FALLOUT : PARAGON

War. War never changes.

"Get this motherfucker out of the soup."

"That pod's UN, looks like some American gear in there–"

A trio of raiders stood over James's pod, in the frigid cold of Siberia, snow biting their faces.

"Hand me the goddamn crowbar, will ya–"

"A crowbar isn't gonna work on that motherfucker for sure, if that thing could float all the way from the States to here."

A quick scuffle, a gunshot, and a body keeling over. The first man grabbed the crowbar and smashed it on the glass, not even denting it.

"Boss, you're supposed it pry the lid open, not smash it open–"

Another gunshot. "I do my shit my way. Fuck. Off."

Meanwhile, James was struggling in the pod. Kicking the release lever, letting the lid loose with a pop. He peered around, through the snow.

"Now, ole' dipshit, lemme tell you what goes by in the waste-GRAH–"

The third gunshot in two minutes rang out, the raiders all dead. James peered out from the safety of the pod–

"First Lieutenant James Brunmel retrieved from coordinates N-2-L-2, returning to vault. Anything you'd like to take, sir? Take your time."

"Just get me into this godforsaken chassis, it's frozen shut–" James groaned, kicking at the power armor frame's hatch. He should've oiled it after Reclamation, but he somehow didn't. Very convenient for him. He would finally hammer it open, and climb into it.

"Very intriguing outfit, sir." The Mr. Handy droned in its cheap British synthesizer voice. "Perhaps you would like a cup of hot tea? I could fix you up a snack or two, you look famished–" It was already making the tea, ignoring the snow flying into it. "Milk? Sugar? Biscuits?"

"By this point, you could've probably walked me halfway back to that vault you were yapping about already." James snapped, trying to fix his helmet's air lines to the oxygen tanks on the power armor. With a snap, he succeeded, donning the helmet. "Just move."

"Oh, sir, very fine, but have a little hot tea first, I've finished making it–"

"Shut up, and lead me to wherever this vault is."

"Oh, it's a fine place, Paragon Laboratory–sir, if you came from that drop pod, I'm obliged!" The robot whizzed around, cheerily facing James' armored disgruntledness.

"Fine, sir, just follow me to home–"

-Roughly 1 Hour Later-

"Are we nearly there yet, Docsworth?" James groaned. He wasn't tired of walking since he was in power armor; he was just tired of walking to nowhere in particular.

"Oh yessir, it's right up there ahead!" D'you want another cuppa tea, now that the snow has died down a bit?"

"No. Definitely not." James would absentmindedly mess around with his Pip-Boy, reading holotape transcripts. "Also, you've said that five times in the course of our great expedition."

"Did I, sir? That must've been a trick of my eyes!" The robot laughed in the best its cheap voice synthesizer could manage. "You see, every mountain looks the same when you look at 'em too much, I daresay, but the mountain ahead of us has certainly got to be it–"

"You mean the goddamn mountain that's two miles away from us?"

"Exactly, sir! I'm glad you figured out this quickly this time. You see the vault door already?"

"…No?" James peered at the mountain, trying to see if there was anything there. "It looks like the last couple mountains we passed."

"Oh, sir, but my navigational devices are pointing there as a source of beacon signal, marked base–you'll just follow me in, and we'll be out of here in a jiffy." Docsworth waved his three limbs, almost taking off James' head with the one topped with a buzzsaw.

-Another 30 mins later-

"For fuck's sake, Docsworth, I'm still not seeing anything that looks like a rolling peg blast door beside this godforsaken path carved into this piece of rock." James sighed. "Just admit that you got wrong again, and we're stranded."

"But sir, I swear, here it is!" Docsworth vigorously waved at the summit of the mountain. "Come up here, and see, sir!"

"Easier said than done." James muttered, kept stomping the ground into pebbles in his power armor.

After he reached the summit, all he saw was a plain metal circle on the ground, nothing else.

"Whoever did this must've had too much time and scrap metal on their hands." James sighed, again, into the sunset. Meanwhile, Docsworth had pulled out his walkie-talkie again, presumably to communicate with "home base", which was either a hundred meters down or a hundred kilometers away, depending on the Mr. Handy's intuition.

"Ah, sir, this IS the right mountain indeed. Onto the platform we'll step, and next second–" James had only began to step onto the metal disk, and it suddenly moved, moving straight down, Docsworth straining to follow down.

After what seemed to be a long, long fall in the darkness, there was light. Finally.

"Welcome to Paragon Laboratory, Senior Researcher James Brunmel. Enjoy your stay. Vault-Tec salutes you."