November 11, 2281
None could stand in my way. I had a mission. I had a goal. I had a really large gun. John burst out laughing at that line, looking up to see Smith watching him, an amused expression on his face.
"Which part did you get to?" he asked, a wry grin on his weathered face.
"The really large gun part," John replied. "Your grandfather had a sense of humor, at least." Smith chuckled at that, remembering the line well himself.
"One can relate, having done what we have," Smith replied, his accent making the words sound far more exotic than they were. "Keep reading, though," Smith continued, nodding down at the memoir John still held in his hands. The Wanderer, still chuckling, looked back down at the text that sat in his lap and resumed reading the account of Albert Cole. From the start John had seen the similarities between himself and Smith's grandfather; both were Vault Dwellers, both had a pet named Dogmeat, which had come as something of a surprise to John. It was as he read to the bottom of the page that he realized that he and Albert Cole had far more in common than just their childhoods or their adventures.
I was not treated to a hero's welcome when I returned to Vault 13. The Overseer met me outside the massive Vault door, and told me point blank that while my services to the Vault will always be remembered, he could no longer trust me or what I had become. He said something along the lines that I had saved the Vault, and now I must leave. Bastard.
John's blood ran cold reading that line; his stomach twisting into a knot as he remembered that day, in December of 2277; the day that Amata told him he had to leave for good after she became Overseer. His face twisted involuntarily at the memory, the feelings of anguish and betrayal that he felt that morning when she had escorted him out of the Vault washing over him. Smith, for his part, noticed his young friend's apparent distress.
"Like I said, you're not alone at all, John. You ok?" he asked, concern in his voice as he saw the distant look in John's eyes; a look that made it clear that his mind, at least, had gone back to that day. Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he looked up at Smith.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad memory. Everything I've been through and one of the worst is still the day Amata said I had to leave the Vault," he replied. Smith nodded at him in understanding.
"I can imagine. It's where you grew up, just like my grandfather. You seemed to be able to forgive her for doing it. He never did." John just nodded, the look of pain fading from his face as he forced himself to concentrate on the present; the here and now of where he was: in Smith's house, in New Reno. He was thousands of miles from Amata, and close to four years removed from his final ejection from the Vault. She had made it clear to him when she came to Megaton that she regretted asking him to leave; and for his part he had forgiven Amata long before she had ever asked for it.
"It's just strange. You'd think I'd hate her, hate that place. It's a huge world, bigger than I ever could have imagined in the Vault; and if I had stayed there I'd never have seen any of it, never done anything worthwhile. But that place still feels like home. And I could never stay mad at Amata. Even when we were kids and we'd fight, I couldn't stay mad at her," John replied.
"It makes sense, in a way. You've been out of the Vault for what, four years now? Four out of 23 years above ground. 19 years is a long time to stay somewhere, kid. Damn long time. And when it's what you know, what you're raised with…it's naturally going to be what you compare everything else to. Why Amata, though? From what you've said it sounds like you could've had any girl you wanted back there. You had a pretty good deal going with that Lucy girl. Why bail on all that as soon as Amata showed up at your door?" Smith asked.
"Like I said, I just couldn't hold a grudge. Amata is just…Amata. When I'm with her I don't feel so alone. When I'm with her, I feel like everything will end up alright. She's the only person I've felt that way with. She's like a counterbalance to my personality. I always tended to get emotional really quickly, and Amata always kept her head about her. And then we have 19 years of history together. Every class, together. Every birthday, together. Every fight I got into, every achievement either of us had growing up; we were together for it. When I first came out of the Vault and was stumbling around the Wasteland, she was never far from my thoughts. I would go to sleep every night and wonder what she was doing, if she was ok, if she missed me as much as I missed her," John explained, trying to put into words feelings that went too deep for him to explain. For all his gifts of speech, talk like this exceeded even his abilities. Frustrated, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked plaintively at Smith, as if begging him to understand. The Chosen One simply nodded at him.
"She's a part of you," Smith replied. John nodded in agreement; Smith's words summing it up perfectly. Seeing John's agreement, Smith continued. "So why be so ambivalent about things? I'm not an idiot, John. I pay attention when you get drunk and start talking; I can tell that you're questioning the commitment you made. But when you talk about her you light up. It's one of the only things I've ever seen you light up about." John processed what Smith had just said before responding.
"She is part of me. She has been since before I can remember. And when we were kids, growing up together…I used to be that excited, that passionate about everything. I still was, right up until that day. God, that's part of why it hurt so bad when she kicked me out," John replied, going back to his memories. "It was December, and I had just watched my dad die. After we made it to the Citadel and met up with the Brotherhood, I left. Went back up to Megaton and just collapsed in my room, lost. The whole reason I had even left the Vault was gone. And then my Pip-Boy picked up a radio transmission. Vault 101's emergency signal. I listened to it and it was like all my prayers were being answered, Smith. I thought finally I'd be able to go home and just have my normal life back," he continued.
"Obviously it didn't quite work out that way," Smith replied, smiling slightly. John quietly laughed at that response.
"Yeah, you could say that. And after that…shit, I thought I was lost after my dad died. I was really lost after I had to leave the Vault. Everything I had ever loved was gone. I felt like I didn't have a reason to live anymore. It took some time but I focused on revenge as a starting point. If I couldn't save my dad or be with Amata I'd just let every one of my enemies feel my hate, starting with the Enclave. That was how Sarah and I got close, over the war with the Enclave. I guess in retrospect that's part of why we didn't work out; it wasn't exactly a healthy way to start a relationship," John explained. The room fell silent as John processed his memories, Smith hanging back to let him do so. Finally, after what seemed to be a long time, Smith spoke.
"You want to go watch the fights with me tonight?" he asked. John perked up at that.
"The fights?"
"Yeah, boxing. Heavyweight championship is the main event tonight," Smith explained.
"Live boxing? They have that here?" John asked, surprised. He had learned to box in the Vault; Officer Gomez had been his coach and he had developed John into an effective competitor. The competition in the Vault had been lacking; but John always enjoyed watching old holotapes of classic fights with his coach while Gomez explained what the fighters were doing. Smith, for his part, laughed at John's question.
"Yeah, I used to do it myself. I usually get sat up in the front rows, I'm friends with enough people here to get good seats," Smith replied. John smiled at him, excited at the opportunity. It was yet another thing they had in New Reno that they didn't in the Capital Wasteland. The closest thing they had to a sport in the Capital had typically been sprinting away from a Mirelurk or Deathclaw.
"Sure, I'm down. I used to box too," John said, smiling at Smith.
"Great, let me just get changed and we'll drive over," Smith replied, standing to walk to the bedroom he shared with Miria.
"Drive?" John called after him, confused.
"Yeah, in my Highwayman," Smith replied; the answer flooring John. He has a functional car?! How?
"You mean the Highwayman model of car?" John asked, still incredulous.
"Yeah, I have one. Don't get to drive it much anymore, but I figured it'd be easier on your knee than walking over," Smith replied, walking back in the room. His attire caught John by surprise. He was used to seeing the big man in a duster over some form of combat armor; dust from the road covering all of it. Tonight, though, Smith was in something that looked like a clean, well-tailored Pre-War suit; a black jacket and pants set off by a white button-up shirt, left open at the collar. Seeing the look of surprise on John's face, Smith laughed before explaining the choice of clothes.
"If we're going to be sitting in the VIP section, I figure I may as well look the part. Besides, I hardly get to wear this thing anymore. I'd let you wear one of my spares, but I don't think we're the same size…" That much was obvious to John; Smith having at least four inches and 40 pounds on him. Laughing at that understatement and nodding his agreement, John painfully rose from his seat before limping behind Smith to where his ride waited.
Clover sat in the darkness of the ruined building, the only light coming from a small fire she had built in the middle of the room. In her hands she held her dinner; a can of pork and beans. Nearby sat all the supplies she had brought back with her to the Capital Wasteland; the Perforator rifle freshly cleaned and the shocksword that the Wanderer had given her wiped clean and polished following her massacre of the raiders. It had been a long return to this place for her. She had wandered since the end of the war, trying to piece together the fragments of a life she only partially remembered; the one she had lived before the raiders had captured her and sold her into slavery, before the slavers had reconditioned her to the point of forgetting most of her past. They had made her something she hated; they had made her a whore, made her weak and dependent on someone else. That had ended when the Wanderer and his companions had overrun Paradise Falls. Clover had been the only survivor; something about her had stayed the Wanderer's hand, stopped him from killing her and instead set him to trying to fix her. At first she did exactly what she had been programmed to do, transferring her devotion to the man who she was told owned her; but over time, as he and the group of Treeminders in Oasis had systematically deprogrammed her, their relationship had changed. She had become the fourth member of his team; with him telling her that she would become Conquest, the first of the Horsemen. As he had rebuilt her, after her deprogramming, she became something to him Fawkes and Charon could not be. She became his sin-eater; doing things that even he could not bring himself to morally justify, and his final weapon, a failsafe should he and the others be killed during the war. She had been in Virginia when she heard a trader say that the Wanderer had left with the freak, Fawkes; and she had begun a steady return, making her way back to D.C. to be the failsafe that Lover had asked her to be.
The Capital Wasteland was on the verge of exploding, Clover knew; she didn't know how anyone with half a brain couldn't see it coming. The raiders were coming out to play again, and the group she had killed had been an excellent way to reintroduce herself to the scum of the Capital Wasteland. During the war, while her three other teammates had been out fighting the "Good Fight", as that ridiculous DJ said, she had been lurking in the shadows; doing unspeakable things to raiders and anyone else who would disrupt the peace they were trying to build in the Capital Wasteland. She aimed to do the same now; the raiders she had left butchered in the streets providing a grim reminder to any others that would see it that someone was still watching them. The second part of her mission would be the more complicated, Clover realized. When Lover had reprogrammed her, made her into his failsafe, he had told her she would always have to protect the people, even if he was gone. She had listened to GNR's broadcasts, and as she had she compiled a list of people that she would need to either destroy or protect. Reilly. Protect, Lover always liked her. Three-Dog, may need to assassinate; trying to stir people up. Brotherhood, disrupt if they begin trying to seize control. Vault 101…protect, always protect; the thought flashed through her mind, overwhelming her conscious thought processes. Clover, as a person, couldn't give a shit less about Vault 101; she couldn't care less about most things. But when she had been rebuilt into something resembling a functioning person, the Wanderer had told her that 101 had to be protected; if he was ever gone she had to always watch it for him. She had no say in the matter, really; she had no idea how the brainwashing the Slavers had put her through had been reversed, but when it had been broken down the Wanderer had taken the opportunity to insert his own form of suggestion into her subconscious.
Realizing her dinner was gone, Clover set the can down and scooted across the floor of the room to her equipment. There was a hint of chill in the November air, and she grabbed a thin wool blanket and laid it next to the fire to lay on top of. She had learned from the Wanderer to constantly keep moving when she was out conducting her own discrete operations; this would be the only night she spent in this building before moving on to another location. She had booby trapped the stairs leading up to the second floor, ensuring that if someone knew her position they would not be able to reach her without waking her; and she had always been a light sleeper to begin with. Just as she was drifting off, a sound in the distance drew her back to consciousness; awaking her with a feeling of anxiety in her stomach, a metallic taste forming in her mouth as her fight hormones kicked into gear. She recognized the sound. Vertibird rotors. Brotherhood, here. Do they know? How?
No time to ask questions, honey. Time to go away and let Conquest come out to play.
Just let me back out when you're done, ok?
Have I ever not, sugar?
As she rolled off the blanket and began pulling the stealth suit on, Clover allowed herself to slip away and let the other side of her personality, the Horseman called Conquest, come out. Pulling the hood up over her head, she activated the stealth field on the suit, allowing the shadows to consume her as she sheathed her sword and grabbed her rifle. The Vertibirds were approaching, heading west from the Citadel. She scanned the sky, the strobe lights of the aircraft coming into view as they quickly approached. That's a lot of birds, she thought, taking a quick count of the number of lights she could see. It was a larger number than she had ever seen flying in the same place before. Whatever was happening, the Brotherhood was doing something big. On some level, Conquest hoped they were trying to seize control of the Wasteland. The raiders were no challenge to her; and she had never been a fan of Sarah Lyons to begin with, not since she had been sleeping with Lover back during the war. From a distant corner of her mind, Clover watched with something resembling horror. Her alternate personality, Conquest, the one she let out when it was time to do the fighting, embraced bloodshed, relished in the chaos and the madness of combat; but Clover, the deprogrammed slave that controlled her body day-to-day, had come to hate the violence and the killing. And from the corner of her mind that she watched from, impotent after surrendering control of her body, Clover realized that there was the potential for quite a lot of bloodshed very soon.
The delegates who had answered Reilly's call sat once again in the Brass Lantern after concluding their negotiations for the day; having reached something resembling a consensus on how to proceed. After listening to Lucas and Jackson speak about the Brotherhood's military capability, Amata had decided, after consulting with Susie and Gomez, to fully commit Vault 101's resources. She was, as her JJ had said when he used to play cards in the Vault, all in. She had decided that, in addition to increasing the amount of water they purified for the settlements that had assembled in Megaton, she would open Vault 101 as a Wasteland hospital, as it were. The Vault was far and away the best supplied member of this ad-hoc alliance that was springing up; and Elliot was by far the most competent medic available to any of them. The looks of shock on the faces of all of her counterparts from the other settlements had quickly passed to gratitude as they listened to what Amata had said. Any injured mercenary from Talon Company; any seriously ill or injured resident of Megaton that Doc Church couldn't treat alone-all would be welcome at Vault 101 for treatment; albeit with certain conditions attached. Amata's principle responsibility was still the safety of her residents, and as such her offer had come with the condition that all visitors would surrender their weapons in the entrance chamber of the Vault. She had met no argument from the others, and the day had rapidly concluded after that. Amata realized, looking back on it, how much the others had been hoping for the Vault's assistance. While they were not at all a valuable contribution as combatants, their resources and security were second to none. Coupled with Amata's natural talent for administration and something resembling an organized alliance had begun to emerge amongst the settlements in opposition to the Brotherhood. Amata found herself sitting across from Reilly, yet again; with Susie and Gomez sitting next to her. The others-Evan King, Uncle Roe, Lucas, and Jackson Clancy, filled out the rest of the seats; all except Amata partaking in celebratory drinks. Amata, well aware of the effects alcohol could have on her child, had opted to stick with purified water. The sounds of the large group talking filled the small interior of the Brass Lantern, the noise amplified by the sheet metal walls of the structure. After their food had arrived, Lucas stood from his seat; the assembly falling quiet as he looked at each of them.
"I want to thank y'all for making your way here. I know it wasn't an easy trip for a lot of you. A lot of us were strangers before we came here, and I'm glad that leaving here I can say that I'd call each of you friend any day. I know none of us want a fight with the Brotherhood, and we're all hoping that they come around and keep the water flowing. But it's good to know that if they don't, we're gonna be alright. So I've got two toasts for us tonight," he said, smiling in the direction of Amata and Clancy as he spoke. "First, to our new friends from 101 and Talon Company. I used to wonder how someone as tough as the Wanderer could have come from a Vault, but after hearing you talk, Overseer, I can see that he had to grow tough to keep up with you," he continued, the assembly laughing at that; drawing a slight blush from Amata as Susie and Gomez clapped their hands in approval. "So with that, here's to Vault 101. Welcome to the world!" Lucas said, raising his glass.
"101!" the rest of the assembly replied, raising their glasses in return before taking a drink. After they had all set their glasses back down, they looked back to Lucas, who now had his eyes on Clancy.
"Commander Clancy, I know that the Regulators, and me especially, never saw eye-to-eye with Talon Company back when Jabsco was in charge. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that back in those days, we all kind of hoped the Wanderer would wipe the Talon Company out. But I can see now that I was wrong to judge y'all so harshly. It's good to have you on our side; and I'd be proud to stand alongside any Talon Company man that's in a fight. So here's to the Talon Company!" Lucas said, raising his drink again.
"Talon Company!" the group responded; a satisfied looking smile on Jackson's face. When the commotion once again died down, Lucas took in the group one more time.
"I know y'all are probably tired of the sound of my voice right now, but I've got one more thing, and then I promise I'll shut the hell up," he began, drawing a laugh from the group. "Almost all of us here have had to fight for our lives at some point. Just the way of the Wastes, until the kid changed all that. I know none of us want a return to those days. So I guess this one isn't so much a toast as it is a hope. But here's to peace-let's hope we can keep it around," he finished, the group raising their drinks with his.
"To peace," they intoned, a somber atmosphere falling over the group as they remembered what had drawn them all there in the first place. Amata looked around at the group, seeing in their faces the various motivations of the delegates. For Evan King and Uncle Roe, it was a dedication to their settlements. Lucas Simms; an idea of a better Wasteland. Reilly's face betrayed the look of someone with a debt left unpaid. And on the face of Clancy and the Talon Company men, it was a look of an organization redeemed; a name cleared of a black mark it had long held. Amata looked over to her fellow Vault dwellers, seeing her own feelings reflected on their faces-loyalty. It was loyalty to a memory; not just to that of their friend, but to the memory of his father. James Thompson had been a figure that they had all respected. They all knew, perhaps better than any others in the room, that the only reason that JJ had gone out into the Wastes and done what he had was because of how his father had raised him. As she began eating her last dinner in Megaton, Amata's thoughts turned not only to JJ, as they did most every night; but to his father, a man who had always treated her with compassion and respect. She offered up a silent thank you to him; as well as a hope that somewhere he could see the impact his life and work had made on the Wasteland, and of how the boy he had raised in the Vault had grown into a figure for others to rally around.
The Tactical Operations Center in the Citadel was humming with energy; the bustling of scribes and knights coming and going mixing with the radio traffic coming in from the field to create an atmosphere of palpable electricity. Elder Lyons and Scribe Rothchild took it in, each managing their anxiety about the massive operation they had just launched in their own ways. Rothchild had taken to pacing, turning over the possibilities in his head as his subordinates hustled around him; relaying messages and moving markers on their map of the western ruins. The first wave of Vertibirds was on their way back to the Citadel to load up with more troops before returning to where the first wave had inserted and was now establishing a secure presence. The reports from the field were coming in clear; Sarah having been the first person out of the birds and onto the ground. She had rapidly taken command of the situation, setting those under her command on their respective sectors to clear them of any possible threats while the detachment of engineers that had flown in with them began establishing a command post on the ground. Elder Lyons, for his part, felt more comfortable as the minutes passed and no reports came in of any troops being in contact; he knew that the most dangerous moments of any operation of this sort tended to be when security hadn't been established and the Vertibirds were unprotected. The TOC was deep inside the Citadel; far enough that the sound of the formation of Vertibirds returning didn't reach them, the chatter of the pilots over the radio network the only indication to those present that the birds had landed back at the Citadel and begun loading the second wave to be transported west; with more supplies in tow. From one of the radios, Sarah's voice came through.
"Citadel base, this is Pride 6, how copy? Over."
"Pride 6, this is Citadel. Good copy. Over."
"Citadel, stand by for sitrep, over."
"Roger, Pride 6. Send it," the knight operating the radio replied.
"Citadel base, Pride 6. Landings have been made unopposed and the first wave has control of the airhead. Patrols have begun in the immediate vicinity and have yet to make contact. Engineers have begun putting up our CP and fortifications. Will advise when second airlift arrives, over," Sarah said, her voice coming through the static of the radio.
"Roger, Pride 6. Continue on mission, over." Elder Lyons nodded, relief overwhelming him at hearing his daughter's report. The landings had gone as well as he could have hoped. If there were raiders in the area, they had chosen to hide; and Reilly's mercenary company had been caught unawares and unable to interfere, even if they had wanted to. He looked over to Rothchild and smiled at his old friend; the Scribe returning the gesture with a knowing look in his eye. After everything they had done-the cross-country trek, the scourging of the Pitt, the schism within the chapter and the loss of support from the West Coast Brotherhood; they had finally reached the point they had always dreamt of. Finally, the Capital Wasteland stood on the brink of true unity; of being restored to something resembling functionality, with the accumulated wisdom of the Elder and Scribe Rothchild helping to guide the locals until they could take command of their own destinies. And in that moment, Elder Lyons felt something resembling pride; pride in all the struggles, pride in the men and women who had sacrificed under him and not lost faith in his vision.
Smith had not been exaggerating when he had told John that he was typically given good seats when he attended the fights in New Reno. He and John, accompanied by Gale and Bonzo, had been escorted to the front of the huge arena; one that held at least 2,500 people, John estimated. The looks on the faces of the fight fans had lit up as the group walked passed; people pointing and shouting out to Smith, who gave off the appearance of a man entirely in his element. It was a side to Smith that John had never seen. John's initial impression of him, from when they first met through their time travelling to Coalseam, had been of a man who was silent to the point of surliness. That image had begun to fade as they traveled through the Interior Desert and Smith had begun talking more; and by the time they reached New Reno John had come to see Smith as one of his closest friends. But to see him so readily comfortable with the adoration of a mass of people; to accept it while still retaining his composure and not showing any hint of discomfort, was new to John. It was something he had always had trouble with, and he had never faced the adulation of a crowd anywhere near as large as the one in the arena.
He and Smith had sat next to each other, Gale on John's other side and Bonzo beside her; the two of them keeping each other company while Smith and John sat engrossed by the fights. The match that had just ended had been a pair of welterweights, smaller men with exceptional speed and a readily apparent amount of skill. John had always enjoyed watching the lighter weight classes box when he watched the old holotapes with Gomez; finding their speed and finesse to be a pleasant contrast to the greater emphasis the higher weights placed on strength. The ring announcer, a man resplendent in what appeared to be a pre-war tuxedo, strode to the center of the ring; before confidently grasping the microphone and addressing the audience.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please direct your attention to the center of the ring," he began, his sonorous voice echoing through the venue. "Before tonight's main event, there is a special guest in attendance that we would like to recognize," he continued, the arena falling silent, with hushed whispers making their way through the crowd. John's mind instinctively raced at the announcer's statement; so used to being the center of attention was he, before the realization hit him. Smith. It's obviously Smith they're recognizing. Get over yourself, man. No one out here has the faintest idea who you are, he thought to himself. "Please join me in recognizing a true legend of the New Reno ring; the former Undisputed Heavyweight Champion-The Chosen One, Yudhajit Smith!" the announcer bellowed; his voice putting extra emphasis on the syllables of Smith's name for added effect. With a smile on his face, Smith stood from his seat and strolled confidently to the ring, ascending the steps and ducking through the ropes in one smooth motion. Turning in a circle, he raised his hands, waving to the crowd who, for their part, had gone wild at his introduction. A look of satisfaction was apparent on Smith's face; albeit one with a healthy dose of nostalgia mixed in. John smiled, recognizing the look. Smith missed it. He missed the adoration of the crowd, hearing the cheers for him. As if knowing it themselves, the crowd slowly began chanting his name.
"Yudhajit! Yudhajit! Yudhajit!" they chanted, the noise building to a crescendo as the crowd stomped their feet with each syllable of his name. Next to John, Gale looked around in wonder at the crowd; the sight obviously a new one to her.
"They love him," he yelled to her, leaning over so she could hear him over the sound of the crowd. Eyes still wide, she nodded back at him.
"I can see that! This is crazy!" she yelled back, straining to be heard above the noise echoing through the arena.
"Nothing like this in Coalseam?" he asked, the cacophony in the venue coming back down to a level of controlled chaos.
"No, we have fights; but my dad never let me go. Said it wasn't an appropriate place for a lady," she replied, rolling her eyes as she did. "If only daddy could see me now…" she continued, laughing as she trailed off. John laughed as well; going off what little Gale had said about her family, her father had sounded like something of an overbearing traditionalist. He thought back to the sense he had in Coalseam, that she was trying to escape something, and realized, not for the first time, that it was likely her father. Returning to his seat next to John, Smith looked flushed with enthusiasm; as if the adoration of the crowd had reinvigorated him.
"You never said anything about being a champion here," John said, leaning over to him. Smith laughed before nodding at him.
"How do you think I afforded that house? I took it up when I first came through town, when I was looking for the G.E.C.K., and when me and Miria moved back I got into it for the money. Turned out to be pretty good at it," he replied, shrugging his shoulders before turning his attention back to the ring; the two men who would be contesting the main event having just made their way to their corners. John, realizing that Smith was on some level uncomfortable talking about his success, turned his attention as well; hoping that the two massive heavyweights that would be fighting for the title could put on a good show.
Sarah looked around the landing zone they had inserted on, the engineers rapidly beginning to throw up temporary housing units after their work on the CP had been finished. They had only one radio, but it was enough to pick up traffic from both the Citadel and the incoming Vertibirds. The insertion had gone off without a hitch, and thus far none of the patrols she had sent out to sweep the immediate vicinity had met any sort of resistance. On some level it felt almost too easy. As the second flight of Vertibirds approached, her radio came alive; almost as if responding to her thought that things were proceeding too smoothly.
"Hey, Sentinel? We got something here you should see," McPherson's voice came through the radio. She couldn't help but smile slightly at the sound of his voice. He had recovered fairly quickly from the brutal fight he had engaged in with the Wanderer; and more than any other member of the Pride wanted to see their mission succeed and a stable state be built around something resembling moral principles; as opposed to the cult of personality that existed around the Lone Wanderer in these parts of the ruins. Putting aside the thoughts of her lover, she focused on what he had said. Something she needed to see was a rather ambiguous statement, she realized; but not necessarily a bad one.
"Roger, McPherson. What's your location?" she replied, nodding at Kodiak and Tomlinson to get ready to accompany her. Wordlessly, they fixed their helmets on their armor before picking up their weapons.
"About a half a klick east of the LZ, over," he replied.
"Got it, en route," she said, before dropping the transmission and putting her own helmet on. Turning to look at her two men, she nodded before setting off for where McPherson had said his patrol was waiting. The group moved silently, keeping alert despite the lack of contact that evening. It was possible any raiders were laying low and wouldn't hesitate to attack a group of three if they had enough numbers. The trip proceeded uneventfully, however, and McPherson waited in the street to meet them, his helmet off. Smiling at them, he nodded in the direction of one of the ruined buildings, the light of a fire flickering through the blasted out windows.
"In there," he began, gesturing at the building. "Go see for yourself." Sarah nodded uncertainly at him before making her way to the building, looking inside the doorway to find something that resembled a charnel house. The far wall of the room was missing and emptied onto the street; and the building had obviously been used as a raider den. The bodies of three of them lay on the floor, each with very obvious blade wounds, one of them decapitated and the others violently savaged. Only one had a weapon at hand, a 10mm submachine gun. The wall opposite the dead raider showed that he had desperately discharged the weapon at whatever had killed him, but judging by the wounds on the raider's body, he had failed to hit his assailant. Looking up to the group of knights that had discovered the bodies, she removed her helm, before speaking.
"Any sign of whoever did this?" she asked. The group met her with silence as McPherson strode back in.
"None, Sentinel. It's like whatever did this was a ghost," he replied. Sarah couldn't help but feel uneasy at the response.
"Huh. That's weird. It almost reminds me of what Gallows said the Wanderer did in Evergreen Mills. Can't be him, though. He'd be on the other side of the country by now," she replied, her face twisting as she concentrated on her thoughts, her eyes glazing as she went into her memories. She knew by the end of the war, after John had been injured, that someone else had taken over doing his recon missions for him. A woman, Sarah thought, although she couldn't remember her name. Uneasily, she remembered the reports that had come in during the dying days of the war. Raiders and slavers found butchered, mutilated beyond recognition. Jabsco, the head of Talon Company, killed by some unseen assailant on Ft. Bannister itself. Can't be, though. They all left after the war. Gallows said she headed south. She's long gone, same as that zombie he used to work with, Sarah thought. Looking back to McPherson and the others, she resumed her command presence.
"Alright, McPherson. Get your people back on mission. I'll be back at the CP. Keep me posted on anything else that happens, got it?"
"Got it, Sentinel," he replied, flashing her a hint of a smile before fixing his helmet to his armor and resuming command of his patrol.
Amata and the group from Vault 101 walked alongside Clancy and the Talon Company mercenaries, leaving Megaton behind and making their way to their respective homes. The rest of the evening had gone well; everyone taking advantage of the hospitality that Lucas Simms had ensured for them in Megaton. Amata, for her part, was anxious to return to the Vault. Being gone for two whole days made her extremely uncomfortable, although she knew that everything had likely remained quiet. As they made their way to the road that led away from Megaton, Clancy spoke up; voicing a question that had crossed the minds of many in the Wasteland over the four years that John had been out of the Vault.
"Hey, Overseer; mind if I ask you something?" he began, drawing Amata from her thoughts.
"What's up, Clancy?" she replied, surprised by his question.
"What's he like? The Wanderer, I mean. All we ever really knew him as was an enemy. It's kinda hard to imagine him as a regular person, the way you guys know him," he said. Amata laughed slightly, looking at Susie and Gomez; who had long had the same thought, but reversed.
"That's funny. All of us who grew up with him have a hard time imagining him as this Lone Wanderer that everyone seems afraid of," she began, before answering his question. "He was really just a normal person. Had a pretty quick temper when he was a kid, but he'd feel bad and apologize just as quickly. And he was smart; and really religious. That was actually his job in the Vault when we got old enough, he was the chaplain," she explained, drawing looks of disbelief from the Talon Company.
"He was a fuckin' preacher man?" Clancy asked, shocked. Amata let loose with a peal of laughter at his response.
"Yeah. He could quote the Bible off the top of his head," she replied. A moment passed before Officer Gomez spoke up.
"I was his boxing coach, when he was younger. He was always pretty athletic, and he was a hard worker. I'm guessing that's part of why he was able to do so well out here," he said. Clancy shrugged in response.
"Maybe. I never went hand to hand with him, luckily. But he killed enough Talon Company guys for me to know how dangerous he is. That's why I have a hard time imagining him as a chaplain," he replied; an uncomfortable silence overtaking the group from 101 as they realized, not for the first time, that the easy-going kid they had grown up with had disappeared out in the Wasteland. Amata knew that there were still vestiges of him in John's personality, but she also knew that there was a hardness in him that hadn't existed back in the Vault. Secretly, she hoped that once he returned to her and their child, she'd be able to convince him to just come home, back to the Vault, and be the person he was before he left again. She knew it was unlikely; but the hope still existed. Reaching the hill that led to Vault 101's entrance, she turned to the Talon Company commander.
"Clancy, it was a pleasure doing business with you," she began, extending her hand. He took it before responding.
"And you, Overseer. My guys are gonna start heading out to the D.C. ruins in the next few days; so don't be surprised if you start getting requests to patch people up soon," he replied; Amata nodding in acknowledgement.
"I'll make sure Elliot is ready for it. Safe travels back to Bannister," she replied, bidding the group a last farewell before turning and leading Susie and Gomez back into the entrance cave of their Vault.
Clover had moved through the shadows in the ruins, heading towards where the Vertibirds had been landing. Finding a suitable building, she silently moved through it, stealth field still active, and made her way to the top floor of the structure. From there, she looked out at what lay in front of her. The place was swarming with Brotherhood, she realized; and it had no appearance of being a short operation. They looked to be constructing some sort of outpost here in the Western ruins. Beneath her what could only be a patrol of seven knights made their way back to the space that the Brotherhood was building on. Raising her scope to get a better view, she recognized the sigil on the armor of the man in front. It was the symbol of the group Sarah Lyons ran. Lowering the rifle, Clover slid back into the shadows and began to process what she was seeing. If the Brotherhood was constructing an actual base to operate out of, and had dispatched that many troops to the region, it could only mean they were going to try to take total control of the D.C. ruins, she realized. Clover began running through her options; the instructions that the Wanderer had given her going through her mind. Even if no organized resistance existed, she knew she had to do something to disrupt their plans; at least in the hope that lover and the freak would be home before the Brotherhood could take over everything.
The realization came to her as she thought. The Brotherhood was a large force, a heavy one; one that did best with room to maneuver and employ their superior firepower. She would meet them asymmetrically. Strike from the shadows where they wouldn't expect it; observe their routes and look for patterns that she could use to walk them into any number of the variety of traps the Wanderer had taught her to employ. The D.C. ruins held no shortage of possibilities for a woman with her skillset. Conquest, her warrior personality, was positively giddy at the thought of the fight that lay in front of her. It promised to be a challenging one; but the thrill of a good fight, of staying one step ahead of an enemy that could easily kill her if they found her, was something she had missed while she had been away. With a smile playing across her face, Clover set off into the night; ready to begin her one-woman war on the Brotherhood.
November 12, 2281
They woke early in Smith's home in New Reno; the group of travelers convening around his dining room table to plot their route into New Vegas. On the table sat a map of Nevada, with Bonzo relaying what he had learned from the other traders in the city.
"Looping through the NCR and coming up the Long 15 is out. I heard there's a huge backup at the Mojave Outpost; NCR isn't letting caravans enter the Mojave heading to New Vegas because of unsafe conditions on the road," he began, John's heart dropping slightly at that.
"So how do we get to New Vegas, then?" he replied; Bonzo pointing at the map in response.
"We take Highway 95 south. It's a smaller road, but it connects direct to New Vegas and we wouldn't have to enter the NCR at all," he replied, tracing the outline of 95 on the map. The group silently showed their agreement with Bonzo's decision.
"How long is it to New Vegas?" Gale asked.
"'Bout a week or so," Bonzo replied. "It's not that bad of a trip. And you can see the lights from New Vegas when you're two days out," he continued; Gale's eyes widening in surprise.
"It's that bright?" she asked, disbelief on her face.
"You can't even imagine, kid. I'm gonna go with Fawkes to the caravan lot and get the wagon. If any of you have anything you want to bring from here, load it up; there's nothing between here and New Vegas," he said, before taking his leave with the super-mutant; leaving Smith, John, and Gale standing around the table. Smith looked to John before speaking.
"Want to take a look at my armory? We're going into an active warzone, I'm not planning on going in undersupplied," he said. John nodded his appreciation before following Smith up the stairs, Gale close behind. He opened the door to his arms room; Gale's jaw dropping the same way John's had upon seeing the amount of firepower Smith had stockpiled. Smith, for his part, made his way directly to his Enclave power armor and began breaking it down, preparing it for travel. Noticing the look in John's eye, he explained himself.
"This might be my last time in New Reno for a long time. After we're done in New Vegas and we get your problems sorted out, we're heading straight back to the Capital Wasteland. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to walk into however many fights we have in front of us without the best equipment," he said, before continuing. "Do you think using power armor would help you be better in a fight, with your knee the way it is?"
"Yeah," John replied. "Towards the end of the war the only way I could keep going was by wearing power armor; the servos in it help take some of the pressure off my knee," he continued.
"Then use my T-51b armor. We just have to be careful when we get to the NCR about hiding this stuff. They've got a running feud with the Brotherhood; and they're still rounding up the remnants of the Enclave out here and putting them into indefinite detention for war crimes."
"What's the deal with the Brotherhood and the NCR?" John asked, as he made his way to the T-51b armor and began placing it in the trunk Smith had brought into the room for their supplies.
"They were allies during the war with the Enclave; but after that things broke down. Disagreements over how technology should be used. Brotherhood was way better trained and equipped, but there just weren't enough of them compared to the NCR. They're mostly in hiding now. Rumors about a chapter down in the Mojave; but if there is, I've never seen them," he explained.
"Brotherhood sure does love their tech, don't they? At least out east they were trying to help ordinary people…mostly," John replied.
"Yeah, out here they couldn't care less about ordinary people. They're xenophobic to an extreme," Smith said, turning his attention to the weapons he had available to him. He immediately reached for the CZ57 minigun, placing it in the trunk with a sizable amount of ammunition. Looking around, his eyes rested on what John recognized was a model of plasma rifle; Smith picking it up and storing it in the trunk as well. Satisfied that he had the weapons he wanted, he turned to John. "Anything catch your eye?" he asked. John's eyes rested on what appeared to be a light machine gun, white and with the word BOZAR on the frame. Wordlessly, John picked it up, before looking at Smith for approval. Smith just smiled and nodded, approving the choice in weapons; John setting the weapon in the trunk in response.
"Well, I think we've got enough in here to take down a small army," John said, chuckling.
"That's the point," Smith replied. "When Fawkes and Bonzo get back we'll have them help us carry this shit out to the wagon. We need to avoid wearing the power armor as much as possible; but as we approach the Mojave it'd be a good idea to put it on," he continued.
"Why avoid wearing it so much?" John asked.
"Draws too much attention," Smith replied. "Maybe out east no one gives a shit; but the NCR has a serious hard-on for going after any groups it sees as enemies of the state. Last thing we need is someone running to the NCR Rangers about an Enclave remnant on the roads," he finished, throwing on the duster he typically wore on the road as he did.
"Are there any good options for New Vegas?" John asked. So far it sounded like each side had some serious faults; there was no clear good or bad in the Mojave.
"Not really," Smith said. "Legion are slavers, NCR has grown corrupt; which is kind of sad because I remember the NCR when it was a decent place. Mr. House, the guy that runs the Strip, has never been seen in public. So unless something comes out of the blue, some sort of wild card; New Vegas is in a tough spot," he explained. Before John could reply, the sound of Fawkes and Bonzo entering the house came up the stairs. "Alright, let's get this stuff into the wagon and hit the road," Smith said, looking at John.
November 17, 2281
The trip south along Highway 95 had been uneventful. John had almost wished for some sort of action just to break up the monotony of the desert. His Pip-Boy had begun picking up a faint radio signal earlier in the day; and by the time they stopped in the evening it was coming in clearly. Radio New Vegas, his Pip-Boy said. In the distance, to the south, the light from the city was visible on the horizon; an orange glow in the blackness of the night. Turning on the radio as they settled in to eat their dinner, he caught Dean Martin's distinct voice; belting out the last verses of one of his trademark tunes.
"Ain't love a kick in the head?" the voice crooned over the radio; the song ending and the DJ coming back on.
"It's me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you," the voice said, drawing a series of disgusted groans and eye-rolls from the group of travelers. "It's just about time to get you some news," the voice continued; John perking up at that. Anything that would provide him information about where they were going was welcome. "A package courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings has reportedly regained consciousness, and made a full recovery. Now that is a delivery service you can count on," the radio said; drawing a snort of derision from John.
"Yeah, ok. If his definition of 'full recovery' is drooling mess, maybe," John said, drawing laughter from the group. Smith, though, took no part in the laughter, instead looking lost in thought. "Hey, Smith, you alright?" John asked, drawing the man from his thoughts.
"Yeah. Just that story. I was just thinking how strange it'd be if there was a third of us now," he replied.
"Think you might be too optimistic? It sounds like the DJ didn't have many details. It's probably not even accurate," John said. He knew, from his own experience and training, what effect a gunshot wound to the head would have on someone. Unless the shooter was utterly incompetent; or the victim was extremely lucky, a full recovery was beyond unlikely. Still, what Smith had said weighed on his mind. Who's to say someone else couldn't be that lucky, or have some sort of divine protection guiding them? You survived plenty of things you shouldn't have, he thought to himself. John briefly allowed himself to dream about the possibility of there being a third person like him and Smith; someone who could be that wild card in the Mojave that they had discussed back in New Reno. The reality of where they were and the world they lived in snapped John out of that line of thinking. It's unlikely. Don't even bother getting your hopes up. Better get used to being alone, he thought as he settled onto his back to go to sleep; the lights of New Vegas like a beacon in the distance as he drifted into unconsciousness.
Greetings from the Capital Wasteland, everyone! Been back in town for about a week and a half; went down into D.C. earlier this week and wandering around definitely helped get some of the creative juices flowing. So a couple notes here before people get angry at me:
Smith having a car: this is actually a quest in Fallout 2. You can show up in New Reno with a car and it gets ganked by one of the crime families, if I remember correctly. So yeah; they're rare but in the backstory some vehicles still do exist in the west.
Hope the dialogue for the Brotherhood when they were inserting wasn't too overboard; I tried to keep it somewhat faithful to how military radio traffic sounds while not going so far as to make it totally confusing to people unfamiliar with the military.
Anyway, hope you all enjoyed; any questions or comments or anything that needs clarification, let me know. Thanks for reading!