Revised on the 6th of October 2017
Mojave Drive-In, Mojave Wasteland
2285
The Sun had dipped close to the mountains as Veronica crouched next to the damaged hull of the Big Mountain satellite as she thoroughly took it apart, with a set of tools by her side. Parmley was crouched around a campfire he set up close-by and was currently boiling something in a kettle as he poked at the fire, Cooper watching tentatively. Boone was on perimeter lookout with Rex, scanning the horizon for anything that needed to be shot before it could reach them. No such dangers thus far, thankfully, other than a couple marauding molerats.
Parmley produced a metal cup and brought it to the spout of the kettle, pouring the boiling contents in about half-way. He stood up and went over to Veronica, crouching down to her side. Bits of tech strewn about around her, her eyes focused on the task at hand as she expertly operated the tools at hand. He tapped her on the shoulder, breaking her train of thought and making her look at the man next to her.
"Here," the Ranger offered, the cup being extended to her. "Though you might you need it."
"Thank you," the Scribe responded, smiling gratefully as she took the cup in her dirtied hand and brought it up to her lips. "Mmm! Not bad!"
Parmley returned a smile at the gesture of gratitude, but that went away as the woman immediately went back to work on the satellite, despite working on it ever since they got to the Drive-In hours ago. When the Sun was still hanging in the air.
"Don't you want to take a breather?" he asks, concerned with how long she's been at it. "You've been working on that thing non-stop."
"I'll rest when we'll find Nathan," Veronica states, wiping some sweat from her brow.
"Speaking of Nathan; How'd you meet him, anyway?"
Veronica paused from her work to look at Parmley for a moment, before returning to what she to the console.
"Right place at the right time, I guess," she answered earnestly. "I was at the 188 Trading Post when he just wandered in one day. We struck up a conversation, and I tagged with him shortly after. All there was to it."
"Really?" he asked, a bit surprised at how uneventful that seemed. "Didn't need to convince him or anything? Just let you tag along?"
"Well, I may have had to do some sexual favors so he could get to know me, but you can't blame the big guy, y'know? My ass hurts thinking about it."
She looked back at Parmley to see him wide-eyed, his cheeks getting redder as his eyes darted around the place. The woman in the Follower's coat smirked and let out a snicker, confusing the man even more.
"Nah, I'm just kidding!" Veronica clarified, grinning madly. "About the last part, at least. I don't really swing that way."
"Good to know, I guess," Parmley said, still unsure what to think. "What about you being with the Brotherhood? What he did he think about that?"
"Surprisingly, he wasn't too bothered by that. He actually felt more comfortable knowing he would be traveling with someone who knew how to hold their own. Nathan even helped me on a couple of occasions. Or, tried his best, at least."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, for starters, I used to be apart of the Brotherhood. It's kinda like having a falling out with your family, who happens to live in a hole in the ground, and Nathan tried to help me fix it and get the Brotherhood back into shape. But..."
Veronica sulked a bit, pausing from her work as she sighed tiredly and took the warm beverage to her mouth again.
"Didn't exactly pan out the way you wanted, though, did it? Sorry, to hear that."
"Eh, no worries," the ex-Scribe shrugged it off and went back to her tools. "Besides, they're still alive, being a bit less like hermits than before. And my technical skills are being used for things other than guns that turn people into glowing piles of goo. For example..."
As she said those words, she plants her hands inside the satellite's hull and pulls, something inside rattling as she did so. Then, a black box was slowly inching its way out of the hull, until it finally popped out and knocked Veronica on her bum from the force. Parmley helps her to her feet, and they both examine the piece of equipment retrieved from the advanced Pre-War machine. Being shielded from the satellite's initial impact and the wasteland under a metal shell, the black box was relatively unscathed. The ex-Scribe smiled, clearly happy at what she found. The Ranger was clueless, though.
"Uh, what is that?" he asked, going up and examining it.
"This is the onboard computer," she explained. "Well, I think it is. This should tell us the data we need to figure out where Nathan is. Or, at least to where this thing sent him."
"How are we going to figure that out?"
"I know a place - up north - not too far from Goodsprings, in fact. If I can get this thing there, we should be able to pinpoint where Nathan's ass is."
"So, you wanna head out? Sun's still up, but not for long."
She looked to see that the big ball of fire was still hanging in the sky, but was getting closer and closer to the horizon. She didn't really want to waste as much time as possible, and looking at the pile of bodies they had clear didn't help convince her to camp here for the night.
"Primm's not far," she stated. "How 'bout we stop there for the night? I heard the Bison Steve Hotel's been spruced up a bit."
The search party found themselves wandering again, to the north and following the highway to the town of Primm. However, as they neared the underpass that separated the town, they noticed an unusually high amount of activity on the western side. A company of NCR soldiers was camped out, some of them running drills while others were running around carrying supplies and equipment of all sorts. Other than the unusually high number of troops in one small area, what was also unusual was the presence of T-51b Power Armor units towering among them, none of them bearing the mark of the Two-Headed Bear but of the Brotherhood of Steel. They all seemed to be on high-alert as their superiors barked orders left and right, sending the armed men where they needed to be. They were troops being sent west from their camp, but they did not know where. They then reached what seemed to be a checkpoint with an NCR trooper and a BoS Paladin posted, and there was a line of caravanners. As they approach, a man in a green beret halts them.
"Hold on, now," he says, holding up a hand. "I'm sorry, no one's allowed to go further up North on the account of... Hey, haven't I seen you two before?"
The trooper looks at Craig and Veronica, who both stare at the man and try to recollect where they've seen him before. Boone was the first one to have it click in his head.
"Lieutenant Hayes, isn't it?" the 1st Recon sniper asks, barely remembering him. "Yeah, we've met before."
"Hold on," Veronica says, bringing the conversation back in line. "Why can't we go further up North? Is there a problem?"
"Yes, ma'am," the LT answers. "We've received reports of... Something in this area. There have been attacks on settlers and travelers alike. So, a detachment has been sent here to contain the situation."
That answer wasn't enough for the group, who all looked at each other with uncertainty. Ever since Hoover Dam, the Mojave has calmed down significantly and wasn't the pressure-cooker it was. Things were starting to look up for the residents, ever since the Legion was kicked out and the raiders were almost wiped out. This outpost was more than an anomaly.
"Is that it?" Veronica question further, unsatisfied with the trooper's answer. "Just 'something'? If it's just something, why is there a joint-operation between the NCR and Brotherhood here? Surely, you don't need all of that firepower for 'something'!?"
The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes at the woman before he sighed. He shook his head as he looked around, peering over his own shoulder. He went over to them, getting closer and gesturing them to huddle around him.
"Alright, I'll throw you a bone here," Lt. Hayes said in a hushed tone. "And only because of our mutual friend. To be honest, I don't know what we're dealing with here. I thought we were being sent to deal with raiders or a Legion detachment. But you're right, this is too much for nothing."
"Any ideas what?" the Scribe asks, also in hushed tone.
"Nope. Only that it has something to do with The Divide."
"The Divide?! What the hell could be there?"
"You tell me. I'm just a soldier, ma'am. Brass doesn't tell me shit."
Instead of answering the question of what this supposed "threat" the NCR in the Mojave was facing, it only added more questions. Sure as hell didn't help that it blocked the route they needed to travel through.
"Well, speaking of our mutual friend..." Veronica let out. "Would you be willing to let us through? The reason we came down here is because we're looking for him."
"What do you mean looking?" the LT asks, his brows furrowing. "Is he missing?"
"I wish I could tell you, and that's why we need to go through. So, are you willing to throw another bone for us?"
Hayes looks at Veronica, clearly hesitant on what to do. He pinches the bridge of his nose before he looks around and again.
"How early are you guys planning to leave?" he asks, once again in a hushed tone.
"As early as we can," Boone answered for the group.
"Alright, I could make that work. There will be a rotation for the guard at dawn. Meet me at the casino before that time and I should be able to sneak you out."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Now, go get some rest at the Bison. It's actually a hotel, now."
The party made their way into Primm, unfortunately having their plans diced but still hoping to check into the dilapidated hotel. As Boone said, they'll be getting back on the move the earliest they can. They had to. Unbeknownst to them, a Paladin silently watched the search party go, his eyes hidden beneath the black visor of his helm.
Germany, Europe
2076
As the dropship lowered itself onto the grass field outside of a quaint looking village, its bay door opened to reveal Reinhardt without his armor looking down on two individuals on the ground, one in a blue leather jacket and the other in a long dark hood. They were waiting for the ship to land before walking up the ramp.
"I hope the 'Dragons' did not give you too much trouble," Reinhardt said to them, boastfully. "I did soften them up for you."
"You should've cleaned them up when you had the chance," Morrison stated, tossing a pair of circular, yellow tinted goggles with blood stains on them to him. "I think you're starting to get sloppy."
"Hmph, says you," Ana said, smirking as she walked alongside him.
Getting inside the cabin, they are immediately greeted by the sight of the red bomb procured from King's Row, hovering in the middle of the ship and taking up a lot of space. The two get close to it and examines its damaged hull as they feel the dropship take to the air.
"Huh, looks familiar," the soldier notes as he rubs a gloved hand over it. "Kinda reminds you of the ones we snuck into the Omniums, doesn't it?"
"Quite," Ana replied, looking over the ordinance with her one eye.
However, their reminiscing is cut short as they twirl around with their weapons at the ready and to the floating Omnic that still kept his composure even with rifle muzzles pointed at him. Behind the Omnic was Nathan, still in his black armor and staring blankly in their direction, and Lena.
"Sorry, about that guys," Lena meekly said, as she rubbed the back of her head. "We got a stowaway... Say hi to Zenyatta."
The two old soldiers exchanged looks, a bit taken by surprise by the monk before them. They looked back at Zenyatta, a bit more relaxed but still suspicious.
"Hey..."
"Ahlan."
"Peace be upon you!" the Omnic says to them, waving his hand in a circular motion. "I apologize if my presence seems like an intrusion, but I assure you, I will not be a problem."
"I hope so," the Soldier said. "Seems like this job gets more interesting by every day."
Their ship flies over German airspace, making its way back to Gibraltar. As Lena and the rest of the Overwatch team were in the cockpit, Nathan and Zenyatta occupied booth seats.
The former was taking a gander at one of the books provided by the ship, while the latter sat silently on the seats, his head bowed down and the orbs circling him and periodically "pinging" in the and making symbols appear when they did so. The man did get a bit distracted from that, wondering how the machine was able to do that but shrugged it off as another technology mystery this world had for him. He tried to instead focus on the pages of the book, trying to ignore what the machine was doing. It kept being distracting, however, and he wanted to ask the robot if he could do it somewhere else. But the machine beat him to the punch.
"Is something wrong?" Zenyatta hummed out, still fixed in his position.
"Wrong? No, it's just that... That 'thing' you're doing is kinda distracting, that's all."
"Hmm... Well, I apologize for that. And I do not mean it to be so. Though, I suspect it is distracting for reasons other than sound, is it?"
The man in black armor scowled Zenyatta under his helmet.
"Jesus, you just seem to pick up on everything, don't you?" the Wastelander says, shaking his helmeted head.
The Omnic chuckles, his form slightly shaking as he reverts from his meditative state.
"Once again, I'm sorry if it seems so," the Monk apologizes as he regards Nathan. "It's just that I sense so many things within you. Curious things. Also, despite seeming so human, you come across as such an outsider that even I am somewhat perplexed."
"What do you mean by that?" Brin asks, rather incredulously.
"You just seem... Out of place. As if you are meant to be somewhere else. Your unsettled spirit urging you to wander, much like me. But at the same time, wander not in this world."
Now, the Courier was just staring at Zenyatta, his expressionless visor peering at the monk's equally neutral faceplate. His eyes then fell to his left forearm, where the screen of the Pip-Boy greeted him.
"What gave it away?" he asks, as he lifts his left arm and rotates the computer, examining its shell.
"Other than the strange technology you possess that I can barely if at all, establish a connection to," the Metallic Monk explained. "The way you act, your mannerisms, and your cluelessness about the world around you gave some hints. You must have quite the story to tell."
"Depends on who wants to listen to it."
Before Zenyatta could continue the conversation, red lights and alarms started blaring throughout the cabin. Nathan immediately jumped to his feet, wondering what the hell was going on. That was when Athena's voice came over the intercom.
"Unidentified Aircraft approaching! Repeat, Unidentified Aircraft approaching! All agents, strap in!"
Nathan's mind started to race as he was trying to remember what he was told to do in case of these situations, remembering what Dr. Ziegler told him before he boarded the dropship for his first mission. He looked to the ship's right side and saw the chairs with mechanical bars over them. He ran over to one of them, the closest to the bay door, and lodged himself in as he brought the metal bar down over his chest. Zenyatta soon joined him, occupying the seat next to him. Then, Jack and Ana ran over to the chairs adjacent to theirs and strapped themselves in.
"Hang on, everybody!" Lena yelled over the intercom.
They all felt the ship rumble through the air, the turbulence rocking the inside of the cabin as Lena piloted the aircraft. Performing evasive maneuvers as best she could with a big whale of a ship. Then, a grating beeping noise started to emanate from the cockpit, becoming more rapid in its frequency the longer it went on until it became an obnoxious ticking.
"Deploying flares!"
The sound of the flares being deployed and the subsequent detonation of an explosion rocked the cabin even more, also rocking the people strapped in.
"Son of a bitch!" Nathan yelled as he was knocked about in his seat.
Then, more beeping sounded from the cockpit, signaling another missile was locked onto them. At that, the dropship became more erratic in its movement, swaying and dipping to the side and making everyone feel dizzy. The sound of more flares and another explosion perforated the air again, but much closer. Too close.
"Don't worry everyone, we'll get through this!"
As if on cue, machine gun fire started to pelt the hull of the ship, metal being torn apart. The rounds, large enough to indicate they were from a cannon, pierced the hull and bounced around the cabin. A burst of cannon fire pervaded the bottom of the ship and landed a hit on the door's hydraulics, the machine soon failing. The damage forced the door wide open, the sound of wind and turbulence deafening the inside of the ship. Anything that wasn't secured was flying out of the door, the cabin becoming depressurized. More cannon fire struck the dropship, and narrowly missing Nathan. Unfortunately, it grazed the bar on his chair and set him loose, almost out of the doorway. With his right hand, he tried to pull himself back into the cabin, but the force of the air and the accelerating ship were too great. He spotted a silver hand reaching out to him.
"Grab on, my friend!" Zenyatta called out, inching closer to him as best he could.
Gritting his teeth, he reached his left hand, trying to inch himself closer and closer to salvation. However, he noticed something big coming for him from the left and saw the red mass of the bomb falling towards him.
"Shit!" he yelled as he let go, narrowly losing his arm as the bomb slammed into where he, and now found himself tumbling through the air.
The Courier screamed as he spun through the air, catching glimpses of the ship in the sky, getting farther and farther from him. He struggled to orient himself to look to the ground and saw nothing but green beneath him. He barely had time to react as he crashed into the tree line, his body hitting branches, leaves, and pines hard. He plummeted further down the woods, snapping branches, and bouncing off branches alike. Every impact, even with his armor, punished him wherever it hit the solid wood. He could also feel vegetation cutting him, mostly at the unarmored parts of his legs, slicing away and drawing blood. And after what seemed like an eternity of abuse, he plunged down to the forest floor. The last thing he saw were the flowers his face landed on.
Hours later...
Winds howling and insects chirping were the first noises Nathan heard when he laid there on the ground, although, they were muffled under his helmet. He stirred awake, shuffling his head and arms. However, the more he regained consciousness, the more he regained sensation across his body, and was meet with pain everywhere. The first noises to come out of his mouth were groans of agony, as he tried to lift himself up with his arms until a sharp pain pierced his left arm, forcing him to go limp with it. He lifted his head as best he could, and looked around the darkness of the forest floor, barely seeing the silhouettes of tree trunks in front of him. With his right hand, he flips on his helmet's low-lights vision. He looks around again and sees a tree around five meters away from him, the closest one. He tries to get up, only his right arm for support. He collapses to the ground again as more sharp pain in his right leg prevents him from standing. The Courier grunts in frustration and pounds the earth, before shaking his head and dragging himself to the trunk, leaving a trail of disturbed vegetation. After an agonizing two minutes and probably opening more wounds on his legs, he finally reached the salvation of the tree trunk, orienting himself to sit against its body.
The Courier just sits there, gasping for air with his eyes closed, his breathing becoming steadier as both arms stay limp at his sides. After catching his breath for around five minutes, he brings his working arm up to his helmet and grabs it by the chin to remove it from his head. His sweaty face was immediately greeted by a cool breeze blowing against it, his hair looking more like a rat's nest. The Courier looked down to his Pip-Boy, grabbing his left arm with his right to lift it so he could see the screen. He grimaced doing so, pain pervading his arm as he moved it until he finally plopped the computer on his lap. Pressing a button, the screen illuminates and casts a radius of light around him like a lantern. A bit blinded, he rubs his eyes before looking back at the machine and examining the screen. A pained grimace became replaced with an irritated scowl.
"Son of a bitch," he cursed, rubbing a gloved hand over the Pip-Boy screen's right side, that now sported a crack after his tumble. Other than that, the computer still seemed functional.
Pressing that "Stats" button, the screen displayed a report of the damage across his body in the form of the very familiar Vault-Boy. The character didn't have a happy expression, as it showed his left arm and right leg outlined in segmented dashes.
"Left arm - Crippled... Right leg - Crippled..." he read the information on the screen. "... No shit..."
His right hand goes around his waist, combing his person for anything of aid. Reaching into a pocket and his palm wraps around a couple objects. He takes them out and lays him on the floor. Four Stimpaks. Better than three, but not nearly as good as five.
He takes one of the syringes and lurches forward, giving him a good view of his cut-up legs, the pants were torn where blood was seeping out. Right leg was the priority, so he injected the Pre-War chemicals into that limbs and soon felt the pain slowly subside and could feel the wounds start to close. It will take some time for the bones to heal, but he didn't exactly have to be anywhere now. He grabs another syringe and brings it to his left arm. Rolling up his sleeve to expose the skin, he injects the Stim into his left arm and once again feels the chems flowing through the needle and into his, the pain soon subsiding as well. He decides to leave the rest of the lacerations to the Monocyte Breeder inside of him. Though, that will take some time before any noticeable changes.
As he laid there, his breathing became much steadier and less forced than before, an odd sense of bliss washes over him. For once, he felt like he wasn't going to be completely in the shit. Falling through the air and into a forest was a new experience, but dealing with two broken limbs wasn't the worst he's dealt with. However, the more Nathan thought about it, the more he realized the predicament he found himself in. The Courier didn't know where he was. And he didn't know where everyone else was, either.
Scrambling to his helmet and wincing as his limbs haven't fully healed yet, the Courier plants his signature headwear atop his head and operates the built-in radio.
"Hello?!" he calls out over the comms. "It's Brin! I'm still alive! Can anyone hear me?!"
He is met with the silence of static as his response.
"Oxton? Wilhelm? Athena? Anyone?!"
More static.
"…Fuck me."
It was quickly becoming daytime as the morning sun slowly shined through the forest canopy, illuminating the forest floor. After giving himself the ample amount of time for his body to heal, Nathan decided that being on the move and covering as much ground as possible was currently the best option. He conducted an inventory count and saw he had his .45 with a couple of mags, his combat knife, two grenades, a pack of smokes, a lighter, the two remaining Stimpaks, his Vault 13 canteen, and a candy bar he got while in Britain. Other than that, and the armor he had on his back, he was surely underequipped compared to what he usually had on him. It didn't help that his Pip-Boy told him he was in Germany, but it was annoyingly unspecific on where exactly in the country he was.
His stomach grumbling was also another bad omen to add to the pile, which was why he had three longs sticks he found with him. They were about a meter in length, and two of them already had one of their ends sharpened into a white pointy tip. The third he was currently working on, shaving away bark at the end with his combat knife at a rapid pace. After about a minute of stripping away the bark, he brought the sharp tip up to his face and examined it. The sides looked unevenly shaved, the head looked a bit lopsided, and the tip was pointing a bit to the side instead of straight ahead. He hasn't made a makeshift spear in years, and it showed.
"Ain't like what mom showed me," the Tribal remarked, blowing away the excess shavings. "But it'll have to do."
So, he began to wander, but not towards any specific direction - his gear and spears in tow. He just hoped the direction would lead him to something - whether it was food or a way to communicate with Overwatch. That objective was on his mind.
However, about half an hour into his journey through the German wilderness the Courier couldn't but help look around his surroundings, now clearer in the sunlight than they were hours earlier. He was astonished to see so much bright green pervading his vision everywhere he looked. Of the two or three forests he'd ever set foot in, this one was easily the most fertile, the liveliest. Everywhere he walked - instead of trudging over brown, hardened dirt - he walked upon soft soil covered in grass, flowers, and weeds that brushed up against his sand stricken boots. The noise of the insects chittering, the birds chirping, the animals calling was almost deafening to his ears. He craned his neck up to look at the treetops, the trees taller and thicker than any tree he's ever seen, taller than any of the pines at Mount Charleston. Seeing all of this, the New Californian started to wonder if the California on this Earth had forests much like this one. If it had the giant Sequoias and Redwoods that reached high to the sky and had imposing trunks, almost the size of rooms. Untouched by the fallout of his world. That'd be something.
His stomach growling broke him out of that thought and reminded him he needs to find food soon. Not wanting to waste any more energy looking for food, he decides that waiting for food to come to him would be the most energy conservative way of going about hunting. He brings out the candy bar and snaps it in half, and crumbles one of the halves onto the ground below, sprinkling it around him. Wiping his hand, he surveys the landscape, soon spotting a tree that the sun was shining through. It wasn't nearly as big as the others and had large enough branches that could support his weight. Not to mention, being high up in the air would probably conceal his scent, letting it waft in the air rather than on the ground. Nathan goes over to it, fastens his spears to the belt around his waist, and scales the trunk. The Tribal fumbles a bit, having difficulty with his footing and a still weak, shaky leg. Nonetheless, he makes it to a branch.
Brin waits there, holding the spears in his lap and keeping his eyes focused on where he set the bait and the area around it. Honestly, sitting up there somewhat uncomfortably and trying his best to not make a sound was agonizing more than it should be. The more Nathan waited, waiting for anything to take the "bait", the more his mind started to wander much like he did. It was hard to stay focused on the task at hand. It wasn't long until he started thinking about the rest of them, wondering if Zenyatta and the others were able to survive. And if they did, were they searching for him? Or did they presume him to be dead? Not exactly an unlikely conclusion to draw when you see someone fall from an aircraft and plummet hundreds of feet to the ground. Hell, it's probably the conclusion Dr. Ziegler would've made if they told her what had happened. Shame, he didn't get to listen to her story.
The sound of rustling shook him from his stupor and sat him up on the branch. He slowly grabbed a spear and brought it up above his shoulder, waiting for his prey to cross his vision. Finally, a four-legged hooved creature came into view and Nathan tightened his grip on the spear but held. The animal had a tan-brown coat and a slender, pointed head with a black noise at the tip. Two black eyes were on both sides of its head, under two big ears that were emotive and swiveled in place. It had no horns, though. It had its nose to the ground, clearly smelling the crumbs he left on the ground. It looked like a deer, and not like the freaks of nature back home that had too many limbs.
The Courier raised his spear slightly higher, trying to gauge the distance and the force he would need to apply. He waited because if he rushed he would likely miss and scare it. On the other hand, if he waited too long, the doe might lap up all the crumbs for itself and prance away, leaving him nothing but an empty stomach. Nathan rotated his body, tightened his grip around the spear. Biding his time, and waiting until the doe was completely enamored by the candy he left. Then, as fast as a dashing Cazador, his arm rocketed forward and the spear flew, hitting the deer. However, he veered a bit to the left and he missed its chest and instead impaled its backside. Not even a second later, the deer sprinted off with the stick still lodged inside it. Nathan immediately got off and landed on the floor, but winced as pain shot up right leg. He shrugged it off and gave chase to the animal. As fast as his body permitted him.
Half-an-hour had already passed into the chase, following whatever trail the deer left behind. Hoofprints, shredded fur, disturbed vegetation, and splatters of blood guided the Tribal to his prey. It was fast - very fast - he'll give it that. But if the Courier is a seasoned traveler of long distances and the amount of blood she's spilled were any indication, it wouldn't be long until he tracked it down. Though, he felt like he's been running in a circle, seeing what looked like the same tree and the same bush for the fifth time. Breathing became a bit labored, sweating slightly as he lugged two sticks in his left hand and navigated the terrain with the other. Then, he noticed a trail of blood, the spaces in between the stains being shorter and more frequent. Like bounties when they're wounded and trying to get away. The hunter smirked under his mask. It was getting weaker. It shouldn't be long now.
"Heh," he huffed under his mask. "Arroyo did teach me well."
Ten minutes following the trail, Nathan found himself in a clearing within the forest. He looked around until his eyes landed on a tree stump, and at the base was a brown lump on the ground that was slightly moving. He bounded over to it and slowed down as he got around five meters from it. Its back was to him, it was still breathing but weakly. He walked over to the deer and stood over it, seeing the spear still lodged in its calf as it gasped for air through its mouth, its tongue hanging out. Nathan kneels and sets the extra spears aside, pulling out his knife as he does so. However, he doesn't immediately bring the blade down but takes off a glove and begins to rub his hand over her coat. He was curious to know what deer hide felt like, unchanged by mutation. It had no blemishes on it, no leathery patches devoid of fur, or bulbous growths infecting it. It was sort of soft, a bit rougher than he expected. After a few moments of feeling the coat, he decided he made the animal suffer enough.
"Sorry, I didn't give you a clean death," he apologized, leaning over its body to get to its jugular.
The grazer barely resisted as the Tribal jutted that knife down and slit its throat, letting blood pour out in pints. After some minor convulsions, the deer finally calmed down and laid limp on the forest floor. He retrieved his spear from its body and laid it down with the others. After that business, he began wiping his blade across the deer's coat to wipe the blood off. However, as Nathan looked up from the corpse, he immediately noticed something odd. The stump that it stopped at was splintered and the rest of the tree was fallen to its side. It wasn't the only one, as there were other stumps around him, all of them fractured and splintered as their respective bodies were also to the sides, but they looked like they were torn apart and not that the trees fell down of their own volition. He took a closer look at the one he was next to and saw something shiny. He reached over and picked it up, bringing the copper-colored object closer to his eyes. It was a bullet, slightly malformed, and it looked bigger than even a .50 BMG!
The man in the black armor looked around, more on edge as he was wary that whatever caused this could still be here. Flicking the round away, he grabbed the deer by the legs and hoisted it over his shoulders. He leaves the field of dead trees, not wanting to be caught in the open.
More hours pass, and it was already getting dark as Nathan was starting to set up "camp" in a fairly clear patch of woodland. With his armor set aside against a log and his duster folded next to it, Nathan was in his white shirt and jeans as he crouched next to a pile of sticks and wood block covered in leaves and grass, surrounded by stones. He had a rock in one hand and his knife in the other, trying to light it with the sparks when he struck the two together. Sure, he had a lighter and would be easier to start it with just that, but he didn't want to waste what little oil could be inside. Besides, it was a nice refresher course for the "ways of his people", or something like that. Even though this is far from the first situation he's been forced to rely on what the village taught him. After a few more sparks, the kindling under the logs started to smoke. Setting aside his knife and rock, he bends down and gently blows air towards the little flame, making it bigger and brighter until it grew into a proper campfire. He then brought over the deer, or what's left of it, wrapped in a spare bandana he had at his side - presenting an assortment of chunks and slabs he could choose from. Unfortunately, because he did not have the proper tools, impaling them on a stick and roasting them over the fire was his only option of cooking.
As he cooked his venison on a stick, the Courier listened to the sound of the forest accompany that of his campfire. Insects like crickets still chirped, but the only birds making noise were the owls. Nathan thought more about his isolation again and wondered if he was the only human in this forest for miles. Zion and Mount Charleston led him to believe tourists always visited places like this, the last vestiges of nature in the world. Or, maybe that only applied to his world, where its forests were ravaged generations ago for the war effort. Did the "Omnic Crisis" ever have such an impact on this world? He didn't know because he still didn't know what the hell it is in the first place.
Questions in need of answers. He always had those. Now, he just had a belly to fill.
The morning sun once again shined through the forest canopy and cast light wherever it was permitted to touch. A beam of light did land on the long-extinguished campfire, still smoldering. Sleeping against the log, Nathan wrapped himself with his duster and had his helmet upon his head - some protection is better than none - as his chest calmly rose up and down as he slept. On the ground next to him was his M1911, still in its holster but with a round chambered and the hammer cocked with the safety engaged. However, unbeknownst to the sleeping man, his campsite caught the attention of a small, greenish-yellow avian creature that hopped around him curiously.
The little bird scampered all over, pecking at anything it pleased. It hopped on the log the man was resting against, and it wasn't long until it hopped on the metal dome, never seeing something like it before. It picks at the helmet, tries to take the small antennae to no avail, and eventually flies down to the side of the mask, landing on one of the circular shapes protruding from its mouth. It looks at the red visor, trying to peer inside before he gives it a few pecks with his beak. Nothing happens, so he gives a few more pecks.
The tapping stirs the man awake, slowly opening his eyes and being greeted by a green blob staring at his left eye. Nathan shakes his head, making the bird fly away as he took off his helmet and started rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. After he does that, Nathan stands up and tries to figure out where that bird went. He soon spotted something yellow through the air and tracked it as it landed on something. Something's hand.
The man's eyes widened in surprise as he watched the bird land on the finger of a tall, bulky robot with a rectangular head with a blue line as an eye. It was covered in greenery and appeared to have plants growing all over it. Nathan froze, not wanting to make sudden movements and set it off. It seemed the robot was too focused on the feathered critter on its hand, but that didn't help as he saw that one of its hands looked very similar to a gun. Slowly, while keeping an eye on the machine, his hand carefully went to where his sidearm as he lowered himself and further and further and further to the ground. Just as it was inches away from the grip, he heard a noise.
"Zwee?"
He looked up and saw the machine was no longer addressing his feathered friend but was staring directly at him with its single blue eye. Nathan glanced at his pistol before back at the bipedal robot.
"Uh-"
Without warning, the machines eye turned bright red and jutted its arm-gun towards the man with a metallic clank. The man immediately held up his left hand to it.
"Woah woah woah woah woah! Calm down! Jesus Christ!"
The machine still kept its barrel pointed at him. The Courier stared at him, his heart racing. He eyed the machine over, noticing how it was significantly taller than him and had some sort of protrusion on its back, with multiple cylinders within it.
'Oh shit,' he cursed in his mind, realizing it was a huge minigun. 'He's the one who chopped down all those trees, did he?'
Man and Machine stared at each other until the man notice its head look to his bottom right before looking back at the man. He looked down to see that the handgun was what he was looking at, his hand still close to it. Looking back at the robot, Nathan slowly stood up and raised his right hand away from the gun. Noting how the barrel followed his movements. After standing up to his full height and still being dwarfed by the bot, he held up his right hand to it, gesturing with an open palm. It looked at his hand for a second before looking back at his face, still with a red eye.
"See? No gun," he stated, trying to appeal to the machine. "I'm not gonna try and hurt you, as long as you don't hurt me... Alright?"
They kept staring at each other but the machine kept looking back and forth between his hand and Nathan's face. After several long moments of him repeating this behavior, its eye started flashing red and blue until it finally became settled on blue and the machine lowered its arm-gun. Nathan kept his hands up, wary of what the machine will do next. He sees its head swivel and looks at his open palm again before it looks down at its own metal hand. It closes and opens it fingers, repeating the action a few times. The robot looks back up at Nathan and his hand and then held an open palm to the man.
"Beedoo beedoo!" it sounded out, opening and closing his palm as if to signify a greeting.
Dumbfounded, Nathan just waved his already floating hand back at it.
"Uhh... Hi."
Not long after this exchange, the bird flew back into view landed on its shoulder with something in its beak. The bird planted it into a nest it was building on the automaton's shoulder plate, the automaton watching all the while. As it finished, the robot let out a series of noises, as if it sounds elated at the bird's work. Nathan just rubbed his face, exhausted.
"I always find the fuckin' weirdos..."
