In a moment, I am plunged into near-complete darkness as the lights abruptly shut off with a click. Through the black, I hear the sound of straps being pulled over and buckled together atop something – I think that's that Wilkins woman's body being secured to something. They don't tell me what to do, so I almost lose my balance as the ground suddenly lurches upwards from beneath me.
"Who are you?" I try shouting, to little avail; on the inside, the incessant din of the rotors is enough to completely block out my answer. I cough once, twice – holy shit, there's a fuckton of dust in here – and it's after this when I realise they're never going to hear me like this. My stomach lurches in the realisation that my feet are no longer connected to the ground.
Trying to control my breathing, I lower myself into a seat against the cold hard side of the flying thing, and retreat into my thoughts. I had never realised the Brotherhood of Steel were active in New Jersey. Back in – that place, they always told us that the Brotherhood was the enemy, but I'd never seen them. Until now. Either way, it's for the best that they don't find out who I was.
We New Jerseyans all know that they've turned that weird pentagon of theirs down in the Capital Wasteland into a stronghold. Rivet City's supposedly aligned with them, and Rivet City's apparently one of the Republic's biggest trading partners. The Brotherhood have been even stronger if it hadn't been for an odd series of internal political conflicts.
But I'd never imagined they'd be so close. The Brotherhood was supposed to operate in the wild lands where civilisation didn't exist, or at least, that's what the rumours in Atlantic City told us. So what the Brotherhood of Steel was doing in what was by all recognition Republic territory was mystifying, to say the least. It made perfect sense why they were trying to avoid Republic attention; doing this, whatever the hell this was, would be a fantastic way to start a war.
Which makes me wonder.
What if there's already a war?
"Of all the damn things I have to do…"
The voice of that woman who'd reluctantly rescued me from the Vault 98ers last night now swims back into my mind. A metal hand, clamped tightly around my shoulder, violently shakes me, banging my head against the wall beside what I'm lying in – some kind of surface, it seems. My eyelids shudder open, as I realise I'm resting on some kind of pillow in a poorly lit room, almost like a closet or a prison cell, and that the floor beneath me isn't vibrating.
I must have fallen asleep. On a vertibird. I really don't know how I managed that. I'll probably never know.
Those thoughts are quickly erased from my head when I see that I'm staring into a human figure still clad in a full set of power armour.
"Get up!" she commands.
I pull myself into a seated position, wondering if these military types ever act like normal fucking human beings.
"Where…am…I?" I ask, groggily. My energy weapon is resting on the side of my bed; good. I'm not a prisoner. It'd be quite annoying indeed if the Brotherhood had decided to make be a captive.
"Where you are is of no importance," she replies with great disdain. "We're getting you out of here and into Toms River the moment this business ends. Anyway, we're interrogating that woman."
I swing my legs over and touch the ground, slowly standing up, and reaching for my blaster and slinging it over my shoulder. Nothing's off. That's a good sign. I was afraid that they'd try and confiscate it, being advanced technology and whatnot. But I suppose that these things are common enough that they don't bother wasting their resources.
With scarcely a wasted breath, she leads me out into a crumbling corridor – yet, one that still has the electricity rather tenuously restored. Her armour clanks hard against the floor, her head scrapes against the patchy, falling ceiling, and I wonder if this is really necessary.
I am led into another room, wherein another armoured figure stands over a groggy-looking Sarah Wilkins, the latter bound to a chair, blood caked below her nose and her hands invisible behind her. The armour, I realise, isn't for me. They probably could care less about some random girl who happened to wander across their path. And despite everything, I really do not care to see what happens to Wilkins, because I know whatever it is will not be particularly pretty.
Alas. "You travelled with her," the woman who brought me here says, "you get to watch. We might need you later. And keep your weapon at the door, please."
"But – I was captured – I know nothing," I protest, pulling my weapon off and placing it against the wall.
Before the woman can respond, "Paladin Rider," the man says, "are we ready to start?"
The woman – Rider – turns. "Yes, Knight Fox."
And so they begin.
They aren't rough, not at first; they just ask questions, which Wilkins doesn't answer. Paladin Rider circles the desk, sending Wilkins's head spinning in circles, while Knight Fox simply hangs further back, looking on, occasionally interjecting with some vague comment. I recognise the scenario from the pre-War detective novels Kenji likes reading to me. Rider's the bad cop, Fox is the good cop. I guess.
My stomach twists. Where is Kenji, anyway? He must still be back in...Forked River, right, yeah, Forked River? He must be safe. There's no way he couldn't have beaten that mercenary. I clasp my hands together, feeling the sweat start to lubricate my skin. He's got to be alright.
Just as I've begun to zone out, I am lurched by Rider suddenly yelling, and placing her metal-gloved hand around Wilkins's head, making the latter's eyes suddenly lurch open in abrupt alertness. Knight Fox raises his hand, but lowers it a moment later, letting Rider do her thing.
"You people know something, Wilkins," she hisses. If I could see her mouth, I would have seen gritted teeth. "Tell us what it is."
"We're just trying to protect this country," Wilkins gasps, laughing joylessly. Of course. She'd just seen half a dozen of her comrades either die or be scattered. "And maybe you'll come along to helping us."
"So…that would be…what, exactly?"
"Just as the Super Mutants came from the west…" Wilkins pants, "they're coming from the east. We're...we're the only chance you have."
"Who are they?" Rider asks, her hand falling on Wilkins's hair, making the orange-skinned woman wince.
"We don't know," Wilkins.
"You don't know," Rider replies disbelievingly, "and you know you're the only chance you have, huh?" She tugs hard on Wilkins's musty hair, making her wince again and cry out a little.
There's acting. I've seen enough of it to know that Wilkins is not acting. Even if she's lying, she's telling what she believes is true. "She's telling the truth!" I yell out. "Stop it!" A moment later, I realise what I've done, and I cover my mouth and try to bury my face my hands.
Rider shoots me what must be a look of disgust behind the power armour. Knight Fox casually steps forward, ignoring both of us. He nods at Wilkins, he beckons her to continue.
"We…er, we started picking up the odd radio signals about two and a half years ago," Wilkins explains. "They…well, they seemed to be coming from somewhere out to sea, and alternated between English and French. Intermittent and patchy, too, as if we didn't have the right radio. Something like that, I'm not a fucking technician. Anyway, it was pretty jumbled. But we could tell they were looking for something."
"Was it a girl, by chance?" Fox asks softly. "About ten years old?"
My ears perk up. How did seemingly literally everyone in New Jersey know about this girl except me?
Wilkins hesitates a moment, then nods. "Yes."
Rider lets go of Wilkins's hair, her helmet still aimed dead in my direction.
"And you found her," Fox continued.
Wilkins nods.
But before she can speak her next sentence, someone else rushes into the room - an initiate, as I have heard them called.
"Intruders, Paladin!" he gasps. "In the base!"
"Intruders?" Rider replies, incredulously. "Here?"
The scribe nods, panting heavily. "Some raider or mercenary type…and a super mutant!"