Chapter 78: Elsewhere

A/N: Sorry I've been gone for a while; this chapter was something of a challenge for me. I'm going to take us out into the broader world (emphasis mine) of Fallout. Normally I'd have asked if this were something you guys would be interested in, but to my disappointment, if not surprise no one outside the usual suspects tells me anything anyway. Also, the last section of this chapter is something of a holdover from another fic idea I had but never wrote, so if it seems odd, it's because I know the unwritten story. Anyways, I'll stop using the author's note to ask for feedback. Enjoy.

As the morning sun rose over the blasted Chicago skyline, beneath the city, the bunker was a whirlwind of motion. The General stormed through the hallway as her scribes and attendants followed her, scribbling down her tirade as she fumed and snarled. "And what's the fucking point of having three dozen eyes on the man if most of them end up saying nothing anyway?! Three years and no reports make their services redundant at best and worthless at most!"

"General, while the actions of the majority of your informants are inexcusable, I fear we may be overlooking the obvious issue at hand," one of the scribes meekly offered.

General Barnaky snarled but ceased her tirade. Useless and absent feedback aside, having a Tek-Baron go rogue was bad enough, but having other units, sparse as they were, joining him promised to be especially compromising. The Midwestern Confederacy was just that, a confederacy, a collection of groups with power divvied up amongst each group. Between the civilized areas, tribals, super mutant packs, and the ghoul and reaver collectives, Barnaky and the Midwestern Brotherhood, as a whole, found themselves with far less power on hand than most outsiders would have initially expected. Outside of Chicago, Barnaky's rule was at the behest of her allies, the baronies, dukedoms, and protectorates that theoretically all answered to her. Having one of her most vital allies suddenly and inexplicably leave set a dangerous precedent for her future plans regarding the Midwest and the continent as a whole.

Ever since the disposing of the Military Council, Henrietta Barnaky's days had been spent keeping her territory from imploding. Over the past two decades, the Midwestern Brotherhood had been playing a balancing act, keeping the communities nominally under her banner from falling into conflict with one another. In the last year, she had to put a stop to an incident that threatened to pit several large wastelander tribes against the reinstituted Super Mutant Shock Army. In addition, before that, she had to remobilize several local militias in response to recent bandit activity and had to ascertain whether or not it constituted Legion involvement. Speaking of, her latest issue involved having to direct even more forces toward the ever-shrinking border with Imperial Dallas.

"Commander McNamara, report," Barnaky announced over her radio.

"Ma'am," came the reply. "Airship Mangonel reporting."

"Three support craft just went AWOL down south and joined with Jefferson's mutiny. You now have standing orders to fire upon any airframe that fails to follow your commands. Get down south and head off any other pilot getting funny ideas about the chain of command."

"…Understood, ma'am," McNamara replied as he cut the line. As Barnaky rubbed her hand over what little skin remained on her face, she was grateful that the Mojave chapter she acquired did not waver in their loyalty. Perhaps that was her problem, she put too little faith in the Brotherhood and too much in the Reavers? No, most of the Reavers knew better than to turn against her. Jefferson, though, was a little too emboldened. No doubt a symptom of some of his "western" friends in the mountains. Truly, she should have intervened years ago, had she not similarly enjoyed the fruits of her Tek-Baron's successes.

The thing that bothered her the most, she had to confess to herself, was that with Jefferson and a good portion of the air fleet having turned on her in mutiny, she had to sacrifice her own eastern ambitions. The DC Order State was another Brotherhood Chapter, one that stood in stark contrast with her own creation centered around Chicago. What they lacked in raw numbers and material, they made up for in one key and critical thing; the last name Maxson. As far as the scattered Brotherhood chapters were concerned, what few remained, the future of the BoS lay in the Eastern Chapter, while her Midwest efforts were, in their words, "a monument to compromised dedication and loss of our guiding mission statement." A harsh critique from a pack of geriatric hoarders, Barnaky sneered to herself. While the rest of the Brotherhood shrank on account of being their own worst enemies, only the East and Midwest grew, if only for the notion that they were smart enough to disregard the more antiquated passages of an outdated book.

And still, Arthur Maxson had something she could never, in a thousand years attain on her own; the Maxson name, and all the legitimacy that came with it. What Barnaky had, on the other hand, was a growing fleet of airships, most of which had been "nominally" under her command, who may have been "persuaded" to launch an attack directly against King Arthur's seat of power. At least that had been the plan until Tek-Baron Jefferson took the plan down south for his own business.

The cyborg general gripped her hammer. As much as she wanted to board the Halberd and hunt him down personally, she had plenty of obligations in Chicago to worry about. Recent activity by the local "mutant warrens" as well as increasingly aggressive maneuvers near Ronto demanded her attention. So much so that any future incursions against the NCR and the Mojave had been deprioritized years ago, another task she had entrusted to Jefferson. Well, now that his tribal pets were locked in a grueling war of attrition with California, Jefferson was just about out of allies. And anyone he considered cozying up to for future protection was just inevitable collateral damage.

Henrietta Barnaky sighed. In control of the largest swath of North American territory since the Great War itself, and it felt like she spent her days ever since wrangling old world cats. Some days she looked at smaller countries like the Commonwealth Alliance or the Mojave Nation and wondered if she could trade her seat of power for something more sustainable. She put the thought behind her. Right now all she wanted was for the Onager to be returned to her intact and its owner… in a negotiable state.

Gaunt looked out over the canal beneath him. Sunken Orleans was a city of canals, suspended walkways, and semi-reputable businesses. His new contact was due to arrive any minute at the tavern he and his old lady were staying at. Nora leaned on the railing next to him, looking at his face as she tried to read him.

"…I'm trying to decipher why you are so concerned about this client," she began.

Gaunt snorted. "Logically, I don't think I can argue with you. Personally, if we're going with my gut, though…"

"We've taken jobs from the RGF before, they are dependable clients," Nora began.

"Never had a check bounce from them yet," Gaunt agreed. "This new one, though, I don't know. A new face at this juncture shouldn't make me nervous, but considering the rumors I've heard…"

A man wearing scrapyard armor and crimson regalia stormed up to the two from the stairs leading to the bar beneath them. The elder former centurion was an oddity, even amongst the band of misfits Gaunt found himself the leader of. Simon was a hardcore Caesarite, a man so dedicated to the Legion of old that not even the late Caesar Lanius was a worthy enough successor. And so he turned his back on the regimented and disciplined military dictatorship of his youth to become a degenerate pirate and criminal, Gaunt internally snickered to himself.

"Corpse, Machine, the southern contact has arrived," the old warrior announced.

"Thank you, Simon," Gaunt smiled as he ignored the barbed comments towards them. "I take it you made your friendship available?"

"I will not tolerate small talk with my lessers," Simon explained.

Gaunt grinned at Nora. "Quite the social butterfly, our beloved Simon?" he whispered.

"I heard that!" Simon snapped.

"I appreciate your services, Simon, you are a most adequate messenger boy," Gaunt smiled as he brushed past Simon, giving him the briefest and most deniable of shoulder checks as he did. Simon eyed Nora wearily as the synth walked past him. "…Don't take any of Benjamin's jabs too personally, Skirt," Nora artificially smiled as she brushed past Simon. The elder centurion scoffed as he watched the semi-tolerable machine join up with her less-tolerable corpse/lover. Turning to look over the swampy canal, Simon could not wait to see the last of this damnable city, even if it meant taking a boat and dying on a distant shore.

At the tavern, Gaunt exchanged a nod with Tiv. The ex-pirate looked towards the bar with his single eye. "That is our client?" he asked.

Gaunt looked in the indicated direction. "Seems to be."

"My condolences," Tiv rose his glass before downing it.

At the bar, a young woman in an expensive-looking ensemble was rattling off her order to the bartender.

"…and that's with three parts cinnamon, a dash of mut-lime, and topped with three parts Ivory Absinthe. Did you get all that?"

"…We serve drinks here," the bartender replied, dryly.

"…Fine, imbecile, just hand me a bottle of rum and I'll handle things myself," she sneered. She yanked the bottle from the bartender's hands, throwing down a small but excessive pile of caps as she took her briefcase and sat at a table. Opening the case, she pulled out some of her desired ingredients and began assembling the cocktail herself, muttering under her breath about "yokels and cholos." Gaunt reluctantly made his way towards the woman. The woman looked up from her mixing before continuing with the task before her.

"…Ms. Del Sol, I believe?" Gaunt began.

"Did you read the fucking dossier I sent or what?" she exclaimed, testily. "The deal said nothing about small talk, so maybe keep that in mind going forward?"

Gaunt held his tongue. Ligia Del Sol was Southern Royalty in a practical and nearly literal sense, being the youngest child and only daughter of the Generalissimo of the RGF. Though young, she had a reputation for being quite the political animal, eager to represent her nation on the diplomatic forefront. From what Gaunt heard through rumor, she was renowned for her intelligence, work ethic, wit, and complete lack of charm.

Ligia pushed her glasses back up her nose as she threw her head back and downed her cocktail. "Dios Mio, that stings," she shuddered. "So, I hear you've been hitting those bulls pretty hard. Is this of your own initiative or do you have another client?"

Gaunt did not immediately speak, wondering if it was some kind of test. "…I believe you may be well familiar with my benefactor. I would be surprised if you had no knowledge of our arrangement."

"Well, prepare to be surprised," Ligia replied. "Who ordered you to attack the Legion?"

"…An RGF agent," Gaunt admitted. "Codenamed Santana."

"Chorradas," Ligia replied. "The RGF authorized no payments. I'd know, I look over the budget every quarter. Besides, Agent Santana has been stationed in Cuba for the last three years. He couldn't have authorized any payment."

Gaunt blinked. "You're sure?"

Ligia glared at him. "I would know. There's only one Santana, and you haven't talked to him. Which, considering the recent regime change in Dallas, does paint a very nebulous picture, wouldn't you say?"

"…We were set up," Gaunt began to realize.

"Guess there's still a brain in there somewhere," Ligia praised to the best of her abilities. "We're looking at a civil war in Texas, one that is absolutely going to spill over into all the surrounding territories. That's why I am going to need your help."

"Expecting us to fight for your winning side?" Gaunt asked.

"Not exactly. I'm expecting you to help me reach it," Ligia explained. "El Presidente and my father wouldn't sign off on my plan, so I'm improvising. I need you to help me link up with the forces loyal to Lanius' kid."

"The prince?" Gaunt asked. "You're allying with him?" he asked, skeptically.

"Something you want to say?" Ligia replied, agitated.

"Considering all the bad blood between your government over San Antonio, I'm surprised you're so eager to hop into bed with a man like that. Things must be dire if he's your best option," Gaunt mused aloud.

"Barabbas isn't the best option. Merely the least worst for my purposes," Ligia answered. "He would be the most receptive to a ceasefire between our nations, maybe even a peace deal. And if acquiring that calls for me to make a deal with him, I'll do it. I don't care if it's on the battlefield or the boardroom or the bedroom, I'm getting that peace deal."

Atop the bar on the balcony, Tiv stood beside Simon as the former drew out a cigarette. The ex-pirate and legionary looked out into the city, towards the faint lights of the docks some few dozen blocks away, where most of the fleet that was to disembark towards Cuba was stationed. Gaunt had formed this private military company for one reason and one reason only; to locate and terminate the woman known as Madame Zhang. Having been defeated in the Commonwealth, Zhang fled down south and fell in with a band of pirates. After quickly and violently taking over the organization, Zhang's MO since had been a bit of a mystery, though from what Tiv had learned about her, a long period of silence rarely boded well for anyone standing against her.

"Looks like our new boss is gonna be a woman," Tiv said as he took a drag. Simon didn't respond. "…Must be super degrading for you, y'know. Taking orders from a woman," Tiv snickered.

Simon slowly turned to face his compatriot. "…I manage. I take orders from you just fine."

Tiv stared for a moment before breaking out into a laugh. He flicked his cigarette into the murky water of the canal below. An explosion went off in the distance. Tiv and Simon both looked towards the port, watching as a submerged beast rose from the swamp and began attacking the fleet. Seaweed hung from its antlers as its heated breath blew out from behind its tusks. The beast smashed into the fleet, howling in agony.

"…By Mars," Simon breathed as Tiv ran down to inform Gaunt of the development. "…That's the Oracle's Monster," the ex-centurion said to no one. Unit 592, AKA Alyosha, AKA the Titan of Tartarus, had been put in a state reminiscent of a coma after having expended so much of its energy bringing Texas to heel. Unable to adapt to the heat, the beast had lost much of its flesh, most of which had been fed to the hounds, with quite a few experiencing some rather dramatic side effects.

Ever since the Oracle had hidden away the beast into parts unknown, wherever it had been kept, it was through the Oracle's leash that it was tethered. But now the Oracle was buried in some nameless desert far away from the swamps of Sunken Orleans. The beast would be driven back, both by the city defenders and some help from the local wildlife, in particular a massive Gigagator that ripped off an arm, forcing Alyosha to retreat to regenerate, but the damage had been done. The fleet Gaunt had spent years funding lay scattered along the docks or otherwise at the bottom of the swamp.

As the moon rose above the tropical prison, Madame Zhang once again stood above the ramparts as the pirates in her service continued to dig. Her bloodstained fingers gripped the railing, bending into the metal. Once again, she had to deal with a mutiny, and once again she had to set an example for the rest of these peasants.

How had she been reduced to this? She was once a princess, of the mightiest empire Asia had ever since the world burned in nuclear hellfire. She was appointed on a mission of divine purpose, to find the ancient treasure of Alexandria from the barbarians that claimed it. She was gifted a city, an army, along with weapons and power she could only imagine. And she lost everything.

It was all the Governor's fault, of course. And that traitor Jiasheng. And his bitch daughter, Ziyi, that little degenerate. If they had just submitted to her better, they'd all be in a better place. The Governor would be in the ground, Jiasheng would've remarried a respectable woman, and Ziyi's loyalties and proclivities would be corrected. Now, none of them would be blessed with her gifts, now she had only ruin in store for them.

She was imprisoned. Kept alive but restrained and regularly beaten by the warden. For months she did nothing but fume and plot her escape. And then some individuals came in and did it for her. Next thing she knew she was heavily sedated and being loaded up into a transport helicopter, whisked away from her former prison before passing out.

She awoke before a lab, restrained again and suspended above the floor by wires and cables. One of the doctors jabbed her neck with a syringe while another attached a device to her head while yet another asked her question after question. She was constantly sedated and interrogated until she was one day released into the world above for reasons she did not understand. What she did understand, however, was that wherever she had come from would be the key back to her home.

Soon afterward she found herself at an amusement park built to venerate a vile Western soft drink. Beating the raiders into submission, she then launched attacks against the city of Boston to find the Institute by force. Thus began the Great Boston Turf War, which pitted her Nuka-raiders against the forces of the Institute, the fledgling Commonwealth Alliance, and the Brotherhood of Steel. Once again, likely through treachery, she found herself defeated, the Brotherhood destroying the Institute while the Commonwealth Alliance tried to save what they could of the survivors. And, to add insult to injury, an imposter was sent to claim her birthright.

Hunted by that damnable ghoul, she fled south, hiding out in the Appalachian Mountains. Seeking shelter from the onset of acid rain, she found an old hotel that promised to turn her fortunes around. A secret left by the American barbarian government, she had a long and fruitful conversation with the AI, Modus, that revealed a great deal to her. Like the location of a secret prison of cryogenically frozen war criminals whom the Enclave intended to serve as a last-ditch terror weapon against the rest of the mutated mainland.

Zhang watched as her pirates continued to dig. This was the location, but the entrance to the bunker had been sealed behind concrete, likely from local contractors who had a change of heart right before the bombs dropped. No matter, the actual facility would have its own internal power sources, and those trapped inside could be coaxed and persuaded into adopting her crusade against those who imprisoned her as the very same against the ones who imprisoned them.

Zhang would take Orleans first, then march across the border between Dallas and the RGF, killing anyone dumb enough to try and stop her. Then she'd fight through the southwestern wasteland until she reached Vegas, and then she'd settle some scores. And then she'd take a boat, and travel across the Pacific so she could retake what was hers from that useless machine sporting her face. And probably kill her family so no one would ever dispute her reign in the Stronghold again. Everyone needed a goal, a dream, some kind of destiny. Madame Zhang was going to see her enemies ground to dust beneath her boots, and if the world once against sought to deny her, she would make it miss the ancient hellfire that forged it.

Lady X sat in her cell, the half-eaten bowl of rice before her as she continued her meditation. In the five years since she arrived at this place, she had spent perhaps as little as two weeks outside this room. Her "family" wasn't quite sure how to handle her or her entourage, such as it was. At least she had been permitted to speak with them rather frequently and knew of their status and safety within the walls.

Zao had been promoted to Admiral of the Imperial Navy, or at least whatever remained of it. At the very least, the title permitted him some manner of luxury that normally his condition would have denied him, and it allowed him to take care of the rest of the group despite not being of "superior stock," or however it was that her "brother" had explained it to her.

There were quite a few things Lady X had in common with Madame Zhang Xiao. The same face, for starters. The same build. The same DNA. The same combat styles. A lot of shared memories, most of which did not belong to Lady X. And they had both been developed as weapons, first and foremost.

Lady X had been developed as an assassin for the Institute, designed solely off what uncorrupted DNA the doctors were able to find within Madame Zhang before she was released into the wild. Conditioning their new toy to demonstrate absolute loyalty, she was then sent to the DC Order State to assassinate a growing threat named Arthur Maxson. The mission went wrong, she lost her memory and shattered her conditioning, and was then picked up by the Railroad.

Becoming their agent, Lady X fought against her creators as she slowly but surely found herself, making friends with other outcasts and bringing together a group that she just felt comfortable with, despite what others would consider her new clique as "of concerning moral quality." An artist, a warrior, and a wise man, they would become her companions through thick and thin.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her concentration. Lady X opened her eyes to see her friends filing into the room. "Happy Birthday!" Pickman beamed as Slag set the dumplings before her. Lady X broke out in a smile as Lorenzo and Zao stood over the proceeding party as Pickman and Slag lifted up the birthday girl and paraded her around the cell.

Pickman had become an artist under Emperor Wukong's direct employ, effectively becoming a propaganda minister when not indulging in his personal projects, usually involving prisoners. Slag, as the current head of security for the prison cell block, was likely a partner in these issues. Lorenzo Cabot had taken a position vacated by the late swami Rumali as Imperial Advisor, though most did not find him as approachable as the old yogi had been.

As the birthday girl chowed down on her dumplings, Pickman and Slag both were quick to inform her of the latest gossip concerning the home she rarely saw. Though they had grown older, they both retained a youthful exuberance that always managed to brighten Lady X's spirits. It was ironic, in a way, considering that neither Lady X, Lorenzo Cabot, nor Admiral Zao aged themselves.

"To the day of your birth," Slag picked up a dumpling.

"And the serial number on my ass," Lady X replied as the party laughed. Zao peaked out into the hallway and suddenly stood at attention. Lorenzo followed, albeit in a less rushed manner. Slag and Pickman got the hint and responded in kind, leaving Lady X to pick herself off the floor and take a bite out of her dumpling, chewing it as the Chancellor rounded the corner.

Feng Jiasheng looked over the party, modest as it was. This Lady X was very much the spitting image of the hopefully late Madame Zhang, their demeanors could not be more different. Never in ten thousand years could he ever imagine Xiao befriending outsiders and ghouls, let alone valuing their company beyond pure utility. Nor did she take her current imprisonment harshly, never once so much as cursing out her family or himself. It was a delicate position for the Emperor, having to decide whether or not to punish Lady X for impersonating royalty or having her suffer Zhang Xiao's sentence for her treason. Recently, however, a potential compromise had arisen.

"…And I would also like to wish upon you pleasant festivities," Feng Jiasheng began. "I had no intention of spoiling it, but I have come with news."

"Shen has another child on the way?" Lady X guessed.

"I'm getting promoted?" Slag asked.

"There's new suppl- prisoners in solitary?" Pickman asked.

"…We're received word from Europe. Melanie Rictoberg is dead."

The room looked at one another while Lady X let out a small, sad smile. "… Good going, Desmond, you did it," she whispered.

"In her absence, the beasts within the Grave Tempest have redoubled their efforts to attack the European Continent. This has relieved some pressure off of our northern fronts and has bestowed upon us an opportunity. Lady X, the Emperor has tasked you with going to Shanghai and killing the Mountain King."

The mood of the room turned. "As we speak, a massive hoard of his warriors is marching towards our Stronghold. The Emperor and I shall take command of its defenses, but between his forces and that of Markovich, we may not be able to withstand forever."

"The Mountain King and Markovich are marching together?" Pickman asked.

"It would appear so, several northern mutants have been spotted amongst the hoard, and with Markovich expulsed from his Russian holdings by his daughter, he would be safest near the Mountain King."

"If I may correct the Chancellor," Slag interrupted. "I think we can agree that he's safest when he's far away from Lady X," he added as Pickman clasped Lady X on the shoulder.

"I'm sure he'd agree," Jiasheng concurred as he pulled out Markovich's severed cybernetic arm, a trophy the Imperial Palace was pleased to see and an eternal reminder of how close Lady X came to killing the mechanical monster.

"Accomplishing this mission will instill a Royal Pardon upon you, Mada- Lady X," Jiasheng corrected himself.

Lady X looked around the room. "…I guess this is it, guys. One last ride." Slag and Pickman cheered her on as Lorenzo looked to Zao, his face unreadable but concerned. "Can I have one request?" Lady X asked Jiasheng.

"Within reason, of course," Feng nodded.

"I want you to keep my friends out of the fight above," Lady X said.

"WHAT?!" Pickman and Slag both got out. "You can't be serious!" Pickman added. "We have your back, always!" Slag interjected.

"I know. That's why I want Jiasheng to lock the two of you guys up. I'm sorry, but you guys aren't as young as you used to be. I don't want to lose you two in the fight. I'm sorry," she said as Jiasheng and Zao restrained the other two, Lorenzo watching on impassively. Lady X then left the cell door, flanked by Lorenzo Cabot as the howls of protestation faded behind them.

"A poor note to end a birthday on," Lorenzo assessed.

"Make sure they are cared for. They've come such a long way on my behalf, I don't want them to die fighting a war on mine as well," Lady X asked.

"I shall make sure that your will is done," Lorenzo nodded.

"Thank you, Lorenzo. You still cannot read my mind, can you?" Lady X asked.

"It was never really one of my abilities, but even if it was, considering your… condition, I doubt I could make much progress reading your intentions," Lorenzo replied.

"And your… precognition?" Lady X asked.

Lorenzo turned to stare her down. "…Sorry, Missy, no spoilers," he playfully scolded.

"Wasn't planning to ask," Lady X lied, smiling.

And so the thread that binds the world continued to be pulled. The culmination of decisions and events, seen and unseen, unites all things in ways that cannot be measured. Elsewhere, the Commonwealth Alliance activated a device that began to purify the waters around the city, the nameless scientist looking over their work with a sense of quiet pride. Elsewhere, Arthur Maxson rallied his Brotherhood, led by his Sentinel, against raiders based out of Ohio. Elsewhere, the mighty Tannenberg engaged in mortal combat with Zmei somewhere in the Balkan Wastes, while an old professional secret agent sits back to watch the fireworks. Elsewhere, the Generalissimo, now enraged over the mysterious disappearance of his daughter, began to mobilize his army. And elsewhere, once more, Ariel Ximenez slowly but surely made her return to Aspen, with a small army of commandos following in short order, hoping that after all the blood that had been spilled, they hadn't yet lost peace.