Revision made on the 11th of September 2017


Mojave Drive-In, Mojave Wasteland

2285

Cooper wasn't sure what happened. He remembers fighting alongside his master, ripping out a few throats, and chomping on one Legionary's leg as his master finished him off. Then, after he got up, one of those strange balls landed near him and his master yelled for him to get away. He heeded his friend but still got thrown about by a concussive force that knocked him out for some time.

Lying dazed on the ground, the dog tries to get on all fours and begins to look around for his friend. Cooper is surprised to see he doesn't see him anywhere, not even near the satellite they originally took cover by. He barks to try to call out to him but after being met with just silence, he scampers over to the site where the explosion originated. The only things left were the burnt-up hull of the satellite and the mangled, plasma ravaged corpse of a Legionary. Sniffing and pawing at the ground, he couldn't find his friend anywhere and starts to get worried, whimpering at the thought of being alone. His ears perk as he hears footsteps behind him.

Cooper spins around and sees a Decanus, wielding an entrenching tool and mere feet away from him. The canine rears back, ears pinned against his head as he snarls and bares his teeth. The Decanus wasn't deterred as he slowly came closer, at the ready with the shovel. Having enough of the man, Cooper charges at him and tries to go after his throat. The Legionary was a bit faster, however, as he sidestepped his pounce and smacked him in the back of the head with the spade. The dog went out cold with a yelp and lay unconscious on the ground. Two other Legionaries come up from behind him, their heads swiveling, still wary of any remaining threats.

"Mongrel," the Decanus spat out, seething. He looks up from the dog and around the site where the plasma grenade detonated, with nothing but Legion and Raider corpses in view. "Where is that Profligate?"

"No idea, sir," said one of the Legionaries. "I only saw him fall down before the grenade exploded, but I don't see his body anywhere."

The Decanus grumbled at this, so close to killing the Courier but not having a body to confirm his death. No matter how many assassins were sent to him, the profligate was always one step ahead. He'll pay, soon enough.

"We've no reason to stay here, then," the squad declared, sheathing his entrenching tool. "We must leave and head back to camp, and send a message to inform the Centurion of the profligate's disappearance."

"What about the mongrel, sir?" asked the Legionary, referring to the unconscious dog in front of them.

"Tie it up and carry it. When we get back to camp, we'll make the decision of turning him into a war-hound, or food."

"Yes, sir," the Legionary responded, as he pulled out a rope from his pack.

With the dog tied and slung over the Legionary's shoulders, the Decanus and the remainder of his contubernium headed East to their camp. The Mojave sun setting behind them as they crossed the mountains.


Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Mediterranean Sea, Europe

2076

The Courier's eyes slowly open, his vision blurry and trying to adjust to the surrounding lights. A pained groan escapes him as he tries to sit up and immediately feels stinging on the left side of his body. He clutches his shoulder with his right arm, feeling through his shirt to try and numb the pain on his flesh. Then, the man's eyes shoot wide open upon the realization that he only had his clothes on him and was lacking the armor and duster. No longer noticing any sensation of pain, he scrambles to sit up on the bed and starts to look down over his body. He was in a gray, short-sleeved shirt with a circular symbol on the sleeves, but still had his dark, worn jeans, and brown boots. His backpack, armor, gear, and weapons were nowhere to be seen. However, he still had his Pip-Boy, once again proving how stubborn it was. At least the sight of that luxury put his mind at ease, but only a bit.

After giving his Pip-Boy a quick once over and seeing it was operational, he looked around his surroundings to discern where he was. He seemed to be in a cell, but not like any cell he's ever seen before. First, it was clean. The walls seemed to comprise of some sort of concrete, but they weren't in a horrendous state of disrepair and decay like he's always seen. The bed he was on actually looked welcoming despite being a simple cot with a blanket and pillow. There was a mirror, sink, and toilet in the corner of the cell and they seemed to be in good condition as well. The toilet, especially, as it looked like it hasn't been continuously shat in for a well over a century. Now looking out from his cell, he sees that the barrier was not a set of rusty metals bars. Instead, it seemed to be a wall of some type of glass keeping him in, perforated with some holes but without any latch or handle of some kind. Getting off the bed and walking up to it, he puts his palm onto the surface, noting how it felt like plexiglass but much tougher. Giving it a good push and a few pounds with his fist, he knows this can't easily be broken and doesn't push further.

The prisoner could only give an exasperated sigh at his dilemma. Currently, he was being held prisoner by strange "people" and had no idea where he was even teleported to. He was practically defenseless and naked, again, and his fate was now in the hands of someone else… Again.

The Waster looks back towards the sink and walks to it. Reaching it, he turns both knobs and the faucet starts to run. To his surprise, he can feel hot water trickle out in a steady stream. It brought him some comfort as he cupped a good amount in his palm before splashing it onto his face. Starting to wash away dirt, dust, grime, and blood off his weathered mug. After a good scrubbing, he twisted the hot water off and collected cold water into his hands. It looked clean, so he brought it to his lips and took a refreshing gulp of water. Parching the cracking dryness forming in his throat. After swishing the last gulp of water around his mouth and spitting it out, he turned the faucet off and let his face hung there, as droplets dripped into the quiet bowl below them. He looked up and met his own eyes in the mirror.

With auburn eyes, he looked over the tired expression on his face. In the mirror, he saw his short black hair, disheveled and unkempt, with a rough beard that was also short and unkempt, but at least it clung to tightly his face and didn't grow to the lengths of a lumberjack. On his forehead was a circular scar, just below the hairline and barely noticeable. Another, longer and wider scar ran from under his left eye, through his lips, and down to the tip of his chin. His face was well-off in comparison to the rest of his body. All sorts of wounds and injuries marked his skin, from scars to gashes to bullet holes. Hell, even his arms had their fair share of tissue damage, and it showed. There was only so much you could with disinfectant and Stims.

Then, at the thought of medicine, memories of being stabbed from earlier appeared in his head. Lifting his hand to the collar of his new shirt, he examines the side of his shoulder where he felt the screwdriver pierce his flesh. Much to his surprise, he couldn't find a new scar among the others. Even running his fingers over the affected area couldn't give any indication of damage. Surprising, as he was sure the tool went all the way in, up to the handle.

'The hell?' he thought to himself, tenderly rubbing his skin. 'Either that implant in me is working much faster than before, or an Auto-Doc patched me up…'

He was sure most Auto-Docs weren't this capable.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he walked back to the bed and sat back down. Now facing the outside of his new cell, he looked through the transparent glass and was greeted by the wall of what he presumed to be a hallway that led right and left. There was also what appeared to be a camera, mounted high onto the wall and its lens pointed directly towards his cell.

'Nice…' he remarked at the lack of privacy.

He then realized that the hallway going in both directions, as well as a camera that swiveled in place, probably meant he was in some type of cell-block and that his cell was one of many. So, after some hesitation, he called out into the hallway.

"Hello?" he yelled through the glass. "Anyone there?"

An echo of his voice and the following silence was his answer.

'Well shit,' he thought. 'Either I'm the only prisoner here or the others are long gone…'

Realizing he couldn't do anything now, he looked back to his Pip-Boy and flipped it to the data section. He was hoping it would be able to pick up any data or signals, give him any indication of where he could be. Flipping to the "World Map" section, his eyebrows furrowed when he only saw the words "Establishing Connection" followed by an ellipsis. That's never happened before. It always gave a detailed map practically instantly. Was the GPS module damaged? Did he lose connection with one of the satellites? Was there an interference? Fortunately, his worries were subsided when the words "Connection Established" blinked on the screen and flashed to the image of a map of the surrounding area. He felt relieved as he looked at the screen to get an idea of where he was. His relief quickly morphed to confusion as he looked at the upper-left corner of the screen to see where he was. The name of the location was unfamiliar at first, but memories from a pre-war book about geography flashed in his mind.

"Gibraltar?!" he exclaimed in surprise, the word echoing throughout the hallway.


Dr. Ziegler was briskly walking through the halls of the Watchpoint, her heels clopping against the hard floor with each step. She was still donning her Valkyrie suit minus the wings, as she had recently come from the med-bay where she treated everyone that was hurt in the "incident". Thankfully, her friends' injuries were minor and mainly consisted of some bruising and maybe a minor fracture, but that wasn't why she was holding a holopad at her side. It didn't have reports of her friends' conditions; instead, it had a medical after-report on their uninvited guest.

The Doctor wasn't sure what to think of this man with the mask or the story Lena gave her about him. He apparently "appeared" into Winston's lab in a bright blue flash, attacked them and was surprisingly able to hold his own. Due to his mask, she thought he was some sort of Talon agent sent in to infiltrate the Watchpoint, but she was sure Talon wasn't capable of appearing out of nowhere in a flash. At least, she hoped…

Despite the wishes of her friends, she had decided to at least tend the man's wounds and draw some tests on him. After he was transported to the cell-block and the tests were processed, the information she gathered was rather… Interesting. She at least wanted to meet up with Winston to discuss her findings before telling the others. He may or may not be able to help provide further insight on this mysterious stranger, but it was worth a shot.

Going through the large doorway into Winston's lab/room, Angela immediately saw Winston and McCree gathered around a table, examining something. She walked up to them, holopad in hand, before clearing her throat to announce her presence. Winston and McCree both turn around and greet the doctor, who then returns the gesture. She moves up to the table and sees what they are examining: an assortment of weapons, gear, armor, supplies, and food. Even some bags with what appeared to be metal bottle caps spilling out of them were on the table. All of it belonging to the stranger.

"What are you two doing?" she asks, curiosity present in her tone.

"Taking a gander at this guy's stuff," the Cowboy said, holding a black rifle that looked like it belonged in a museum... Or a Hollywood set. "He's got one hell of an arsenal for one man... And pretty interestin' choices."

Winston adjusted his glasses before speaking. "Yes, I called Jesse here to help me identify this man's weapons, as some of them are rather… Ancient."

Upon hearing this, Angela herself looked down upon the firearms on the table and saw that Winston was right. Even with her Swiss background, she was largely unfamiliar with the weapons before her but knew they were rather antiquated designs. Even the rifle with the tiger camouflage was a rather old design, long since phased out by newer models. They still could be lethal, no doubt, but nothing a supposed Talon operative would use. Her attention then drifted to a bulky metal glove that had two cylinders atop it. Picking it up and noticing how this fist dwarfed her slender arms, wondering what it did as a weapon.

"Might wanna put that down," Jesse suggested, pointing his thumb behind him to a pile of scrap that looked like an assembly kit for a training bot. "Tested that thing out and it packs quite a wallop. Ain't no 'Doomfist' but I sure as hell wouldn't want to get hit by it."

Heeding his advice and setting the fist down, she took in the sight of all the other things the man had on him. There was packaged food with brands she'd never seen, equipment and supplies that were both familiar and different, and a set of armor that looked like it been through a thousand battles. All of this only added to the mystery.

"Well," Dr. Ziegler started, turning to Winston. "Has this in any way help identify who this person is?"

"Uh, nope," Winston responded honestly. "What bewilders me is how this man has gear that is antiquated and outdated but even has equipment that, if Athena's scans are anything to go by, are pretty advanced even by today's standard. What about you? Have you discovered anything about our 'mystery man'?"

"Yes, I have," the Doctor said as she set her holopad onto the desk and brought up a set of images. "Athena, can you please project the image on my pad?"

"Of course, Dr. Ziegler," Athena complied, as an image of what seemed to be an x-ray appeared before the three. It was a scan of the man's entire body, showing his skeleton, organs, and nerves. Jesse and Winston noticed some oddities about the scan, Angela seeing their expression. She then started to explain. "Before I began operating on him and tended to his wounds, I conducted a full-body scan on him to help me locate any other injuries and wounds he possibly sustained. I did not just find that, however."

She made the projection zoom in on the man's torso, bringing to detail some odd shapes that seemed to be embedded deep within his arms and chest. His heart even looked different. They didn't look to be organic, they looked like machines.

"Are those… Implants?" asked Winston, adjusting his glasses to get a better view.

"Yes," Dr. Ziegler confirmed. "They are not like anything I have ever seen, but they are also quite advanced from my understanding."

Angela then focused the image and showed more implants embedded into the man's legs.

"Any idea what they do?" McCree asked.

"I could only guess they have something to do with his strength and stamina, but why he would have so many is beyond me," she answered as best she could. "But of all the things I found, this is probably the most… Concerning."

She adjusted the image so that it would only show the man's head. Angela then produced three more images, showing the sides of his head from both the front and the sides. The frontal image zoomed in onto the brain, giving her audience the view of a very prominent wound.

"The hell? Are those bullet wounds?" the Gunslinger exclaimed as he eyed the damage. "Didn't know Lena landed a couple on him!"

"She didn't," the Doctor clarified. "Scans showed the trauma has been there for some time and is the result of ballistic weaponry. Also, it's indicated that he was shot twice in the head!"

The man in the hat shook his head and gave out a long whistle as Winston further adjusted his glasses with a look of befuddlement.

"Surely, this would mean he should be dead, right?" the Scientist questioned.

"Yes. Strong enough trauma to the Cerebrum can potentially be fatal, but there is always the chance of survival; Albeit, a very small chance. If that wasn't enough, however…"

The Doctor manipulated one of the side images to enlarge and zoom in at the base of the skull, right where the brain stem was. She then enhanced the section where the skull and brain were near each other. McCree and Winston weren't sure what they were looking at as they weren't physicians, so Angela then highlighted a little spot on the brainstem where a small line was located. It took them a couple of seconds before Winston's eyes widened at the realization.

"Wait, was his brainstem… Severed?!" he asked aloud, eyes wide. "But- H-how?!"

"I have no clue," Dr. Ziegler honestly answered. "If anything, and when he's conscious and capable of speaking, I plan on asking him many questions."

The Doctor and Scientist exchanged looks, unsure what to think of this stranger. So many questions and mysteries had just formed around one man in the span of less than a day. Two questions were the most prevalent in their minds: Who was he and where did he come from? They might have a long interrogation session ahead of them.

"Uh, Doc?" Jesse said, holding a small bag and peering inside with a disgusted look.

"Yes, McCree?" Angela responded, wondering what was wrong. "What is it?"

"That brain trauma could've made him… Crazy, could it?"

"Not crazy per se, but it could've had an effect his mental state. Why?"

With only a look of worry and disgust, he dumped the bag's contents onto the table. Angela and Winston's eyes widened in shock as 3 severed fingers and what appeared to be an ear fell onto the table. They all looked like they were in there for some time, with the ear being the "freshest" of them all.

"Mein Gott!"

"Uh-Oh… Oh God…"

Angela had her hands over her mouth in alarm, and Winston quickly left the table in search of a trashcan as he blocked his mouth with one hand. The Doctor never got used to the smell of blood or severed limbs for that matter, but it quickly reminded her of something she did earlier.

"Athena!" she called to the ceiling.

"Yes, Doctor Ziegler?" answered Athena over the intercom.

"Have you finally processed the DNA sample from our 'guest' and searched through all available government databases that we still have access to?"

"Yes, doctor."

"And what were the results?" she asked, hoping to at least have something to know this very strange man by. The man with the assortment of implants. The man with the bizarre brain anomalies. The man whose body was riddled with scars. McCree was also attentively listening, just as eager to learn any truth to this mystery. Anything, to give a hint or a clue.

"No results or matches found."