It had been about a week since the other raiders left then. My encounter with Mr. Pilot Light had put me a bit more on edge, causing me to look around more often, checking little crevices where a stealthy scavenger-type fellow might be waiting to slit my throat. I was certain that the others had all died; the caravan route to Megaton couldn't have been more than a couple miles north of our base. Sure am glad I never bothered fostering a relationship with any of them. Not that I even could have if I wanted to, interaction with the lot was about as charming as a radroach with lipstick.

One thing I was curious about was exactly how they might have died. A band of seven or so raiders, half of them pumped up on Psycho, the other half on Jet, and all of them having some damn decent firepower. Hell, our self-proclaimed "leader" Horse had one of those automatic rifles the Chinese used back when they were invading during the Great War. Those things are damn hard to come by.

Eventually I found myself fantasizing how they died. Well, not fantasizing. I didn't hate them THAT much. I'd call it pondering. Pondering how such a large raider gang might have been completely taken down. My first thought was of course, Deathclaw. That's usually an easy explanation if someone just goes missing one day out in the wastes, and all you can find of them is a new, exciting recipe for blood pudding along the route they took. I debunked that theory quickly, though. The only time you ever see a Deathclaw in that part of the wastes is if it wandered all the way from Old Olney after picking up the scent of a herd of Brahmin or something.

Next assumption I had was Yao Guai. But again, it couldn't have been that. You pump enough bullets into their hide and they'll fall right over. It always takes a ton of bullets, though. At least one guy would die in that situation at most.

Eventually, after running the scenarios through my head, I came to the conclusion that they all probably met their fates to one of three things. A hunting party of super mutants, one of the odd patrols of those assholes in black and red power armor that think they own the whole damn wasteland, or the caravan they tried to raid had a mini nuke handy. Either way, I had the whole base to myself.

First thing I did was remove all the nasty bits of wastelander gore we had lying around from the immediate area. Had maggots and rot in them, they hardly counted as decorations if you would ask me. I dumped them into a nearby ditch Horse made some of the dumber raiders dig up, thinking that it'd be a great way to get clean water. "Just like the old world, man" he had said. I tried explaining to him that the fallout would 'a seeped through the dirt by now, and it'd probably be like drinking the atomic fuel from out of a car. He didn't listen until they had hit a buried landfill full of those radioactive barrels and one of the guys died damn near instantly trying to climb out of the ditch. Thinking about it, his body might have actually still been down there. Oh well. I'm not risking my ass to save some dead asshole.

After dragging out anything else that had some sort of dried blood or unidentifiable substance on it (especially the now broken ovens, which smelled like a dirty morgue) I went about fixing up the place, making it look spiffy. Well, at least as spiffy as you can make a place like a raider camp look. Not like I had much better to do. Most I could do was nail more steel sheeting into the barricades.

Eventually, how quiet the whole place had turned had gotten to me. I had become so used to the hoots and hollers of the guys, the screams of some wasteland asshole getting executed for the hell of it in the shed, the constant crackle of our numerous fire barrels. I had learned to just drone all the noise out. And now that they were gone, the place felt like a ghost town. Hell, probably more like one of those abandoned ruins that not even those damned zombies in the metro tunnels would consider it a decent place to live. The kind of place that holds that sort of unsettling quiet. Where your only company you get is the whistle of the dry wind and the ever so often series of gunshots off in the distance.

So, against my better judgment, to keep myself from going mad from loneliness, I activated the robot. A couple quick selections from my terminal, and Buzzo floated up into activation, a few clicks and whirrs accompanying the startup of its thruster.

"Gutsy unit 47-12, soldier designation 'Buzzo' is online, hoo-rah! Chance of sudden power failure is twelve percent! Chance of combat inhibitor failure is zero percent! Chance that red Chinese bastards have invaded is- Dear God, one-hundred percent! Enabling warning drone to-"

A few clicks at my terminal, and I had overridden the "Commie-Checker" routine as I had called it.

"Command override recognized, continuing self diagnosis. Thruster fuel is at optimum level! Warning! Flamethrower and plasma cartridge storages are severely low! This unit will not be able to fight properly without ammo!"

And with that, I activated Buzzo's personality subroutine. At first the bot looked around, seemingly slightly confused. Then, one of its tracking sensors locked onto me with a cold metal gaze.

"Commander Gubbs! With all due respect sir, did you deactivate me mid-sentence again?"

"Yeah, Buzzo. I did."

"Again, with respect sir, that was quite rude!"

"How else was I supposed to get that dirt out of you? You squirm too much whenever I try to work on you, dammit."

"Apologies, sir. I tend to get nervous," it stated, the robot starting to do a small patrol around the base. "Goodness, sir! This area is looking a whopping thirty percent less disgusting! Congratulations!"

I broke open a brand new tin of Mentats, leaning back in my chair. "Thanks."

Buzzo continued to aimlessly patrol for a small while, before again breaking the silence. "Sir, our squadron hasn't returned from their mission to apprehend that Chinese shipment, have they?"

In a Gutsy's mind, everything is a goddamned communist. It's funny the first day, annoying as Hell the second day onwards. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Commies. No, they haven't been back."

"Sir, they could have been ambushed! And- Killed! Gone AWOL! In any case we have to go find our squad mates, and ensure their safety!"

I leaned back, put my boots up on the table, and reached into the tin for some another smart pill. "Nah."

"Nah? Nah?! Sir, how could you just abandon your mates like that in such a time of their possible need?!" It swayed back and forth, a simulated concern in its metal voice. "What kind of commanding officer just abandons his men?"

This was the main problem I had with that damn robot. You see, Buzzo was more of a personal experiment than a soldier in-duty. One of the crazies pre-war thought it'd be a good idea to toy around with a Gutsy's personality subroutine. Your average mass-produced General Atomics Gutsy was designed to be an all-American commie-hating Uncle Sam-smooching soldier who follows orders by the finest detail.

Well, with Buzzo, he did have the American momma's boy soldier crap installed, yeah. However with the tampering that numbskull did, they managed to make a robot that looks at every situation like it can play out to benefit both parties of a conflict. Or, if not that, it generates some crazy plan to successfully complete a mission so it won't have to engage combat. So, I was stuck with a machine that thought everything hostile was a communist, but at the same time it wanted to talk things out, or come up with a hare-brained idea so it didn't have to fight.

In short, it's a robot designed for combat that was annoyingly cheery, and a borderline pacifist. The reason I say borderline, is because if you barked orders at it enough, it eventually would attack.

With all that in mind, I just ignored Buzzo's questions and let myself start to brainstorm, the Mentats really kicking in hard. This was a damned good tin of smart pills. I could care less about anything else just then. I started to imagine building a Brahmin-shit powered flying machine, the schematics within my mind. Sometimes the 'tats make really bad ideas sound like they're badass.

When I finally came out of my focus, the sun was just about to set over the dusty horizon. I sighed, contentedly, reaching into my tin, until I realized something.

The quiet's back.

Nothing but dusty wind and the occasional gunshot. This was a major problem, because the sound of Gutsy thrusters was absent as well. Buzzo was nowhere in sight. I scanned over the area once, twice, thrice, and there was still no robot anywhere.

Calmly, I logged onto my terminal, punching in the password.

Couldn't have wandered far. Probably just wanted to go play with a mole rat again...

I started typing out a "return unit" command. As annoying as I may have found Buzzo, I still didn't like not having it within direct sight.

ERROR: UNABLE TO TRANSFER RETURN COMMAND. UNIT OUT OF RANGE.

"Wuh-oh."

I inputted the same command three times, still no dice. It was then I noticed the latest entry on my terminal, in the form of a received message. From a Gutsy's message interface. I opened it up.

"Sir, it's with great displeasure that I must refuse my orders to stay here at base. It may be cleaner, and significantly quieter, but I cannot rest knowing soldiers out there may be in danger. This unit needs conformation on our fellow soldier's whereabouts, and it intends upon finding them! I find it sad that my commanding officer would have such a cold heart. I hope when I return, you'll be willing to apologize to your squad mates for your indecency. Unit 47-12, designation 'Buzzo' signing off."

And, just then, I imagined the same one of three things that had killed the other raiders, brutally destroying Buzzo. Speechless, hoping that just maybe it'd wander within range again; I tried to return Buzzo to its home point one last time.

ERROR: UNABLE TO TRANSFER RETURN COMMAND. UNIT OUT OF RANGE.

(Author's Note: And there we have it, chapter two. I'll be brutally honest; I wasn't expecting this to get such positive overall reception from the start. It brought a smile to my face seeing your guy's feedback, and I sincerely thank you for taking the time to leave your two cents on the story thus far. Remember, any reviews are appreciated, and I hope you have a wonderful day.)