October 23, 2077

The world ended on a beautiful autumn day in Washington, D.C. Summer that year had been a long one, and temperatures continued to reach into the 70s into late October. A palpable sense of tension had undercut what was a summer of celebration for many; optimistic that after over a decade of war the national nightmare that had existed since the Resource Wars began was finally coming to an end. Harrison had been there when the Chinese were finally defeated in Anchorage. He had been given a choice, two and a half years earlier-go to jail or join the Army. The decision had taken less than a second when the judge offered it to him. On one hand he could be locked in a cage for several years, wasting away. On the other, he could at least be paid, stay somewhat free, and learn new ways to fight. He had not been a particularly good soldier. He had always hated authority, and more than once he ended up spending the night in the stockade. His physical ability had compensated for most of his shortcomings as a soldier. He had excelled at the physical aspects of training and been selected to be assigned as a power armor soldier, using the new T-51b units that were rolling off the assembly line. He required the largest size produced, and when fully armored presented a fiercely imposing sight, his natural body language and posture being made all the more menacing by the armor. After the war ended, he was released from the service and came home, to Southeast DC, the neighborhood he had grown up in right off of M Street, near the Navy Yard. Before he had left he had been the big man in the neighborhood, both physically and metaphorically, and one of the biggest in the DC underworld. That summer, after coming home from the Army, he had become the biggest man in all of DC. His natural viciousness, coupled with the advanced weapons training he now possessed, made him the answer to most problems that needed a permanent solution. If someone needed a problem solved, they came to Harrison.

It was just after 9:00 AM when he awoke that Saturday morning. The night before he had "worked", as it were; handling a problem for one of the local bosses who had a snitch in his organization. Heaving his 275 pound frame off of his bed, he staggered to the bathroom to rinse his face. The water spat out of the rusty faucet, turning clear after a moment of running. Splashing it over his face, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. Brown eyes, reddish-brown hair that he hadn't cut since getting out of the Army and which now fell to his cheeks. Everything about him was gigantic. He was 6'8, and at 275 had a presence that commanded any room he walked into. Unfortunately for those around him, he also had a hair-trigger temper and would just as readily punch someone as greet them. He had been orphaned at age 7, and had been forced to learn to fight or die. Those that had picked on him as a child came to regret it when puberty hit and he rapidly sprang up and filled out. He'd left school at age 16 and quickly ended up committing petty crimes to survive, outside the menial jobs he worked at a meatpacking plant and at the shipyard on the Navy Yard. Languidly, he crossed the living room of his apartment, opening the front door to retrieve the morning newspaper. Flipping on the radio to Galaxy News, the morning headlines filled the air as he walked past. "Good morning Washington," the woman who was the morning host cried out. "It's currently 9:05 and 65 degrees here at the Glass-Enclosed nerve center of GNR! Today's top headlines…."Harrison tuned the woman out as he settled back on the couch and opened the paper. The headlines there, and on GNR, were the typical drivel that had filled the papers and airwaves in recent years. The World Series was ongoing, heading into game seven between the Dodgers and the White Sox. In the section of the paper that covered pop culture, all the talk had to do with the grand opening of the Sierra Madre Resort and Casino that evening. Only the wealthiest, most prominent people had been invited, and the gossip columns were salivating over the star-studded event. A smaller article, buried several pages into the section, talked about the continued mystery surrounding the sudden disappearance of Robert House, the billionaire industrialist. No one had heard from him in months, and House had at one time been a prominent figure at social events. Harrison folded the paper and put it down on his table, before rising to get dressed and leave for the day.

There had been a palpable undercurrent that summer, underneath the celebrations that had taken place; a feeling of unease, a sense of foreboding, as if everyone in the country had the feeling that something big was going to happen. There were those who publicly questioned whether the Chinese would truly just slink back across the Pacific in defeat, particularly given the turn for the worse their border war with the Soviets had taken. Those voices were quickly silenced by a government that was desperate to pacify a restless populace; a populace that was only too happy to believe that after nearly two decades of war, of epidemics, of invasion and of skyrocketing prices following the depletion of the world's petroleum reserves, that things were going to go back to the way they had been before the war, when Harrison was a child. The 2050s had tolled the end of the American dream, when he thought back on it. Things had still seemed so optimistic then, before the Resource Wars began. When he was a child there hadn't been as many air raid drills; the Vault project, or whatever name the government gave it, didn't exist. Now it seemed there was a near weekly civil defense drill; not that it mattered to him. He'd never be able to reserve a spot in a Vault, even if he was sleeping with a Congressman's daughter regularly. Or at least had been. She had disappeared without a word a month and a half earlier. Harrison had initially assumed she had gone home with her father during the Congressional summer recess, but the amount of time she had been gone gave him the feeling something else was afoot.

Pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt, Harrison strode out of the small apartment and down the stairs of his dingy apartment complex, stepping into what was a beautiful, crisp October morning. Slowly he walked down the street, shoulders back and chest out; unconsciously walking the way he had been drilled to in the Army. He had learned to carry himself with the air of a man who was utterly assured in his ability. People made way for him as he made his way down the street, stopping briefly at a fruit stand to pick up a mango. The shopkeeper made to question him as he left without paying, but seeing who it was, meekly returned to his cash register. A smirk crossed Harrison's face at that.

Slowly eating the fruit as he made his way down the street, he spied several men he knew entering a pool hall on the corner ahead of him. It seemed like as good a way as any to pass time before his girl came over that night, so he made his way inside the dark, smoke filled building; men stopping to look up at the enormous figure entering their midst. From the background a jukebox played, the sounds of the new electric guitar music that was becoming popular reverberating through the room. The group of friends he had seen entering smiled and called out to him, and, greeting them with a slap of the hand, he joined them at their pool table. Greetings were exchanged as they made room for him, respectfully giving Harrison space. He filled it in the manner of someone that was utterly unconcerned with those lesser people that surrounded him. In Harrison's world there was simply him, and everything else merely orbited his massive presence.

Charon was drawn from his memories by the sight of the woman across from him; remembering who he was speaking to. Clover sat, leaning back in her chair, feet crossed and propped on the table. Her black boots were covered in a fine layer of dust from the road, but Charon had observed that aside from the cosmetic flourishes she had added to disguise herself, her equipment was all in excellent condition. She had taken the Brahmin skin top off as they sat in the hall, revealing the modified combat armor she wore over her tautly muscled frame. She was different than Charon remembered. Her eyes were less wild now, she gave off less of a feeling of insanity. Clover raised her eyebrow at him as he paused in the middle of the story he had been relaying to her.

"You gonna continue, or leave me hanging?" she asked.

"Maybe some other time. It was over 200 years ago, doesn't really matter now," he replied, the chamber silent except for their conversation. The room amounted to Charon's throne room, the place from where he ruled the Cape Wrath. "Why did you come here, Clover? You and I were never exactly friends." She shrugged at him.

"Things are coming to a head back in DC. I told you that. And Fawkes and Lover are both gone. You're the only one that's left now that people actually know. You knew him longer than any of the rest of us. And I think you bought into what John talked about, whether you want to admit it or not," she replied. Charon smirked at that.

"Before we have that little philosophical discussion, I've always wondered something," he replied. Clover looked at him impassively, pursing her lips as if knowing where Charon was going, and not liking it. "Why did you always call the kid Lover?" A soft chuckle escaped from Clover at the question.

"Aw, Charon, don't you know a lady never kisses and tells?" she replied coyly, emphasizing her accent more heavily than she normally did. Charon rolled his eyes at her response. "Do I really need to spell it out for you?" she asked. Charon's eyes betrayed some surprise at that.

"You and John? Really? When did you even find time? We were moving so much…" he trailed off.

"First time would have been…little after you guys hit Paradise Falls? Not long after. In Oasis," Clover responded, remembering the night in her head.

"After Paradise Falls…but the kid was with Lyons then, wasn't he?" Charon asked, his surprise still evident.

"They hadn't made it yet, as far as I could tell. That's part of what made it so easy. All that pent up adrenaline from Paradise Falls, the frustration."

"Did this happen a lot?" Charon asked, jaw only slightly agape.

"Frequently enough. Usually when he and the Sentinel were having some blow out fight about something," Clover replied.

"They fought a lot. Jesus," Charon answered. "He didn't…you know. Force you, did he?" the ghoul continued, a hint of concern entering his tone. Clover burst out laughing at that.

"No. There was never any force. The first time I did it was to try to secure my place, make sure he wouldn't just get rid of me. That's the only way I knew how to win someone over. After that though? It was hardly a burden for me, compared to the way I had been treated by the Slavers. I was never forced, he never got drunk and slapped me around; he actually bathed fairly frequently, which was a nice change. And he was…almost gentle, in a way. Kind. Like he knew how I had been treated and was trying to undo it," she answered.

Summer, 2278

Clover had been in the Oasis with the Wanderer for just over a week. He left her alone during the daytime, mostly, but she knew he was always there, watching. She thought the treeminders were a ridiculous group, but more than one of them had been with her throughout the days, talking to her about her past, inducing a strange sort of trance with the sappy drink they made her imbibe. Slowly, as the week had passed, she had felt certain feelings she hadn't experienced in some time. She noticed that when she thought of the people that had enslaved her she no longer felt abject loyalty. Instead she now felt something like…hate. Anger and hate. She knew the emotions, as they were the majority of what she felt; but never towards her owners. She was also aware, on some level, of an increasing sense of devotion toward the man who had taken her from Paradise Falls and brought her to this strange, secluded place; so different than the Wasteland that surrounded it.

The night had come, and the shapes of the treeminders moving in the darkness, the torches they used flickering and the sound of the leaves rustling faintly in the wind were all strangely calming to Clover, as she looked out from the doorway of the hut she had been sharing with the Wanderer. It was a simple structure, but comfortable enough; with the advantage of not using 200 year old recycled materials like most structures in the Wasteland. There was a torch on each of the four walls, and two separate beds on each side of the room, each with a Brahmin skin blanket on top. The treeminders had obviously given the Wanderer one of the better dwellings in the settlement, and Clover had at first wondered why. As the week had passed, though, she became aware of something else as she watched the inhabitants of the settlement interact with her rescuer. They adored him, to an extent that bordered on worship. She had heard the legend of the man, from the people that passed through Paradise Falls; but had never paid it any mind. She was surprised to find when she met him that he was attractive to her, even without the desire the slavers had programmed her to have for her owner. Physically, the man was a specimen unlike any she had seen before, but it was his eyes that stood out to her. The bright green was unlike anything color she had ever thought existed.

As she leaned against the doorframe, eyes idly scanning the encampment, she spotted the Wanderer coming towards their shared abode, his shirt off and a loose fitting pair of pants on. Judging by the way his hair stuck to his head, he had just bathed, his long hair and light beard matted to his head and face. Clover felt that feeling again as he walked toward her, his body shimmering with the faint layer of moisture still on it: desire. Even if she hadn't been programmed to, she would have wanted him. She smiled at him as he neared, standing aside to let him enter their hut before throwing shut the door behind her. He had sat on his bed, unrolling a bundle he had carried with him to reveal food.

"I brought us dinner," he said, looking up at her as he did. She smiled at him, her best seductive smile, before sitting across from him, cross legged. Over the days she had been in Oasis her body had begun to heal. Her cut lip was almost sealed shut and didn't cause any pain, the bruises on her torso had begun to fade; even the skin that had been rubbed raw by the slave collar had gone from being an angry shade of red to a lighter pink, beginning to vanish and reveal the pale, white skin that contrasted with the rest of her more tan body.

"These people here certainly give you the best," Clover said, as she delicately bit at her food. The Wanderer shrugged silently in response. "I've seen how they look at you. I've heard your stories too, on the radio and from the raiders. You're like a God compared to these people," she said, smiling at him. A look that bordered on dissatisfaction crossed his face at that.

"There's only one God," he replied half-heartedly.

"Says who?" Clover responded. "You're the God that they can see and talk to, the one that impacts their lives. The white knight from Vault 101." She could see her words hitting home, finding a place in the Wanderer that agreed with her, that was overwhelmed by frustration with the Brotherhood and Sarah for trying to control him. He looked up at her from his food, the intensity in his eyes almost taking her aback. She leaned forward, her cheek faintly grazing his, the feel of his facial hair tickling her skin. "You're always welcome to whatever you want with me, my lord," she whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his neck. She sat back, looking in his eyes, and seeing his resistance crumble as he suddenly, abruptly reached out and cupped her face, knocking their food aside as he pulled her in and laid his lips on hers, more passionately than expected. His hands rapidly found their way to the back of her dress, stripping her out of it as she stood and led him by the hand to her bed…

Charon's jaw was fully dropped as Clover trailed off.

"So yeah. That's how it happened at first," she explained. "Now, can we get back to you helping out in DC?" Charon composed himself quickly.

"Come with me. There's something I want to show you," he said, standing and leading her out of the room, limping as he did. They wound their way through the corridors of the ship, making their way to the deck; a flat, empty expanse aside from the towering superstructure of the bridge. The sun was just sinking behind the horizon, throwing the broken skyline of Baltimore into relief in vibrant shades of orange and red. Clover didn't fail to notice a separate flickering coming from the middle of the Baltimore ruins, also one that was orange. Charon noticed her looking at it.

"Fires. Downtown Baltimore is a disaster, the industrial quarters especially. From here, on the Cape Wrath, I control the most important strategic point in the Baltimore wasteland: the port. I'm respected here. I'm the closest thing they have to a ruler. And you're asking me to set it all aside." Charon looked away from the setting sun and into Clover's eyes. He towered over the much smaller woman.

"I know I'm asking a lot. But you believed. Everything we fought for; all the blood, all the killing, the injuries you and he took in that crash, will all mean nothing if the Capital Wasteland falls back into chaos. Does all that mean nothing to you?" she replied. Charon scowled at the mention of the Vertibird crash. The look passed, though, into one of resignation.

"It would make it all for nothing. And my people here, in the Cape Wrath, are secure, with or without me present. Just give me a day. If I go back and am getting involved in this, I'm not going alone. With my injuries I'd probably be more useful as a figurehead and spokesperson than as a fighter, now." Clover nodded at that. "You know, I never expected you to last so long after we disbanded, Clover. I thought without the kid to protect you you'd go off the rails and end up taking a bullet to the head. How did you avoid it?"

"I didn't just sit on my ass playing with myself when I left. I learned from different people, built on what John taught me. I eventually made my way up north, to a place that he had told me about. The Commonwealth. I must have spent a year working there. In return for my work I got certain…benefits. They're what improved my skills so much; they're why I'm more than what I used to be."

"What benefits?" Charon asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Come on, Charon. You gotta let a girl have some secrets," she responded, smirking at his frustration.

December 9, 2281

It was the end of John's second full day in the Boneyard. It had been a lengthy two days, filled with meetings with the Followers' doctors in the Boneyard about the surgery he would be having the next day and exploring the massive city, built in the ruins of Los Angeles. He had been warned by Emily and the doctors performing the procedure to repair his knee that the normal healing time for a surgery as invasive as his was six months. John had informed them, matter of factly, that he'd be up and functional again in three. He could see the looks of disbelief on their faces, but he had explained privately to Emily about his mutation; which she had read about in the Survival Guide. She knew now after the surgery was complete to instruct the doctors to expose him to a heavy dose of radiation, in order to trigger his healing mechanism; which would at least allow his body to recover from the incisions the doctors would be making fairly quickly. On some level, as the night fell, John felt apprehensive about surgery, but on the other there was nothing but relief. It was his last night being effectively crippled. After his surgery the next day he could begin focusing on becoming what he once was again, becoming something approximating the Lone Wanderer, albeit one tempered by some age and experience. He had had his first appointment with a mental health counselor earlier that day; and as ridiculous as he had felt sitting down to talk about feelings beforehand, he had come to realize through the session that there were a massive number of unresolved issues he'd need to address if he ever wanted to not alienate those close to him. All the unresolved feelings that he'd had ever since Amata had asked him to leave the Vault those years ago, the pangs of longing he had felt over the past four and a half months for Lucy, the nightmares and grief he still felt for his father and for friends that had died during their war to pacify the Wasteland weighed on him, making him feel older than his 23 years.

The talks he had had with Emily over the past two days had been exhausting. She was absolutely relentless in her questioning of him about the state of the Capital Wasteland, the Brotherhood, the Super-Mutants and what passed for society there. He had told her everything he could. Although she hadn't come out and said it, her almost unnatural curiosity with the Brotherhood's activity back in DC made John think that the woman had some ties to the order she wasn't letting on. It was nothing that a night of drinking in the downtown quarter of the Boneyard wouldn't get out of her, he hoped; and to that end he and Emily were making their way through the early evening air, the temperature mercifully cool as winter approached. They were due to meet John's companions, Bonzo and Smith and Gale and Fawkes, at a popular bar in the Boneyard. John couldn't imagine the stares Fawkes would draw in the middle of a crowded bar, but both Emily and Smith had explained that the NCR did have laws on the books preventing discrimination against non-humans, so in theory his presence couldn't be prevented.

The most amazing thing about the NCR that John had seen so far was the infrastructure. Throughout most of the Boneyard the streets had been cleared of rubble and debris; the concrete and steel girders being recycled to be used for new construction projects, to provide the raw resources that fueled the boom in reconstruction in the ruins of the old world. That was one of the main drivers of the NCR's economy; it was how the country had been able to create an industrialized economy in the post-war wasteland. From the lower floors of what had once been high rise apartment buildings, lights shone out into the night, meeting the sounds of the bustling downtown corner and creating a cacophony of civilization that simply didn't exist in DC. On one hand the electricity in the air, the feeling of people having a normal life, and seeing something besides a general sense of despair in the eyes of passersby on the street was novel and exciting to him. On the other, he missed the quiet, slow pace of life in Megaton. Everyone there seemed much more genial, much more willing to stop and talk; as opposed to the New Californians, who bustled about lost in their own worlds. The irony did not escape John as he thought about it, walking quietly alongside Emily as she led him through the crowded streets. In the 19th century the West was the frontier, the wild place where law and civilization didn't quite extend. Now, at the end of the 23rd century, it was the East that was essentially a frontier, and was discussed as such by the residents of the NCR. The East, beyond the Legion's lands, where there was no law, no states, just people surviving by any means necessary. The sight of a bar at the next intersection, light and an unfamiliar music pouring out into the night, drew John from his philosophical wanderings. Wordlessly, Emily entered, the Wanderer following her, and together they scanned the bar to find his friends. It was an incredibly abbreviated experience, as the massive bulk of Fawkes not only stood out, but had cleared everyone in a 6 foot radius. Gale waved to John and Emily as they approached. Both women had been taken aback when they first met by their similarities in appearance. Smith slid two pints of beer to the new arrivals as they pulled up stools and joined their companions at the table.

"Ready for tomorrow, boyo?" Smith asked, accent a noticeable departure from that of the Californians around him. John shrugged as he took a long pull from his glass, taking a moment to enjoy the taste of the cold beverage before responding.

"Ready as I'll ever be. You guys figured out a plan for what you'll be doing?" John replied. The topic of what the others would do while he underwent the lengthy rehabilitation process had been a topic of discussion over the past day. Bonzo had departed that afternoon; he was born and raised in the Boneyard and had gone back to the neighborhood he had grown up in to see his old family and friends before hitting the trails on a caravan again. A bright side of Bonzo's decision was that, regardless of what the others did, he would at least have some friendly face besides Emily's to keep him company in the Boneyard while he recovered enough to travel. The Follower had already made mention of the possibility of traveling to Shady Sands to see the capital of the NCR and meet her superiors there once John was mobile again.

"We were talking about that today, actually. Fawkes and I are going to go back to the Mojave while you heal, kid," Smith replied. John was slightly taken aback at his answer, although he did his best to mask his surprise. He had expected Smith might travel, but not Fawkes. Before John could say anything in response, Gale spoke.

"I was thinking about it today, too. I'm going to go with them, John," she said, finally causing a break in John's practiced poker face. His jaw dropped slightly in surprise. Gale was the last person he would have expected that to come from.

"Why?" he asked, almost plaintively. A look of regret quickly crossed Gale's face, seeing his reaction.

"I don't just want to sit around doing nothing. I'll be safe with Fawkes and Smith. And they promised to teach me things," she replied. He cocked an eyebrow as his gaze came to rest on Smith.

"What things?" he slowly asked.

"How to survive in the Wasteland on her own. There may come a time when we're not there to protect her anymore, John," the Chosen One replied. Emily's familiarity with Smith's story had only raised further questions in John's mind, ones he and Smith had discussed in private earlier in the day. John caught an image of Emily out of the corner of his eye, killing her pint of beer and turning to order another. He had not even finished half of his first pint and she was already starting her second. Christ, and I thought I could put them down.

"Don't let anything happen to her, Smith," John began, before turning his attention back to Gale. "And you be careful out there. Always keep your guard up," he finished, before taking a long draught from his own beer and finishing it. He glanced over at Emily again, seeing her face beginning to flush as she powered through her second beer. The alcohol was already hitting her system. Give it a few more minutes to do its job. Rocking back on his stool, John turned his attention to the stage, seeing a woman with an electric guitar and an accompanying band stepping up to the microphone.

"Live music?" Gale asked, leaning forward so the others could hear her over the noise of the bar.

"Yeah," Emily began, unnecessarily loudly. "Live music every Friday. I always come here when I'm in the Boneyard." The sound of a guitar chord being softly strummed drew John's attention back to the stage as the woman stepped to a microphone.

Oh, now I don't hardly know her; but I think I could love her, Crimson and Clover.

John almost choked on the beer in his mouth as the lyrics echoed around the room. The song itself was a slow paced affair, people slowly moving to the beat of the song.

Ah, I wish she'd come walking over; now I've been waiting to show her. Crimson and Clover, over and over.

John burst out laughing upon swallowing his drink, drawing looks of confusion from his all but Fawkes, whose eyes showed a sense of amusement as well.

"What's funny?" Emily asked, voicing the question that everyone was asking.

"I come to the other side of the country and hear a name I haven't heard spoken in years," he replied, drawing more looks of confusion. "Clover. Clover is the name of someone I fought with, during the war. One of my closest confidants." Fawkes nodded as John explained.

"I hope that she eventually found some sort of peace, wherever she may have gone," Fawkes added, being met with a look of agreement from John.

"Why peace?" Gale asked.

"Clover was a…troubled soul. She had seen too much for her years," Fawkes answered, drawing a snort of amusement from John.

"That's putting it nicely. She was a psycho," John said, adding on to Fawkes' explanation.

"How did she fit into your little group?" Emily asked.

"She was an assassin," John replied. "She was sneaky, she was ruthless, and she was a natural when I began to teach her marksmanship. And like I said, she was also psychotic, and the rage that she would fly into was useful in a way in combat. She did things that made the rest of us blanch." Fawkes nodded grimly at the memory.

"If not for her, though, I do not know how much longer we would have held on the day of the crash," Fawkes said. That drew a look of confusion from John.

"What? It was Reilly and the Talon Company that broke through to us," John replied. Fawkes shook his head.

"At the time she had asked me to maintain my silence, and I respected her wishes. But she was the first to arrive. She set up on the roof of a nearby building and provided fire to me, she covered me while I moved you and Charon clear of the wreckage," the Super-Mutant explained. John felt something akin to betrayal at that. Why did they never tell me? "She stood vigil over you until your condition was stabilized in Underworld before leaving," Fawkes continued.

"Where did she go?" John asked, noting that everyone in the group was paying rapt attention. It was the most John and Fawkes had ever spoken of that day.

"She would not say. She only said that she needed to confirm something. It was not long after that the remnants of the mutant band that attacked us were destroyed."

"I thought Sarah and the Pride did that," John replied slowly. Fawkes shrugged, a motion he had learned from John and incorporated into his own mannerisms.

"That is what they would have us believe." The overload of information was too much for John, as he took a moment to sip his beer and process this newfound knowledge.

Last patrol. The thought went through Liam McPherson's mind as an exasperated sigh. One last patrol through an unfriendly part of the DC ruins, the most distant from the outpost they had established, and he would be done out here for some time. He would get back, load onto a Vertibird, and return to the Citadel, where the rest of the Pride waited, to rest and regroup after spending the past three weeks in the ruins, establishing their new outpost that was now ready to be occupied full time by regular Brotherhood troops.

He was not looking forward to this patrol. The squad he was leading was a mixture of knights who had been Brotherhood during the height of the war against the Super-Mutants and newer knights who had been inducted during peacetime and had no combat experience. Liam was the ranking member of the patrol, the most experienced soldier in the group and the only who had been born into the Brotherhood. Although he wasn't looking forward to it, he had volunteered to be the last member of the Pride at the new outpost, to oversee the change of responsibility from Sarah and the Pride to Star Paladin Cross and a platoon of 45 Brotherhood knights and Paladins. Although it wasn't a pleasant duty, his sense of duty had won out in the end. The situation on the ground on the outskirts of the DC ruins had become increasingly dicey in recent days, particularly following the arrest, five days earlier, of water smugglers outside of a small settlement that had never been receptive to the Brotherhood. The smugglers, a group of three, had been bringing in water that hadn't been supplied by the Brotherhood from Project Purity; the barrels of water they carried all had the yellow numbers "101" on the side. The information, as well as the smugglers, had been passed back to the Citadel, where they were being interrogated for information. It had seemed obvious to Sarah and the Pride that the water itself was from Vault 101; the smugglers, under their civilian disguises, had proven to be two Talon Company mercenaries as guards and a Vault 101 resident, given away by the Pip-Boy on her forearm. Since that incident the atmosphere had soured, the Brotherhood patrols in the area being met with hostile stares and silence when they passed through.

Liam walked toward where Star Paladin Cross stood, surrounded by the squad he would be leading tonight. As he approached he snapped a sharp salute, which was promptly returned by Cross, who spoke first.

"Stay sharp tonight, McPherson. You know how things have been looking in this area. Our scouts have been reporting unusual movement in the settlement you're going to."

"Unusual movement?" Liam replied.

"People they haven't seen in the settlement before. Increase in population. That sort of stuff," Cross explained. Liam frowned at that, before pulling on his helmet and ensuring his tri-beam laser was loaded. Giving Cross one last nod, he turned to the patrol.

"Let's step off. Squad column," he ordered, the patrol falling into formation and stepping out of the entry control point of their outpost as Liam took up his position in the middle of the formation.

The patrol moved silently, the knights scanning the surrounding buildings and rubble for any signs of activity. Liam didn't expect much activity until they approached the settlement itself; after peacetime had set in the inhabitants of the ruins had quickly consolidated into more easily defensible settlements, now that there were no Super-Mutants to be concerned with. The only sound was a light breeze whistling between the ruined buildings, kicking up dust as it blew by. The insulation of his power armor shielded McPherson from the elements, the night air still mild despite it being December.

The silence continued as the patrol wound through the ruins, becoming disconcerting as the Knights moved. Liam had expected by this point to hear the sounds of the approaching settlement, but instead there was nothing. Uncomfortably, he adjusted his laser rifle, scanning the upper levels of the building next to him as he did. As his head turned back to scan the opposite side of the street, the night exploded into a barrage of flashing lights and a near deafening cacophony of noise; so intense that it disoriented Liam for a split second as his mind processed and reacted to what was happening. As it did he saw two Brotherhood knights, ahead of him in the column, drop motionless to the ground, another two falling screaming as they did. Instinctively he began to raise his rifle and began spraying laser fire at the pile of rubble and ruined building that lay parallel to the street they had been moving down, diving for cover as he did.

Ambush. Near ambush, he told himself, allowing his training to take over and analyzing the situation. He heard the Knight next to him yelling into the radio as Liam continued to fire at the enemy positions, their muzzle flashes and the staccato bursts of small arms fire combining with the crackle of energy weapons into a symphony of death. He felt two rounds ricochet off of his armor as he moved into a crouch, attempting to move forward; a split second later he felt a sharp pain in his left side. Liam fell to his back and scrambled back into cover he called out the words he had been taught to yell in combat should he be wounded.

"I'm hit!" Liam screamed out loud, looking to his left and right as he did. He saw the shapes of two motionless Knights laying on the ground, the two who had fallen when the ambush had been initiated, and two more wounded who had been pulled to cover. The wounded men had been rescued by two of the newer Knights on the patrol, inexperienced members of Star Paladin Cross' platoon, who had taken cover behind an old car that lay on the street. Horrified, Liam realized that the car was still intact, rounds rattling into it as the two Knights discharged their weapons at the enemy positions. A scream of warning had just begun to form in Liam's throat as the car exploded; killing all four Knights that had been taking cover behind it. Pushing the image from his mind, Liam exposed the upper half of his body from the rubble he lay behind and fired off a quick burst at the enemy positons, his attack being met by a barrage of fire that tore at the pavement and rubble around him.

Not just assault rifles. Too much fire for that. They have to have heavier weapons, crew served. Shit. Liam realized how dire the situation was as he looked around. He had already lost six men. His patrol was utterly at the mercy of their attackers. He knew what the doctrinal response to this situation was. Assault the enemy positions, push through them to seize the initiative and put the attackers on the defensive. Next to him, he heard his radio operator yelling into his handheld radio.

"Require immediate QRF on our position! We are under intense enemy fire! Say again, require-" the Knight was cut short as a round tore through his helmet and he crumpled to the ground, motionless. Liam had never seen an attack the likes of this before. Normally power armor, even older T-45d armor that the Brotherhood had been forced to wear, would deflect multiple small arms rounds before being compromised. Either his enemy had much heavier firepower than simple small arms or, worse, had acquired some sort of armor penetrating bullets. Reaching down to his beltline he grabbed a frag grenade and held it tightly in his hands, before calling out to his remaining men.

"Grenades! Prep grenades!" he yelled over the roar of the battle. Looking back and forth, he saw his men grabbing their grenades and prepping them, removing the safeties and pulling the pins before looking back at him.

"Now!" he yelled, the men all hurling their grenades towards the enemy positions; exploding a moment later and temporarily silencing the enemy's fire. Liam responded immediately, leaping to his feet and, ignoring the searing pain in his side, racing forward. The grenades had silenced the enemy fire only momentarily, however, and a heartbeat later he was met by a wall of fire, feeling a deep, thumping pain tear through his upper chest; a feeling similar to being punched that seemed to knock the wind out of him. Near simultaneously he felt a similar searing pain rip into his upper leg. He realized he had been wounded, multiple times, perhaps catastrophically. His armor was doing nothing to stop the bullets of the enemy. Ignoring his pain, Liam focused his thoughts and summoned all his strength, firing his rifle at the now clear enemy positions. In front of him stood a man in a window of a burned out building; holding an assault rifle and attired in black combat armor, a white claw emblazoned on the chest. Liam fired his rifle directly at the man; all three beams finding their mark and dropping the man to the ground. Liam had refocused his attention before the man had collapsed, spotting two men manning what he recognized as a prewar machine gun, rapidly moving it to face him. He brought his rifle up just as they trained it on him, unloading a quick burst; one of the beams hitting one of the Talon Company men in the face, another hitting the machine gun and warping the barrel. The surviving man leapt to his feet, raising his assault rifle just as Liam lowered his shoulder and plowed into the man, tackling him and crushing him beneath his armored frame. Looking up, he saw the enemy breaking from their positions, falling back as the remainder of his Knights had raced forward to join him in the assault. A moment later, the night fell silent, his men shell-shocked but victorious. Liam felt woozy, his vision beginning to blur. He clambered to his feet, his power armor helping overcome the damage to his leg as he limped back towards where his radio operator had fallen. Reaching the dead man, he picked up the radio's handset, prying it from the fallen Knight's grasp.

"Require immediate MEDEVAC on my position. Heavy casualties, multiple KIAs. Possibly hot LZ. Over." Darkness began to creep into the peripheral of Liam's vision as, unwillingly, he collapsed to a knee, coughing as he did. The cough drew blood, filling the inside of Liam's helmet. In the distance, as his vision faded and he collapsed, he could hear his name being called, and the faint sound of Vertibird rotors, thumping in the distance.

December 10, 2281

"I feel like a cow," Amata muttered, zipping on a jumpsuit as Susie snickered at her unhappy proclamation.

"Only four more months, sweetheart. Then the real fun begins," Susie replied, being met with a glare from Amata, who chose not to rise to Susie's bait. Instead, she focused on the business that was at hand for them.

"When should our friends from the Wasteland be arriving?" she asked. Susie shot a quick glance down to her Pip-Boy, reminding Amata that she needed to put hers back on. She began moving to her desk to grab it as Susie responded.

"10 minutes, give or take. They may already be waiting outside," she answered. The reports that had reached Amata from the Wasteland over the past weeks had been alarming. The Brotherhood going into the DC ruins and expanding their influence. Their subsequent attempts at creating a puppet government in Rivet City that would follow the Brotherhood's line. The ghost of the ruins, attacking everything indiscriminately, and GNR falling into static. It had culminated with the Brotherhood arresting two Talon Company men and one of Vault 101's merchants for bringing water to one of the outlying DC settlements that had always conducted their trade with Canterbury Commons instead of Rivet City. The Capital Wasteland was on the brink, and Amata, unwilling to leave the Vault and jeopardize her or her child's life, had invited the leaders of their fledgling alliance-Lucas Simms, Jackson Clancy, and Evan King-to come to Vault 101 and meet with her personally, to discuss the situation and the next steps they should take.

"Let's head to the entrance, then. Do we have security there?" Amata asked.

"Yeah, they've been waiting there for a while, keeping an eye on the CCTV camera." Amata nodded at Susie's response, satisfied. In silence they made their way through the dimly lit halls of the Vault, the time still early, the Vault just beginning to come to life. The place had at least become more interesting after they had admitted new residents, even if they had been extremely few in number. The sight of six Vault security officers, attired in heavier armor and carrying handguns, greeted Amata as she and Susie walked into the expanse of the antechamber of the Vault; the massive cog of the door directly in front of her. Straightening up, Officer Gomez, the head of the security detail, spoke.

"Our guests are already waiting outside, Overseer. We were just waiting for you to give the go ahead to open the door."

"No surprises?" Amata asked, still not fully trusting the Wastelanders she was working with, in spite herself.

"None. Only three of them," Gomez confirmed.

"Alright," Amata replied. "Open the door." Wordlessly, Gomez turned to the control panel and slid the lever, immediately prompting the blaring of the klaxon and the flashing yellow light as the opening mechanism slid into place, and, with an ungodly screech, pulled the door open. As the door slid to the side, the three men came into view, silhouetted by the dim light at the end of the tunnel that lay beyond the Vault door. The men walked into the Vault, glancing quizzically at the number of guards waiting in the antechamber. Lucas stepped forward first, extending his hand to Amata, which she accepted.

"Mornin', Overseer. Ya worried about something with all these guards?" he asked, a faint smile on his face.

"What darkness lurks in the hearts of men, Sheriff," Amata cryptically responded, drawing a look of confusion from all three Wastelanders. In fact, she was just quoting a radio play she had always liked listening to. Before they could respond, Amata continued. "Let's go to my office. We can sit down and talk there," she said, nodding over Lucas' shoulder at Gomez as she did, dismissing the security detail as the Vault door slid back into place. Turning awkwardly, Amata half walked and half waddled through the Vault, her increasingly large belly making her feel ungainly and self-conscious. Despite the feelings she still maintained her composure in front of others, keeping up the same stoic, imperturbable exterior she had maintained since childhood. It was a short walk to her office, and entering through the door she gestured to the chairs that sat along the semi-circular desk, inviting the men to take a seat. They did as Amata rounded the desk and, welcoming the relief it brought her feet, fell into her own seat.

"So what's happening?" Evan King began. Amata laughed, unable to help herself. The question was so broad that she wondered, again, how this man was possibly the leader of Arefu. Ignoring her laughter, Lucas spoke.

"No word on our people that the Brotherhood took in. Regulators ain't seen anything, no one in the ruins has. You got anything, Jackson?" he asked, turning to the Talon Company's commander as he did.

"Yes. Last night my men ambushed a Brotherhood patrol in the vicinity of where they arrested our people and inflicted heavy casualties on them." Amata gasped at Jackson's revelation, a cry of protest rising from Evan King as Lucas stood from his chair heatedly and glared at Jackson, who rose to meet him.

"Who told you to go attacking the Brotherhood like that? Yeah, they arrested our people, but an attack? An open attack on the Brotherhood? Are you insane? This will be war now, it has to be!" Lucas exclaimed.

"It is. And we are prepared for it," Jackson coolly responded. Lucas, a look of confusion on his face, took a deep breath and sat back down. Jackson gestured to Amata as he continued to speak. "The advanced tech the Overseer gave us access to from Vault 112 worked. The Outcasts still treated us like a bunch of idiots, but when we told them we had tech to trade they were receptive. We were able to get a lot of normal weapons from them. They weren't willing to give us any energy weapons but they gave us crew served machine guns and jacketed depleted uranium rounds that will cut through Power Armor. With those sorts of weapons we can engage the Brotherhood more equally," Jackson explained. A look of consternation remained on Lucas' and Evan's faces at Jackson's explanation.

"When did you do a deal with the Outcasts?" Lucas asked.

"Two weeks ago, give or take. Kept hearing about how tensions were building and what was happening in the ruins and decided it was time to prepare for war. We all know this has been coming, Lucas. Don't give me a ration of shit for doing what has to be done to prepare for war. There's no way the Brotherhood is going to just let us ignore the little powwow they had down at Rivet City and not be part of their make believe government." Jackson's words were harsh, but as he said them, everyone in the room knew them to be true.

"So what next?" Amata asked. There was a moment's silence before Lucas responded.

"It's going to be war, Overseer. We're gonna need to rally our people, do something to counter the stuff the Brotherhood has been doing with their government at Rivet City, and fortify ourselves. There's no way they'll take their men being killed laying down. Did your boys say how many of them they got, Jackson?"

"They said they think they killed at least six. Maybe more." Lucas let out a low whistle as Amata and Evan sat in stunned silence.

"Well I'll be. Don't think I've heard about the Brotherhood taking losses like that in years," the Sheriff responded. A grim smile crossed Jackson's face at that.

"There's going to be more like that."

It was the day of his surgery, and John was nervous. After the months of travel from DC he had made it, finally at the point he had set out to reach. His friends greeted him as he reached the lobby of the hospital. Smith, Gale, and Fawkes were all setting off that day, and John felt a surge of sadness as he looked at them. They had been his constant companions for the previous five months. Smith broke the silence first.

"We're off today, kid. We'll be back here towards the end of January to meet back up with you and get ready to start heading back East. Fill you in on what's happening in the Mojave then, too," the Chosen One said, giving John a firm clap on the shoulder as he did. Turning from him, John laid his eyes on Gale, whose own eyes were watery. Unprompted, she threw her arms around John's neck, pulling him into a tight embrace and whispering in his ear.

"Take care of yourself, John. Get well soon. I can't wait to see how you're doing," she said, stepping back away from him and quickly wiping her eyes before letting out a dismissive chuckle. "God," she said aloud. "You'd think I was never going to see you again." She smiled up at him; John returning the smile before turning to Fawkes. The two simply nodded at each other, before slowly shaking hands. They had been through too much together to need many words.

"Stay safe out there, Fawkes," John said.

"And you heal quickly, my friend," the Super-Mutant responded.

"We need to be leaving now to make our train," Smith interjected, cutting off the goodbyes. "We'll be back before you know it, kid." John nodded, and with a series of back and forth waves, the group disappeared out the doors and onto the streets of the Boneyard. John let out an audible sigh before turning to Bonzo and Emily.

"What're you going to do, Bonzo?" he asked.

"Eh, my old neighborhood isn't too far from here. Figured I'd hang around and make sure these Followers don't kill ya before I set off to go to my family's place." John laughed at Bonzo's plan.

"Thanks, Uncle Bonzo. Dunno what I'd do without you," he replied, before turning to Emily.

"We should begin heading to the operating theater," she said, gesturing toward a nearby hallway. Silently, apprehensively, John followed her lead, the butterflies swimming up in his stomach. They reached the operating room in short order and were met by the team who would be performing the procedure. The head doctor shook John's hand, before handing him a surgical gown.

"Go change into this. When you're back, we'll begin." John took the garment and proceeded to a nearby restroom, stripping out of his clothes, dusty from long months on the caravan trail, and into the lightweight linen gown. Wordlessly, he emerged back out to the operating staff, who led him into a room with a gurney and an array of medical tools.

"Lay down," one of the nurses said, beckoning to the gurney. John did as he was told, and as he laid down, a mask was placed over his face.

"I want you to count backwards from 100 down," the voice said; John hearing the flow of air begin as the voice spoke. By the time he reached 96, the Lone Wanderer was unconscious.

Hey all. So these past few months got away from me, but this is still definitely a thing. Sorry about that. Got busy working and all sorts of good stuff like that.

Anyway, tried to move as much as I could in this chapter, because really; how much of "and then John did some more physical therapy" can I really do once he has surgery? Anyway, thoughts, feedback, questions or concerns, let me hear it. Thanks for reading!