one of the small metal doors that lead into the bunker. He managed to pull it open even though it was mostly rusted shut, and both entered the dark room on the other side.
Patrick flipped on the flashlight on his Pip-Boy, while Colonel Granger turned on his helmet mounted light to allow both of them to see. It was a bit musty, and possibly moldy, and definitely dusty, meaning that not many people must have been here, much less lived here, for decades.
"It looks just like a command post," Colonel Granger said, his gaze focused on an old, ratty, American flag limply hanging on a flagpole behind a cheap metal desk. Colonel Granger investigated the desk, and pulled out a couple folders. "To Lieutenant-Colonel Arthur Hoess, Commander, Camp Clancy," he read from the document still mostly intact. "By order of the Department of Defense, you are to transfer five hundred (500) of the pre-selected number of incarcerated subjects that you have submitted to the Department previously to Vault-Tec facility 'Vault 63' no later than October 1, 2077. You have been authorized the use of any equipment or personal you deem necessary to transfer them. You must not, under any circumstances, let it be known to the subjects that they are being transferred to Vault 63 until they have arrived at the Vault. Vault-Tec personal will be given charge over the subjects when they arrive.
"Signed, Major General Theodore Ericks, United States Army Provost Marshal General."
"What's a Provost Marshal General?" Patrick asked.
"As far as I know, he's the guy that would, theoretically, be in charge of any prisons or POW camps," Colonel Granger replied. "I had heard stories of Camp Clancy. Apparently it was a place where Chinese Prisoners of War were sent when captured."
"So, this is Camp Clancy?"
Colonel Granger shook his head. Patrick only noticed because the light on his helmet moved around. "No, because there would have been barracks or something outside, and you wouldn't have all the civilian cars here."
Patrick thought, looking around. "Well, there's another door behind you."
Colonel Granger turned around. "Hmmm, so there is." He managed to open it as well, just like the other door. Only after opening this one did Granger realize that the lock was still in place, just torn out of the weakened concrete walls.
The Enclave officer was the first to go through the door, which lead to a tunnel that was sloped downhill, occasionally with steps built in on the steeper spots. Patrick followed right behind. The air in here was even more musty and damp than upstairs. Patrick nearly slipped a couple of times, but conveniently placed handrails on the walls prevented him from falling.
"Damnit, I wish there were some lights in places like these," Patrick grumbled.
The followed the path, which seemed to be looping around and around, until they finally reached a large cave like excavated area. It was still pitch black, and Patrick could barely see the hand he stuck out in front of his face. His Pip-Boy light, and Colonel Granger's more powerful helmet mounted light, could only illuminate so much.
Colonel Granger turned around slowly, the soft yellow light casting a glow on the walls of the cave. Almost right opposite of the pathway, he stopped. A huge, circular metal door, with the number 63 painted in the middle, greeted them.
"This is Vault 63?" Colonel Granger asked himself. He walked up to the door and looked around, noticing the control panel off to the side. Colonel Granger looked at it for a moment, before he punched a combination into the keypad.
"Security Overwrite Code accepted. Please stand back," a garbled electronic voice said.
Klaxons sounded off, orange strobe lights filled the empty chamber. The whirring and whine of machinery behind the doors as it latched onto the massive cog-shaped door. With a screech and shower of sparks as metal slid along metal, the massive door was pulled into the Vault, and rolled to the side. Patrick and Colonel Granger looked at each other for a moment.
"You can say one thing about Vault-Tec," Patrick commented. "Most of their stuff is made to last. Except for Vault 53."
"Yeah, Vault-Tec knows how to build a giant hole in the ground all right. Allowed me and my family, and the entire Enclave to survive."
They walked in. Unlike Vault H near Winnipeg or the Enclave Vault, the walls were rusty and dirty, and the musty smell from earlier was even stronger in here. Massive radroaches scurried about, but otherwise it seemed the Vault was empty.
Patrick turned to the Colonel as they explored the entry area of the Vault, their flashlights still invaluable as there seemed to be no power. "So, what do you know about this Vault?"
Colonel Granger shook his head. "I wasn't briefed on Vault 63. I was just told it was in North Dakota, but because it wasn't part of my orders, neither Secretary Hawthorne or Speaker Graham allowed the information to be released." Colonel Granger was clearly not happy with that, and grumbled something about bureaucrats in the army's way.
"Why not? Aren't you the head of the Enclave's military?"
"Oh yeah, I am. But the Speaker and the Secretary, for all their disagreements and hatred of each other, agreed that those with guns had to be subservient to the politicians, and they made sure that my men and women only got the information we needed, when we needed it. The head of the Defense Intelligence Agency wasn't even allowed to talk to me directly without one of them in the room with me." The Colonel chuckled. "Didn't stop me from setting up my own clandestine intelligence service in the Vault to keep a tab on them."
Patrick hmmed, but didn't say anything else. Instead he opened one of the sliding doors and walked into the Vault itself.
Just like the entryway, it was dark. The walls were red with rust, if not crumbling, broken piping littered the floor, debris ranging from rocks to suitcases, broken robots and crates filled the halls.
"It looks like something went wrong here," Patrick said.
"Yeah. Maybe the Overseer's office will have some information?" Colonel Granger suggested.
They turned a corner, and found themselves on the lower level of a two story atrium. Patrick looked up toward the second floor, but his light wasn't strong enough to reach the second floor to show anything up there.
"Man, this is creepy," Patrick whispered.
"I was just thinking of that," Colonel Granger replied. "I have a feeling something is just going to hop out at any moment."
They carefully picked their way through the hall, avoiding long tables with chairs bolted to the floor, with some plates, glasses, boardgames and half ruined pieces of paper.
"Okay, so where is the staircase?" Patrick asked, cautiously looking around all around him, before he suddenly stepped on something that snapped and crunched under his foot.
Patrick looked down, and gasped to see his foot having crushed a ribcage, his foot where the heart and lungs should have been.
"Ahhh!" he screamed, shaking his foot. "What the fuck was that?"
Colonel Granger turned to Patrick, his light on Patrick as he finally shook the ribcage off his foot, and backed up to the Colonel, very nervous to stumble on another skeleton. All around him was a lot of bones, an innumerable number of skeletons piled to the side.
"Jesus," Granger whispered. Patrick was dumbfounded at the sight. It seemed like almost a hundred skeletons were all piled up in that corner.
"Yeah… something really went wrong."
They further they explored the atrium, the more skeletons they found, along with discarded weapons like 10mm pistols, BB guns, assault rifles, laser weapons, baseball bats and police batons. In some places, the wall and floor had thicker and darker red spots, most likely dried blood from when someone was hurt or killed.
When they arrived at a stairway and elevator that went up and down, they decided to split up. Colonel Granger would go down below and see if there was a working generator to turn on some power, and Patrick was going to go upstairs to the Overseer's Office and figure out what happened.
"Our Pip-Boys should be able to allow us to communicate back and forth if need be," Colonel Granger said, before telling Patrick the frequency to switch too. Patrick did so. "We can test it when I get down a floor. Got it?"
"Yes sir," Patrick said, giving a mocking salute. Colonel Granger gave a small chuckle and clanked his way to the stairs leading down. Patrick went up.
The top floor of the Vault had a few residential rooms, most with the door still wide open allowing Patrick a chance to glimpse inside. Some of the rooms looked like a tornado went through: the beds and tables upended, more skeletons lying around, including one precariously hanging over a table, a 10mm submachine gun on the floor under his hand.
But just the next room over, it looked like it had been perfectly preserved, like what happened to some houses that had been encased in the ice of the glacier up north. Patrick had seen pictures of entire towns that were suddenly buried under ice a hundred years ago suddenly turning up again when the glacier melted. The rooms would be soggy, but it was surprising what survived: something as delicate as a vase would be left exactly where it was, while a massive steel safe would be crushed and bent into impossible shapes.
One room in the Vault in particular struck Patrick. There were four beds in the room, and they were all a bit messed up, a couple drawers were open with old ratty clothes hanging from them, and stuck to the wall was a faded poster for a pre-war show called The Adventures of Captain Cosmos, with a heroic space man holding a ray gun, with a space-suit wearing monkey on his shoulder. Some toys were still on the floor, including a moth eaten teddy bear, trucks and cars with the paint nearly peeled off, and some old comic books. In all, it looked like a few kids slept and played here. And it reminded him a lot of his and Zach's room back home in Melita.
Patrick may have stood in the doorway a bit longer than he should have, imagining himself and Zach, in happier times, long before raiders came and destroyed it all.
"Patrick, can you hear me?" Colonel Granger's voice came over Patrick's Pip-Boy. Patrick shook his head and lifted the wrist mounted device up to hear it better.
"Yep, I can hear you."
"Have you found the Overseer's office?"
"No, lots of rooms up here to look for," Patrick said.
"Check for a sign hanging from the roof. It should point you in the right direction."
"Okay," Patrick said, and turned and began following the hallway again. He noticed a sign that pointed out different amenities and where to find them: the cafeteria was to the left, the washrooms were to the right, and straight ahead was the Overseer's office.
Patrick hoofed his way in the pointed direction, and came up to the door to the Overseer's Office. There wasn't a terminal locking the door, and unlike when he was sneaking around in Vault H - nearly a month ago… how time flies! - he was able to just enter the office.
The office was a disaster. More skeletons, more discarded weapons, more dark brown dried blood all over. Patrick could still see the bullet holes in the desk, couches and walls. Fortunately, it looked like none of them hit the computer. But the device wouldn't turn on.
"Okay, I'm at the Overseer's office. No power up here for the terminal."
"Just give me a second," Colonel Granger replied. "Aaaand…"
Suddenly all the lights in the room, and the Vault outside the window that overlooked the Atrium all flashed on. "Hey presto!" Colonel Granger shouted.
Patrick was blinded by the sudden light, and it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. The computer in front of Patrick gave a loud beep, and began to whir to life. The electronic clicking of letters being displayed on screen dragged Patrick's attention to the black and green monochrome monitor.
PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD was on the screen, with a blinking line right after. Patrick grumbled. It was never easy to get into these old terminals, even if there was something worth seeing.
Patrick told Colonel Granger of the situation. The Enclave officer took a few minutes to get back. "Okay, I'll be right up there to use the override codes."
"You have override codes?"
"Yeah. Vault-Tec gave the Enclave a wide variety of codes, for everything from the front door to the mainframe terminals. Should be able to access it in a moment. Hold on."
Patrick waited for the Colonel, picking up and looking at the weapons. The 10mm's were pretty much all intact and could still fire, a testament to their famed reliability, and the reason why they were still used 140 years after the bombs fell. The Assault rifles would need a bit of work to get working, but the laser pistols weren't in very good shape at all, most of the electronics having corroded with time. Patrick was just checking out one of the assault rifles when Colonel Granger came in.
"Well, it looked like someone had just shut off the main generator. Which is odd, I'd have thought that it would have been totally out of juice if it had just been left on," Colonel Granger said.
"Maybe somebody did leave?" Patrick said. "Someone turn it off beforehand?"
"I dunno, but let's get that computer code cracked." Colonel Granger deactivated his power armor, the back opening up to allow the human encased inside to slip out. He stretched and yawned as he walked over to the terminal. "Oh, and I made a stop in the water purification station," Colonel Granger said, pulling a hand-sized object out of the side of the power armor that could hold something that small, and handed it to Patrick. "It's a bit dusty, but it doesn't look like it's damaged."
Vacuum tubes, wires, thermionic valves and other things all stuck out of a small metal board that was surprisingly not rusted all to hell. Patrick brushed his finger over a corner with a small plaque, with the words etched in: "VAULT-TEC© WATER SYSTEM COMPUTER CONTROLLER CHIP; PATENT 54,987,990 REG. TM. 2054"
"Well, this looks like what Metigoshe needs," Patrick said with a smile. "Can't believe it took this long to find one."
Colonel Granger had gone over to the desk, sitting down at the chair in front of the computer, pulled a white connector out of the back of his Pip-Boy, and plugged it into a slot on the side of the terminal. He clicked and tapped a few buttons on the Pip-Boy, and soon the Pip-Boy and computer were electronically chirping away.
Colonel Granger yawned. "Man, I'm ready for a sleep."
"I wouldn't blame you one bit," Patrick said after he yawned.
"I just dunno about sleeping in here."
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Well, the fact that at least a few hundred people were killed here, for one thing. Just makes it all feel a bit… creepy."
"You scared?" Patrick asked with a smirk.
"No! I'm just… well… Oh look, the password worked!" Colonel Granger said, turning his attention to the terminal.
Patrick continued his grin. "I'm sure there wouldn't be any g-g-ghosts here," he said with a laugh, making the Colonel scowl a bit as he typed on the computer's keyboard. "But, to be honest, the bed's here won't be in terrible shape, there's got to be food in the cafeteria we could grab, and nothing more serious than a radroach is here. I'm sure we'll be fine. We might even have a better sleep that out in the Wasteland."
Colonel Granger tapped at the keyboard a bit more. "Okay, Overseer's files. Vault-Tec Orders… here."
Patrick leaned on the chair behind Colonel Granger and looked over his shoulder.
CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL
OVERSEER EYES ONLY | VIOLATION VTP-01011
Vault 63 is designed to test the interaction between two groups of people from rival nationalities that have been forced to live in a confined space together. For this test, two population samples will be provided: the first population is 500 American citizens, chosen according to their scores in the Applied Mental Examination Regarding International Candidates And Nations (AMERICAN) Test. This test was devised by Vault-Tec to find the most patriotic and loyal American citizens among the many candidates who applied for Vault 63. The other population of 500 residents of the Vault will be Chinese Prisoners of War from Clancy Detention Facility.
The Vault is designed and to be equipped, populated, and maintained in such a way that interaction between the two populations is impossible to avoid. The role of the Overseer is to not interfere in the any interactions between the two populations, instead monitoring the interactions that naturally occur between the two populations. In the event that disputes arise, the role of the Overseer is not to resolve the dispute, but instead to monitor how the populations resolve it themselves. Under no circumstances is any staff of Vault 63 to intervene in any dispute unless it threatens the structural integrity of the Vault, personal safety, or the provision of services to the Vault residents. They are not allowed to keep the populations segregated unless it's the mutual conclusion of both groups.
All staff members are required to have a good understanding of both Chinese and English and may translate between the two populations, but only if asked too. All staff will make a report in regard to any translations and conversations that occur to the Overseer or to the designated representative of the Overseer.
The Vault Door will remain locked for 10 years, at which point it will be opened. The Overseer is not allowed to reveal this information to any other Vault Dweller or Vault Staff until the designated date. Vault 63 has been equipped with two Garden of Eden Creation Kits (G.E.C.K.)
"Wow," was all Patrick could say. "This place must have been a bloodbath."
Colonel Granger took a deep breath, before going to another file, this one from the Overseer' personal log, dated October 23, 2077.
Today is the end of the world. I got the call at my home in Fargo to report to the Vault immediately at around 6 this morning. As I was on the road, I heard the All-Media Emergency Warning go off. About half an hour later, there was a blinding flash behind me. Must have been nukes landing at Grand Forks Air Force Base. I couldn't stop and look, and kept going. I was lucky to make it to the Vault around 9 AM, and was able to get the staff ready to process the arrival of the American population for the Vault, as most of them would have been driving from Fargo and Grand Forks. The Chinese population had already been here for about two weeks and were getting settled in. This is their home now, as it is mine and 500 of my fellow countrymen.
You know, the Chinese aren't that bad. Not as bad as the news and movies have made them out to be. They seem just like us, although speaking a foreign language, different colored skin and the taint of a Communist ideology, but that's not their fault entirely. They are clean, courteous and polite. I've found myself talking a lot with Lieutenant Woo, a soldier during the Anchorage Reclamation, and the nominated "leader" of the Chinese population here. He's a mild mannered man, very smart, hardworking, and willing to listen to other people, and help out his fellow prisoners. I only wish I could be half as great as he is when I'm running the Vault.
The first American vault dwellers are arriving now. I should go welcome them to their new home for the duration of the apocalypse.
Colonel Granger switched to another personal log, dated October 25, 2077.
I had an emergency meeting with my staff today. The experiment has already gone off the rails, at least I think it has. The scientists here were actually excited about what happened. Anti-social jerkwads.
Within 12 hours of the door closing, there have been 54 reported physical altercations, 23 physical altercations, and 2 murders, both Chinese. However, the orders from Vault-Tec are clear: there is to be no deviation from the experiment.
Lieutenant Woo came to my office today, demanding to know why Chinese prisoners and American citizens are in the same Vault. I couldn't tell him that Vault-Tec did it on purpose, so I just said it must have been a mistake. Woo demanded that I do something to try to prevent any more violence. Again, I couldn't tell him Vault-Tec said I can't do anything, so I just said I will look into what I can do.
I hope everyone here realizes that blind nationalism will only lead to their destruction.
Colonel Granger hesitated a moment before he selected the October 26th entry.
I talked to Dr. Kramer, the leading Vault-Tec scientist here. I demanded he allow me to cancel the experiment, because what is going on in just going to lead to everyone's death. Dr. Kramer basically began to scream at me, calling me a "traitor," a "pinko Commie," and an "obstruction to science."
This isn't science. This is murder. This is sadistic, horrifying, ghastly murder. I told him so.
He then said that if I had a problem with it, that he would gladly let me walk out the front door, and that he would take over. But we both know that whatever is going on outside the Vault would be ten times worse than what is happening now. So I should just shut up, sit in my office, and let the experiment run its course.
I told him that I would just arrest him and end the experiment. Then he just stared at me, with those unblinking, black eyes, and asked "With you and what army?"
He told me that there are other Vault-Tec agents here to make sure that I nor anyone else ruin the experiment. Even he didn't know who they were.
I thought I was the Overseer of this Vault, the guy in charge. But I'm just a figurehead. A useless, space-taking figurehead. I might as well be the Vice-President.
October 29, 2077, was the next entry.
Fuck Vault-Tec. Fuck those scientists, Fuck everything. I now have 98 murdered dwellers and 9 security personnel who weren't able to defend themselves. Dr. Terry at the Clinic is overloaded with cases and demanding I do something, the Security Chief is demanding I go against the orders and isolate at least the troublemakers. But I can't. Dr. Kramer would have me thrown out and take over, ensuring the experiment will continue. If he dies, then some person, who I don't know, will just make sure that the experiment will continue no matter what. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!
This Vault won't survive till the end of next month unless I do something. But I can't. Vault-Tec set this experiment up to fail, didn't it?
The last recording, October 31, 2077.
It's full scale civil war. The Americans, every man, woman and child, are trying to purge the Chinese. The Chinese managed to infiltrate the armory and cleared out all the weapons, and are using them to defend themselves, and as they are former soldiers, they are doing a remarkable job. Lieutenant Woo has managed to turn them into an effective fighting force. The security guards are dead or hiding. Dr. Terry was killed when a grenade was thrown into the Clinic. Hell I bet those fucking scientists that are looking over this experiment are all dead now as well. Rot in hell, Dr. Kramer.
I... I can't do anything now. Even if I wanted too, I can't break them up, can't isolate them, try to control the nightmare here. I locked the doors to my office to get away from it all. I'm a fucking coward. I should have went against the orders. I should have isolated the Chinese and Americans. This is all my fault.
I'm sorry for everything I've done. Maybe someday, some horribly mutated being that is trying to establish a new world will find this place. I just hope they learn from the old world's mistakes and make it a lot better than this one.
Good-bye.
Patrick and Colonel Granger looked at the terminal, before Colonel Granger sighed. "I… I know you are most likely thinking that I should have known about this, or have something to say to defend Vault-Tec. But I don't. Not this time."
Patrick slowly nodded. "I think we should go lie down," Patrick said with a yawn. "Then we leave, close the door, and never come back."
Colonel Granger was in no position, thought, or temperament to argue.
Pip-Boy InfoTracker Note #9351
Fargo News-Dispatch, October 4, 2077
Camp Clancy: Home for the Enemies of America
By July Olivia
In the fight against Red China, it is inevitable that we would capture some of the enemy while we fight them. The reclamation of Anchorage has resulted in thousands of Chinese prisoners of war being captured as our brave soldiers reclaimed our own lands. Many of those prisoners have been shipped to the Continental US, with the main intention of ensuring they would not be able to flee and return to help their "comrades" back in Asia.
One of the most important facilities in the POW system is Camp Clancy, set up about 60 miles north-west of Fargo. Here, in the middle of America, the most dangerous and highest ranking Chinese prisoners are brought, to make it much, much harder for them to not only break out, but to then return to China to fight us elsewhere.
"We pride ourselves with our secure defenses," Colonel Bryson Randolph said. "With electrified fences, the best Protectons, Mister Gutsy's and Sentry Bots to patrol and automated turrets, I'm 100% sure that not a single prisoner would ever escape this facility.
In a tour of the camp, I got to see some of the housing and facilities that the Chinese POWs are given. Their barracks are sturdy but spartan, able to withstand the cold winters and hot summers of North Dakota, and they have decent rations, much like what our soldiers in the field would eat. This is much better than what most Red Chinese would eat, even at home: bread, meat, cheese, soda, and many other products that is much better than their rice and tea. The POWs seem content and happy to finally be away from Communism. Colonel Randolph said that re-education courses are available to teach them the benefits of capitalism and democracy.
"I hope that these POWs can be used as the basis for a new, free and market oriented China," Colonel Randolph said. "This will make the entire war a worthwhile cause."