Chapter - 1
"To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day…"
Under dark skies of the wasteland, a lone figure trudged wearily through the unforgiving terrain of the big MT, his armor faintly glowing from the moonlight. The upbeat, jazzy tune of 'Big Iron' blared from his pip-boy as it always did.
"Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say…"
He grunted as he stumbled a little bit, the collective weight of the stuff he was carrying taking a toll on his legs. Strength, he acknowledged, wasn't his forte. However, he was still alive through the power of will and guns, and that was all that mattered to him for now.
Stumbling again, he cursed softly at his own miscalculation, the Pip-Boy's warning sounds of being over encumbered nagging at him yet again.
"No one dared to ask his business, No one dared to make a sli-"
His movements sluggish, he sat down on a nearby rock, finding a moment's peace on the hill he'd just climbed. With a soft grumble, he cut short the playing holotape, the song abruptly silenced.
He turned his head upward, greeted by the unforgiving sight of the Big MT's rocky, barren expanse. Futuristic buildings loomed like skeletal remains, their once gleaming surfaces now weathered and scarred. Amidst them lay a few ruins, a testament to a world that was betrayed by its own creations.
In his estimation and what he could remember from his ever-fading memories from the ruins of D.C, his home, the place itself stood out among the many he'd encountered. It remained untouched by the relentless and never-ending march of war, a desolation of a different sort. Compared to the sprawling, neon-clad decadence of Vegas, it held a somber, haunting beauty, which only became more apparent once you had a brawl or two with its inhabitants.
He was soon interrupted from his musings by movement detected by his Pip-boy, and found a silhouette shambling a couple of meters away. It hadn't spotted him yet, but he trusted his instincts and guessed on its hostility.
Better safe than sorry, after all.
His hand deftly retrieved his Ratslayer from his duster, propping it against the rocky earth. A flick of a switch illuminated his surroundings, the helmet's lights casting a faint red glow. Through the scope, he focused on the approaching lobotomite, noting its armament and deciding which round to use.
The lobotomite, donning a gas mask and goggles, was wandering around aimlessly with a glowing bright-blue proton axe in hand. Those weapons did quite a lot of damage, and once managed to take his arm out in a single hit. He didn't feel like fighting it head on, so he reaffirmed his decision to use a sniper rifle. With the right mark, he could take it out in one shot.
With a practiced motion, he squeezed the trigger, the silenced 5.56mm round finding its mark. The resulting carnage left nothing but a grotesque display of innards and gore… a perfect [Bloody mess] in his opinion.
*Sneak attack critical on Lobotomite
He silently thanked Boone, his trusty companion whose presence was as reliable as the setting sun in the wasteland. The sniper's keen eye and unwavering loyalty had saved them both more times than he could count. Where in Cass he found fondness and a sense of positivity in the wastes, he found understanding in Boone, who was hardened by the dangers of the wasteland. His stoic demeanor mirrored the Courier's guarded nature, and despite their rare disagreements, they shared a mutual respect for each other.
The rifle returned to its resting place, and he flipped the helmet's switch, leaving his surroundings to be illuminated by the moonlight, which his eyes quickly adjusted to. He felt a weariness cast a shadow over him upon remembering the load of paperwork waiting at home as he prepared to embark on the journey back to the Strip, the weight of his baggage lightened from the momentary rest.
Governing an entire city, it turned out, was no easy feat. The endless paperwork proved a pain to work through, and he couldn't help but sympathize with James' tendency to lock himself in his office for days on end. With a grin on his scarred face, he passed the bureaucratic torch to Arcade, his trusted comrade, and set off to indulge in his favorite pastime—scavenging.
Money had to come from somewhere after all.
Despite his position of authority in New Vegas, he still kept a stash of stuff hidden deep in the Divide, co-shared with Ulysses. Trust in the NCR was a currency he couldn't afford to spend recklessly, and so, he maintained his secret cache. Negotiations had smoothed out, thanks in part to James and even General Oliver, surprisingly. Yet, he remained vigilant against their occasional covert maneuvers to take over New Vegas.
Perhaps he was just being paranoid, though.
As he journeyed, he stumbled upon one too many cigarette cartons, and unable to leave them behind, constantly picked them up, prompting his present, overweight trek through Big MT. Rising from his rocky perch, he grunted through his gas mask at the sudden strain on his legs.
A quick flip and glance at his trusty Pip-Boy revealed Ulysses' Point was a short walk away. Thoughts stirred and disturbed his mind at the mention of his now-friend, but he silenced them with a determined focus, setting off with songs blaring through the air.
"I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…."
He finished dumping a few pilot lights, tin cans and some weapons he got from killing lobotomites into one of the footlockers laying around, and used the workbench nearby to craft some ammo and recycle some microfusion cells. ED-E had gotten him into the practice of it, and it stuck to him ever since. In the wasteland, every single resource mattered, which he learned first-hand. More often than not he'd find some shells and various other bits-and-bobs lying on the ground, and when he learned to use them, he'd found himself gradually attaining more ammo, to the point he never had to worry about running out ever again, unless he used a minigun or something.
*You are no longer over encumbered
Tucking away the newly made ammo in the folds of his duster, he subtly shifted his weight on the chair, contemplating his next move, before he decided that it would be best to head back to Novac, get some rest, and sell his stuff to Cliff in the morning. With that in mind, he stood up and fished out his Transportalponder!, holding his breath while preparing for another unpleasant bout of nausea. Pressing the trigger, he watched it hum to life, the blueish glow in its glass chamber brightening with every second, and he closed his eyes and steeled his legs.
…
…
…Odd.
Opening his eyes after the flash, the Courier found himself to be in his original spot, rather than the Mojave drive-in. He furrowed his eyebrows, initial shock replaced by confusion, and looked down at the device in his hand.
The Transportalponder! looked like it usually would, but upon closer observation, the light in its glass chamber that normally emitted enough light to establish a presence in a dark area had faded considerably. The Courier however, deciding to make one more faithful attempt, squeezed its trigger again. He saw the blue light pulse and expand briefly, before it quickly fizzled out, leaving nothing but the unilluminated glass chamber behind.
After staring at it for a few seconds, followed by pressing the trigger another couple times, he noticed that there was a lack of both the distinct humming as well as the light of the device. The Courier reasoned that the power had run out. Of course, there could be other causes, but he preferred picking the most simple cause. With that in mind, he sat down in the chair near his workbench with a grumble and started to disassemble the gadget, completely forgetting about the minds of the Think Tank which lay a short walk away.
Disassembling the thing was not much of a challenge, simply removing the screws located on the fixtures between the chamber and chassis and applying enough force to separate the two sufficed, and he found himself taking a look at its inner workings. He quickly found the failed power supply, a black box connected to a pair of black and red wires. He quickly snipped and put it away. Despite considering himself one of the brightest minds in the Mojave, he was not on the level of the Think Tank. Their lack of morals, however, required them to have someone watch over them, and he resolved himself to do it until his death.
Washing away his thoughts, he proceeded to try and figure out the voltage and current rating of the device, a job made harder by his sleep deprived mind. Nevertheless, he persevered through with thoughts of his queen-sized bed back in Novac.
After some trial and error attempts, he managed to figure it out, by adding the expected current and maximum and minimum supply voltages of each of the components on the same power buses. He then proceeded to calculate the current going into each of the resistors using the voltages and resistance encoded on them, finally finishing the repairs by hooking up a rather mediocre setup consisting of an old fission battery and some more resistors.
After cleaning up his workplace, he took a look at his handicraft and stood up from his seat and walked to the center of the room. Angling it so that its tip faced away from him, he took one last look at the transporter, before he pressed the trigger. The first time he pressed, it came to life, its soft humming returning and its light restored back to its original brightness. He cheered internally at that, shoulders sagging at the fact it had not exploded on him like one of his early attempts to fix a laser pistol.
With it somewhat restored, he steadied himself and pulled the trigger, hoping his [Luck] would not betray him. The humming of the device increased in response and so did the light, in size and intensity. However, he soon heard the distinct sound of a spark come from it, and the light quickly grew and eclipsed what its brightness should've been.
…?!
The light continued and, soon enough, pierced through his lenses and his hands shot to his face in reflex, unconsciously letting theTransportalPonder! fall to the floor. A crash followed by the sound of glass breaking came forth, and he felt himself be dragged into the light.
…
….
….
He tore his eyes open, drawing in a raspy breath. Upon drawing in air, however, he immediately gagged. His stomach felt like it had flipped over and over again and every bit of his body ached. His vision was initially nothing but a blur, but slowly focused to reveal a white ceiling which was shiny enough to reflect his gas mask-
The Courier immediately shot to his feet at the unfamiliar sight. Instead of the sandy, barren Mojave wasteland, he found himself in a strange, gunmetal-gray room with sickly yellow lines running throughout the walls. Strange devices of all kinds lined the walls of the mysterious building, giving no clue as to what purpose they might be used for. His breath quickened and for a moment, he found himself fixed to an operating table, a whirring blue light slowly approaching towards his chest, all the while four beings, clearly not human, watched from above, smiles mocking and jeering.
"Temporal displacement from alternative timeline successful. Commencing quarantine protocol of resultant subject."
In a flash, Lucky was pulled from its holster, .357 Hollow Point loaded in its chamber, his finger squeezed, ready to shoo-
The Courier blinked, a sudden pause in his movement.
His enemy was, in all seriousness, not what he had expected. It was a little girl, with black hair and pale skin, clothed in a frilly black dress with red highlights and had mismatched red and yellow eyes. She was also wearing gauntlets on her arms. The Courier immediately relaxed the grip on his gun's trigger upon seeing that his opponent was a child, but still prepared to open V.A.T.S because of the fact that she had pale unnatural skin, an immediate red flag, and what she was sitting on.
The girl was riding what the Courier assumed to be some sort of a weapon, from the various cannons fixed in various places, including the two huge turrets that rested on either side of it. She herself was sitting on what looked like one of the helmets of the old knights he had seen in various comic books. The helmet itself was the front to a large cluster of various mechanical parts, each connected by various springs and bolts. At the very top of it was what looked like an exhaust, a glass chamber filled with a red liquid that was fuming through its opening. Frankly, she looked like something that Dr. Dala would create with her…obsession with humans. He was reminded of Harkness, the Synth he met in D.C, but as a whole, she looked too advanced, beyond anything he'd ever seen.
To any lesser man, it would've been intimidating, but to the Courier, who had seen many things during his travels, it felt like another thing to take care of.
He silently pondered what the hell the Commonwealth had been up to, only hearing some bits about their so-called 'institution' over the radio occasionally.
"Subject has drawn a weapon. Warning: Forced capture mechanisms will be initiated if the weapon is not withdrawn."
He immediately affirmed his suspicions of it being a Synth and readjusted his grip on the trigger, squeezing it lightly.
Red-Yellow orbs stared back defiantly, showing no signs of fear despite the barrel pointed at her.
The Courier drew in a subtle yet shaky breath at the display of bravery. Killing children, human or not, was something he could never bring himself to do, despite being the butcher everyone regarded him as. It always unsettled him, and was the only reason he hesitated to bomb the Legion at the Divide's final showdown.
He drew in another breath.
One bullet was all it would take. He was confident a Hollow Point would finish the job, and the only thing left would be a few bits of machinery, scattered across. If he missed, he could always open V.A.T.S, combined with the pulse gun for the extra effect.
"Final warning to test subject given. Failure to withdraw weapons will be dealt with swiftly."
Just. One. Bullet. Nothing but another soon-to-fade-away kill added to his growing numbers.
"Subject has not withdrawn weapons. Commencing Forced capture mechan-"
"That's enough," a voice echoed through the sterile environment, snapping the Courier out of his thoughts and causing the Courier to almost open V.A.T.S on reflex. The Synth on its robotic weapon lowered her guard, glancing toward the source of the interruption. He drew his other hand to grab a pistol, but a swift movement of one of its smaller cannons caused him to stop amidst it.
"Severe warning: Any aggression against the creator will not be tolerated and use of lethal force will be recognised."
Not fazed by it. The Courier continued to reach for his pistol, the Synth's eyes narrowing as his hand moved towards it.
"I wouldn't recommend picking a fight with it. Those cannons aren't your normal ones,"
The newcomer advised . Turning his head in the direction of the voice, he found himself staring at a man clad in a black shirt and white pants, overwhich a lab coat rested. A necklace was hung around his neck, as were glasses on his face. Whitish-gray hair was tied into a neat ponytail, and his gaze conveyed a sense of both intellectual curiosity that the Courier felt was directed towards himself and a subtle weariness from the complexities of his work, offset by a neutral smile.
The Courier simply stared at what he assumed to be a scientist, waiting for his next words. The scientist seemed to be the key as to what was happening. He needed answers, fast. The scientist simply gazed back in response, an awkward silence developing between them. After a few seconds, he decided to speak the first words, wanting to get back to Novac as soon as possible.
"What do you plan on doing with me?" The words rolled off his tongue harsher than he'd liked. His thick, coarse American accent echoed through the room, his now-aching throat waiting for a sip of water from his trusty Vault-13 canteen. The scientist was evidently surprised by his voice and accent, as his eyebrows rose a tad, and the curious glint in his eyes only increased. The Courier sighed inwardly at this. There was a reason he spoke so less, as the Madre took its toll on him in many ways, mentally and physically.
"Well, that's part of the problem, I didn't expect the experiment to go so well… Hmm… You look different from what I expected… Are you human?" He responded, looking at him up and down questioningly.
The Courier nodded at this.
"Last time I checked, yeah."
The Synth, who had been observing silently this whole time, interjected, "Subject has been found to have multiple metal implants throughout his body."
The Courier turned to the Synth with narrowed eyes at the revelation, and swore he was able to see the tiniest of a smirk on its face.
"Oh? Very interesting. Well, anyway, I would like you to drop the weapon. I assure you that I have no intent of hostility, and I believe both of us would like to keep things simple, right?"
Throughout the exchange, the scientist maintained a composed demeanor, a neutral smile on his face, showing no signs of aggression... at least not yet. The Courier hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering over his holster. After a brief internal struggle, he begrudgingly dropped the weapon and returned it to its holster.
He appeared to ease slightly at that, his smile becoming a tad natural. It was a promising sign, nonetheless.
"Excellent. Now what would your name be? I believe an introduction of sorts would be good?"
"Shouldn't you be the one to offer your name first?"
"Of course, my apologies for the oversight. You can call me Dr. Aoste," he said, his tone steady and confident despite the slip-up.
As he spoke, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over the Courier, causing the room to sway. He gripped the edge of a nearby table for support, creaking under his strength. His vision began to blur.
He cursed, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that he had been drugged. His other hand began searching for a Fixer on reflex.
"Aoste… " He managed to repeat, his voice strained. The room seemed to spin around him, making it difficult to focus. His hand on the table slipped, and the world seemed to tilt and blur, slipping away like water through his fingers. Panic surged within him as he fought to retain consciousness, memories of the Madre and the haunting voice of Vera Keyes flooding through, but it was a losing battle. With a final attempt to call out, his voice faded into silence. Darkness claimed him.
...
BLINK
Confusion washed over him, a disorienting sense of displacement. He was submerged, the weight of water enveloping him, muffling all sound around. Cold water flowed around his unclothed fingers, chilling them. The weight he carried quickly began to take its toll, and he found himself sinking further and further. Adrenaline soon began to flow through his veins, and he felt [Implant GRX] start to act along with it, causing time to slow down.
Water seeped into his mask filters and salt water reached his mouth. He fumbled at the straps, hands moving to remove the now useless piece of equipment. After a moment of frantic struggle, he finally managed to take it off. Panic set in, and he searched desperately for the rebreather stored away somewhere in his duster. The time of GRX would end soon, and if he didn't act, drowning was inevitable.
Finally, his hand closed around the familiar shape, and he drew it out, quickly securing it onto his face. Gasping for air, he drew in a ragged breath through the device, feeling the welcome rush of oxygen. The sensation of GRX ended, and the world blurred as time sped up back to normal. He then began to swim upwards, pushing through the weight of the water.
By the time he managed to get to the surface, his arms and legs, along with chest, were aching, which made his last strides extremely hard. With one last breath using his rebreather, he breached the surface, dark blue surroundings morphing into gray. His wet hair hung over his face, water dripping from it. He blinked and furiously rubbed his face, tears pooling in his eyes with irritation. With one final brush of his gloved hands, he opened his eyes, his surroundings focusing into view.
He saw absolutely nothing.
Everything around him was clothed in a thick mist, masking any possibility of him knowing where he was. All he could see was water, most likely sea water from the salty taste in his mouth, extending a few meters from him, eventually fading into mist. He turned in all directions, yet found the same sight. Feeling himself sinking into the sea slowly, he quickly tapped on a button of his Pip-boy.
…
Nothing happened. He pressed the button again, a chill settling into his gut. Nothing again. He quickly began tapping the button furiousl-
BEEP
Suddenly, its screen flashed to life, followed by it being backlit. Relief flowed through the Courier's veins at the sight.
…
**********PIP-OS(R) V6.1.5**********
COPYRIGHT 2075 ROBCO(R)
LOADER V0.9
EXEC VERSION 40.1
48K RAM SYSTEM
167811 BYTES FREE
LOADING HOLOTAPES….
251 HOLOTAPES LOADED.
LOAD ROM(1) DEITRIX 303
RECORDING INVENTORY… OK
LOADING USER STATUS…RUNNING HEALTH CHECKS…OK
LOADING TIME…FAILED..LOADING LAST RECORDED TIME.. OCTOBER 26, 2282, 01:13 AM
ACCESSING NEAREST ROBCO SATELLITE….FAILED… TRYING AGAIN… FAILED
WARNING:NO ROBCO SATELITES FOUND. MAP GENERATION WILL BE LIMITED TO HOLOTAPES AND ROBCO SONAR SERVICESTM. TIME AND DATE WILL BE CONSIDERED INCORRECT TILL MANUAL INPUT OR ESTABLISHMENT OF CONNECTION.
BOOT SEQUENCE COMPLETE.
ENJOY YOUR PIP-BOY, VAULT CITIZEN.
The Courier furrowed his brow, a sense of unease and confusion creeping over him. The absence of RobCo satellites was unusual. They were supposed to have coverage all over the globe. He started thinking of possible reasons, contemplating whether something was jamming the signals, disrupting the usual connection. The misty surroundings coupled with the malfunctioning Pip-Boy raised a myriad of questions in the Courier's mind.
However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he felt the persistent drag of the water pulling him downward. With a stroke to keep himself afloat, a renewed urgency surged within him and his eyes started scanning the misty expanse for any sign of land or a solid surface. The rebreather would prevent him from drowning for what it was worth, but he couldn't stay in the water all day long.
He raised his wrist, activating the Pip-boy with a few taps. Its normal user interface was shown, illuminating his surroundings with a faint green light. He brought up the map, and was greeted with a blank screen that showed the text 'Scanning terrain using sonar..'. After a few minutes, the Pip-Boy's display flickered with incoming data. The map was extremely small compared to the one he used in the wasteland, but was still big enough to be usable. Looking at it, most of the map was blank, which indicated water, but on the far right side, he was able to see the beginning of something that had a distinct shape.
The Courier's eyes narrowed on the faint outline displayed on the Pip-Boy map, his curiosity piqued. He looked in the direction of the shape, debating on whether to go or not. The mist around him added a level of danger, but the prospect of solid ground drew him in. Deciding to take a leap of faith, he adjusted his rebreather and began to swim towards it. The fatigue in his arms and the resistance of the water slowed him down considerably, but he kept on.
After a few minutes of relentless swimming coupled with some breaks in between, the Courier's efforts began to bear fruit. The faint outline on the Pip-Boy map gradually materialized into what looked like a gray cracked wall, and a surge of relief washed over him. The mist thinned further, and his view expanded as he closed the distance, and his strokes became more forceful. The wall revealed itself to be a ruined building, and cracks ran along its edges, half of it being submerged, leaving only windows around it. Just before he reached the ruin, the mist thinned enough for the Courier to get a clear view of his surroundings, and his eyes widened.
A ruined cityscape laid before him, its likes even eclipsing that of New Vegas. He could faintly remember seeing something like this in D.C, but nothing clear came to mind. Various ruined buildings, some short enough to climb into, and some tall enough that they could reach the height of the lucky 38, lay before him, many with broken windows and cracked concrete… a sign of what the Courier assumed was the result of the man-made apocalypse that turned the world into a shit-hole.
Reeling in his shock, he swam to the building in front of him, before grabbing onto a broken window ledge. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, water dripping from his drenched duster.
He balanced on the windowsill, taking a moment to rest his sore muscles. He unclipped the rebreather and took in the air through slow steady breaths, which somehow managed to feel fresher than the air back in the wasteland.
He turned his head to look into the building and was greeted by darkness, accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the crashing of waves. It did not faze the Courier however, who was already used to the feeling. With one last look at the sea that he landed in, he swung his legs over the ledge and hoisted his body through the shattered window.
He landed perfectly on his feet, his boots making a thud which echoed through the room. Switching on his Pip-boy light, the room was illuminated by a green hue, making him able to clearly see his surroundings.
The room itself was not a surprise to the Courier. It looked like a typical room found in most of the wasteland. Paint flaking off the walls, a moldy smell, dust motes flying around, and some cracks in the walls which seemed to continue downwards, past the floor. In one corner of the room, a wooden chair stood, faded but not yet rotten. The distinct smell of wood rot reached his nose, all too familiar to him.
Floorboards creaked under his footsteps as he approached a corner of the room. Tired and sluggish from his unexpected adventure, he sat down drowsily on the dusty ground, his legs finally getting some rest. The aged wood groaned in protest, but he was too fatigued to care.
Eyes beginning to close, he settled into the corner and covered himself with his damp duster, the chill from it only increasing his weariness. Pulling out Maria from its holster, he grasped it in his hands, the cold metal offering a familiar reassurance. The room, shrouded in darkness from the absence of sunlight, provided a semblance of peace and solitude, and the Courier leaned against the cracked wall.
His eyes grew heavy and with one final glance around the room, he turned off his Pip-boy light and closed his eyes, head hung low, drifting off to sleep.
…
…..
…
"W…p!"
His eyes opened sluggishly, wondering who bothered to wake him up so early in the morning. The voice who called him was familiar, a high pitched girlish tone. He felt the voice's hand brush against him, and he pushed it away, drawing the blankets back around him-
"WAKE UP!"
The urgency in the voice snapped him awake. Blinking against the residual drowsiness, he groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to discern the source of the disturbance. His vision slowly came into focus, revealing a young, tall woman with green eyes. She was clothed in the standard vault 101 uniform. Her expression was morphed into one of pure panic and fear, which instantly managed to wash away his sleepiness.
"Amata… What's wrong?" He mumbled, still trying to rub residue out of his eyes. Before he could get another word out, she quickly placed her hands on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. He reeled back a bit in shock, forgetting how strong her grip was.
"This is serious! My Father's men are looking for you. They've already killed Jonas! You need to get out of here!"
It took a while for her words to register, but once they did, he felt a chill settle in his gut unlike anything before, and a briefly, disbelief clouded his face.
"Amata… this isn't funny, you know. I swear, if this is some stupid prank by Butch again.."
"I swear, it's not a pran-"
Her words were interrupted by a sudden gunshot, and he could hear steps in the distance. He looked back at Amata, whose eyes widened in fear, her grip on him increasing.
He swallowed a lump in his throat which he was sure wasn't there before.
"Jonas… is dead?"
Amata looked at him, and he could see the guilt on her face. What looked like dried tears sat in the corner of her eyes, and it only made his stomach drop even further.
"My father's guards… got him."
What kind of bullshit was this? He had just woken up, and this is what he was greeted by?
This had to be a prank.
Just the other day, he saw Jonas joking with the Overseer about a radroach infestation. He still remembered his bright smile, even while covered in soot from working all day long. The Overseer himself said that he considered Jonas to be indispensable to the vault, so… why?
There was no way she was right. This had to be a dream. He remembered sneaking some of his dad's stash of alcohol after Butch made fun of him saying he was a lightweight. That must be it. Just another dream to wake up fro-
He felt something slap his cheek, followed by a stinging pain. Amata was closer than ever to him, and he could feel his heart beating fast in that moment, her bright green eyes staring into his.
"Listen to me! It's your dad. He left the vault! My dad thinks Jonas helped him escape, and so they… My god.. They killed him… They just beat him and beat him… and wouldn't stop.."
By the time she finished, tears flowed freely from her eyes, dripping onto the bed sheets.
He didn't know what to do. His dad supposedly left the vault without even telling him, and Jonas was dead. It felt like the safe world he thought he was in all came crumbling down on him. He really hoped it was all a hallucination caused by his dad's stash, but everything felt too real, too clear for it.
When the sounds of Amata's sobs reached his ears, he looked at her, seeing her sobbing with her hands clutched in her face.
"Are… you okay?" His voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic attempt at comfort. Amata looked up, and rubbed her face, brushing away her tears.
"...Yeah, don't worry about me. I'm.. just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend."
He swallowed again, feeling his throat go dry. Jonas was his best, and only, friend, alongside Amata in the vault. All the other kids were just dicks. He didn't want to think about what would happen if… he was really gone.
"I.. need to see Jonas for myself. What was that about my dad leaving the vault?"
Amata hesitated, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sympathy and grief.
"I don't know. I came to you hoping you'd know what his plans were. Did he not tell you anything?"
He blinked at the mention of his dad leaving, and it suddenly felt like someone had punched him in the gut.
…..Why didn't dad wake him up? He used to always talk about taking him outside after the radiation was gone.
Was it something he had done?
He always listened to his dad, so that couldn't be it.
Then what?
What did he do?
How had everything gone wrong in such a short time?
If he had woken up earlier… could he have prevented this?
He half-expected his dad to show up, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and telling him off for being late for breakfast, but nobody came.
The silence only made his eyes misty.
"I… don't know." He croaked, feeling his voice crack. Amata's face flashed with something akin to pity, much like how the other members of the Vault looked at him, and he felt a short surge of anger and frustration at the sight and clenched his fist.
"I have a plan to escape the vault."
His eyes immediately locked onto Amata. He couldn't believe what she was saying. The Overseer's most prized daughter, planning to escape from her dad's own vault? And he had to do it too?
Even if he did, where would he go? The overseer always said that the outside world was vault was his home, no matter how bad it got. He didn't think he could bear to leave the place where he was born. Maybe when he was an adult, but not now.
"I know how you feel. The vault is our home. But… you need to understand. We… no you, don't have a choice. It's either you escape or let my dad do whatever he wants with you. And I can't imagine it'll be pretty." Amata said, the urgency in her voice rising. Something about her tone made a tiniest but of determination rise within him. Pushing all of his other thoughts away, he inhaled sharply, chest expanding and retracting rhythmically.
"Alright. What do we need to do?"
Amata brightened in response, shoulders rising.
"There's a secret tunnel under my dad's desk in his office that leads to the vault. You'll need to access his computer to get it to open though. The password should be somewhere in his office. As for getting in… use these." She handed a few bobby pins to him. He and Amanda once decided to do a competition to see who could pick a lock the fastest. He ended up winning that. Ever since then, he found the skill handy to sneak into places he wasn't supposed to be.
"But, wouldn't it be guarded? I mean, if it really leads to the vault entrance…" He asked back cautiously. Amata's face contorted in annoyance.
"No it won't. Me and my dad are the only ones who know about the tunnel. Now hurry up and start moving! My dad's men will be here anytime soon!"
"Wait-"
Before he could respond, Amata got up swiftly and ran out of the room, footsteps echoing throughout the metal flooring, leaving him hand outstretched in his room. He placed his hand back down onto the bed.
He blinked, suddenly feeling a cold metal surface touch his hand.
A 10mm pistol lay on his bed, looking almost brand-new, the reflection of the ceiling visible on it. A magazine was clearly visible in it. He picked it up and pointed it away from him, squeezing the trigger a couple times. While he was a 'gun-nut', as his father used to call him, he was never allowed near any weaponry, although he did practice with his BB gun from time to time.
He wondered when the hell did Amata get the time to give this to him. Then again, she was the sneakiest person in the vault.
Shaking his head, he stood up and placed the gun in his holster, which for some reason all vault uniforms came with, before he began to exit his room, but got a glance of his BB gun laying on the table and stopped.
He slowly walked to it before picking it up, flipping it over in his hand a couple of times. The memories he had with his dad and Jonas came flowing through, and for a moment, he stood there, wondering about what Amata told him.
Wiping a few tears that formed with his blue sleeve, he took the BB gun as well as the baseball bat that lay on the table, and ran to the entrance. The door opened automatically, screeching all the while, and he stepped outside into the metal corridors.
He would catch up to his dad, no matter what.
The Courier awoke with a startle, eyes snapping open. His fingers reflexively almost pressed the trigger, but he managed to stop before he shot himself in the leg…. Again. His alertness from the sudden waking subsided, and only silence which was broken by the sloshing of water reached his ears.
Feeling something wet on his face, he wiped it with his hand, and a sense of embarrassment flooded him as he realized he drooled, some saliva dripping onto his now-somewhat dry duster. Grimacing, he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
He looked to a window which lay a few feet away from him, what little sunlight that made it through the mist casting a faint glow around it. He stretched his limbs, feeling some satisfying cracks and pops from them. He chuckled to himself.
"Best sleep I've had in a while. Shame it wasn't on a bed."
His thoughts drifted back to the events that led him to his current sleeping place. He was extremely tired during then, but now that he was awake enough, he recognised the strangeness of it all. Getting teleported to an unknown place, almost drowning and finding a city ruin in the midst of a mist-shrouded sea- it felt like a dream. He felt like he was forgetting something, but couldn't remember what it was.
Deciding to make sense of it all later- survival first and foremost, he tapped on his Pip-Boy. As he navigated through its interface, he remembered the advice Doc Mitchell gave him after he got shot in the head.
"You have a very bad case of amnesia. If you ever feel like something weird has happened, or you feel like you are forgetting something, try writing a diary. It might help."
Opening a new entry, he began to type, fingers tapping on the on-screen keyboard.
Year 2282
October 27
Strange shit happening to me once again….
Tick-Tock… Tick-tock..
Bismarck sighed and placed her pen down on her desk, looking at the clock that lay on the wall.
It was six in the morning. And here she was, already working at her desk.
To say she was exhausted was an understatement. With everything that was going on between the various factions and the combined paperwork, she had barely any time left to rest. She hadn't even gotten a chance to meet her sister yet. While Friedrich taking some of the load helped, she still had to show her authority and responsibilities as the Ironblood's leader. She had just received word of what happened at Ofotfjord as well. Although the destroyers managed to fight off the royal navy, there was no telling when they would strike again. Along with keeping up tabs with the various factions, there were also the Mirror seas they were experimenting with given to them by the… Sirens.
The guilt she felt for working with humanity's enemy clawed at her constantly. The fact that they were collaborating with what they were created to destroy- the enemy of humanity, was unforgivable. However, she knew very well what she was doing, and as the Iron Blood's leader, would see it to the end.
And if all their plans worked, they wouldn't be working with the sirens for long.
Clearing her thoughts, she focused back on the stack of papers on her desk. She lifted her pen, and slowly started to write, ink gliding across the papers.
However, her strokes gradually slowed down, and her writing became sluggish. Before long, she dropped the pen back on the wooden desk.
She really didn't feel like writing anymore.
She tried drinking the coffee Köln left on her desk, but it was already too cold. Placing it down with a sigh, she looked towards the phonograph on her desk. It was one of her most prized possessions and she used to listen to it most of the time in her office, only turning it off when she heard someone's footsteps. Many of the other members thought it was just for show.
She stared at it intensely for a few minutes.
Should she…?
It was too early in the morning… but not like there was anyone to wake up. She took out a vinyl disk from under her desk and placed it on the turntable, before setting the needle over it. After winding the hand crank, the record began to spin, and the melody of violin and piano music filled the room. The melancholic music combined with the solitude of her room caused her to naturally relax, and for a moment, she forgot all her worries, simply enjoying the calm atmosphere.
"You're still using that old piece of crap?"
"Who-"
With a jolt, her relaxed mood disappeared. She stood up and with a flash of light, metal materialized around her, rigging appearing. Her turrets pointed at the new arrival and the rigging growled, its metallic jaws opening and closing rapidly. She turned to the interruption, fists clenched.
Artificial yellow eyes gleamed back, a condescending smirk plastered on its face. with milk-white, fake-looking skin. Its long white hair split into lashing tendrils past its shoulders- almost floating. Sleek, armored sleeves enveloped its upper arms, and crablike tarsi replaced them from the elbows down. Likewise, its legs terminated at the knees, the rest of its legs being encased in another pair of dark metal tarsi.
It wore nearly nothing, apart from minishorts- carrying a trio of cannons on each hip- and a nearly literal breastplate-but all of this was almost literally overshadowed by the black-yellow rigging, shaped like a crab, with three barrels jutting over each of its shoulders, separated by a neon yellow, almost glowing radiator.
"Siren." She forced out, malice dripping from her tone. The Siren, Observer Beta as she recalled, looked annoyed at the tone.
"No need to be so harsh. Don't forget, you still use our knowledge and technology, unless you.. don't want it anymore?" She taunted, only increasing her frustration. She felt her instincts throb, demanding her to kill the thing she was created to wage war against, to destroy it.
But she resisted. The Ironblood, as loath as she was to admit it, currently needed their help to survive. They could not withstand the might of the Azur Lane without outside help. Their alliance was still in the early stages however, and many of the KANSEN still had doubts. She composed herself and reined in her urges.
"...What do you want?" She asked with narrowed eyes, ready to attack at any moment. She gave a quick slap to her rigging to calm it down.
"Oh, nothing. I just came here on orders to tell you that one of ou- your mirror seas has developed an abnormality. Specifically, the one stationed in the North Sea which you were experimenting with yesterday." It replied nonchalantly. Bismarck's face contorted into one of confusion. An abnormality in one of their mirror seas? She had Friedrich monitoring them almost all the time and regularly conducted experiments there. The chance of an anomaly developing was almost close to zero according to their calculations. She didn't doubt their calculations either. After all, they were still dealing with siren tech, which could not be handled lightly.
Bismarck's disbelief echoed in her next words, "Impossible. Our calculations were near-perfect." Her eyes narrowed further, and she took a step forward, her rigging flickering with restrained aggression. The Siren simply stared back, unfazed.
"The measly arithmetic you call calculations is only a fraction of what you call accurate, but the appearance of an anomaly is indeed true. If you are that unsure however, take this. Something I found at the site of the anomaly. Of course, investigating the anomaly is completely up to you. It is your research area, after all. I would be careful with it, however. It's radioactive enough to give a human quite a concerning amount of radiation sickness."
The siren tossed a small coin shaped object to Bismarck. She caught and looked it over in her palm. What she saw only increased her confusion and apprehension.
The chip was obviously gold, yet much of its luster had waned, leaving a dull yellow surface that still glinted in the light of her office. Some parts of the surface had a layer of red crust on it. She could see a woman wearing a hairpin in the shape of a flower depicted in a thinking pose, her chin supported by her hand. The words 'SM' was embroidered onto the coin to the side of the woman. The initials only raised questions in Bismarck's mind.
She turned back to the Siren to ask what was on her mind, but there was nothing left of it. Only the still-playing song of her phonograph and the swaying of the white curtains of the window due to the ceiling fan accompanied her.
"LORD BISMARCK!"
Hearing the sudden cry and the fastly approaching footsteps, she unsummoned her rigging and quickly withdrew back into her seat, tucking the coin within the folds of her dress. Her door burst open, and she was met with the sight of a disheveled Koln, who looked like she had run quite a distance.
"Is something wrong, Holn?" She asked, a smile on her face like the past events had never happened.
Köln held up a communicator in response.
"It's from Friedrich! She told me to hand the call to you. Something about an abnormality in one of our Mirror seas!"
Bismarck's smile dropped, replaced by a frown. She felt something stir in her gut.
"...I see. I'll take the call."
She sighed inwardly, feeling even more tired. If the anomaly really existed… she would have to arrange a scouting mission, followed by a fleet if the anomaly was a threat to their nation.
She could already feel the amount of paperwork on her paper double.
She was reminded of the coin sitting in her dress when she moved to take the Communicator, and reminded herself to tell Friedrich about it. They would need to investigate everything about this 'anomaly'.
However….
…What did it mean by 'radioactive'?
Author's notes
Welp, guess I just wrote this.
I saw that Fallout had a crossover with both Blue archive and Arknights, so why not add in Azur lane?
Anyway, I'm still working on one of my other fics, so don't expect updates super fast.
All reviews are appreciated.
PS:crossposted on AO3 and Spacebattles.