At the Arlington Library, 20 minutes earlier, the scribe in charge thought it would be just another normal day. After Order 1223 was issued six months ago, her work had been relentless. The order had decreed that every printed item found was to be handed over to the government in exchange for a 10-cap reward. Since then, thousands of books had been turned in daily from all corners of the Wasteland. The scribe and her team of 10 scribes had been tasked with archiving and cataloguing them into a new system. It had become easier over time. New volunteers arrived every day, and with the area now cleared of raiders and renovated, they had space for all the books.
The children's wing was nearly finished, with a reading room furnished with chairs, chalkboards, and posters of old-time heroes like Winnie the Pooh, Atom the Anti-communist Fighter, and Lord of the Stings. Today, though, the scribe was curious about the new volunteers arriving. To be assigned to the library, one had to be literate, a rarity in the Wasteland, and also intelligent enough to understand the system they had created. Usually, volunteers stayed for a week before being rotated to something else, but the three new arrivals had come in early—two days ahead of schedule—and they were strong, muscular men. Such a physique had only recently become possible to maintain, now that food was more readily available.
Her skepticism had initially been unfounded. The three men attacked their work with enthusiasm, sorting through the incoming books with a haste and passion rarely seen. Within the first quarter of the day, they had sorted, archived, and shelved the books that had come in. However, as the day wore on, it became clear that things were about to take a turn for the worse.
At lunchtime, the scribe allowed the three volunteers to step out to the food vendors. Since the rebuilding had begun over a year ago, the area around the library had been cleaned up and made safe. The streets were clear of rubble and threats. The Paladins and Knights who had once guarded the library were now stationed elsewhere, and the only security needed was the city guards patrolling the streets, popping in occasionally for a quick check.
The archivist decided to check the children's wing one last time while eating a bread sandwich filled with brahmin meat and tomato paste. Bread was still a luxury, as the corn harvest hadn't yet grown enough to sustain the entire population. But as a member of the Brotherhood, she still had a few privileges. As she passed the freshly painted hallways and the newly replaced doors, she couldn't help but wonder what the space had looked like before. Every room now had shelves full of books, and in a short time, it would be open to the public.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise from one of the rooms—the one that had been sealed off after the floor had collapsed three stories down. It was one of the rooms that had to be refurbished later, as it wasn't a priority right now. The door had been tampered with, lockpicked but still closed.
"Hurry, only ten more minutes before lunch is over!" came a voice from inside.
"This is a fucking maze, and it smells like shit. There are still raider corpses down here!" another voice replied, muffled but clear.
The archivist peeked inside, her curiosity piqued. To her surprise, she saw two of the volunteers holding a rope, peering down into the hole—down into the basement floors that had yet to be excavated. Then, one of the men's eyes met hers through the crack in the door.
She dropped her sandwich in shock and sprinted for the lobby.
"Plan B, guys," the man said, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.
The archivist grabbed her radio, sounding the alarm as she ran out of the Arlington Library. The first responders were the patrol guards nearby. Two of them drew their guns, but retreated as one of the attackers, a man with a machine gun, fired a warning salvo from the building's opening before quickly closing and barricading the doors. Minutes later, more patrol guards arrived and sealed off the streets.
The Citadel was notified, and Reilly authorized the deployment of a division of Steels with Vertibirds. The archivist then attempted to contact TLW.
Within the hour, the streets were cordoned off with laser walls—a technology salvaged from the remains of the Enclave. A Vertibird hovered at the opposite side of the street, its hatch open and serving as a command post. Around thirty Steels stood guard, led by a Paladin who was explaining the situation. At least three people had barricaded themselves inside the Arlington Library, holding hostages—four volunteers and one scribe. Worse still, over 10,000 books were in danger of being destroyed. When TLW arrived, it was already afternoon.
The commander had TLW fully briefed within thirty minutes, with the female archivist filling in the gaps. TLW didn't recall the basement levels of the library; the entire building was a labyrinth, and it was possible that it had slipped his mind. After all, the last time he'd been in the library, he'd been in close combat with jet-fueled raiders many months ago.
"Okay, have we had any communication with them since this started?" TLW asked.
"No, they've barricaded the door. We could blow it with C4 and storm the place, but it would be costly."
"I see. How about a roof or window entrance?"
"The stairs to the roof collapsed; it wouldn't get us anywhere. The windows are tricky, we don't know where the hostages are, so any entry is a gamble," the commander responded.
"What about the basement?" TLW asked.
The commander checked his notes. "We have no indication the library has a basement."
"Well, there is. The archivist mentioned it's where the kidnappers went."
"If this is planned, then that means…" The commander trailed off.
"The kidnappers must have a way to get out," TLW finished. "There's no way they can leave through the front door, or anywhere on the surface, for that matter. They must have a backup plan. The sewers." TLW scanned the area, spotting a manhole right in front of the entrance. "That one. Help me open it," he pointed.
Two Steels moved quickly, lifting the cover. A third Steel shone his weapon-mounted light down the dark hole. The space below was silent except for the rustling air, the only movement coming from the ladder.
"The Steels won't fit. You two," TLW pointed to two of the patrol guards, "grab some C4, extra ammo, and follow me." They nodded, grabbing explosives from the Vertibird's table before descending.
The sewers of old D.C. were surprisingly spacious and dry. From experience, TLW knew that ghouls might roam here—sheltered by the radiation, they had become immortal and mad. However, there were no signs of life, only faint lights flickering on the walls ahead. They didn't need to go far. Around the corner, TLW spotted a metal door. He opened it and found a completely different room.
"Seems like no need for the C4," he said quietly, half to himself and half to the guards.
The room was dimly lit, its floor and wall edges faintly illuminated. The space was large, with empty shelves and stacks of binders. No books, only documents and holotapes. TLW picked one up: U.S. Government Strategic Evacuation Coordination, Dec. 1, 2034. The second and third had similar titles, and TLW quickly realized what the basement of the Arlington Library was for: it held classified records, materials that the public shouldn't have seen but that were essential for those with the proper security clearance. Whatever the kidnappers were after, it was here.
Just then, TLW heard a noise from ahead. He signaled to the guards to stop and peeked around the corner. A man was frantically searching through holotapes, throwing them to the ground in frustration. His submachine gun was holstered, out of reach. TLW raised his Lincoln Repeater and aimed it at the man.
"Hands up. Don't move," he ordered.
The man slowly raised his hands and turned toward TLW. His face was unrecognizable, but something about him screamed slaver. Maybe someone from Paradise Falls. He smiled. Why?
Then it hit TLW. The door into the basement had been unlocked from the inside. Only someone inside could've done that.
Before he could react, one of the guards was shot in the chest, blood spraying as he fell. The second guard managed to get a shot off but was quickly hit and killed, collapsing to the ground. TLW dove behind one of the shelves, narrowly avoiding a barrage of bullets. The documents stored there were shredded, papers scattering everywhere.
Time slowed. TLW's senses sharpened, his mind processing the situation. There was only one person behind him—two enemies total. He fired a shot that forced the first attacker to take cover, then fired in the opposite direction to draw the second one out.
"Keep looking! I'll take care of him!" the man on the right shouted.
TLW knew he was in a poor position. If he lay down, it would be hard for the enemy to get a clean shot, but he'd have no line of sight on them. Another burst of fire hit the shelves, splintering wood, and TLW tried to make himself smaller.
"Fuck, this is it! I found it!" The hostage-taker shouted. "Abold, get down here! We're leaving!"
Within seconds, TLW heard boots hitting the floor, someone rappelling down into the room. The third attacker shouted, "Cover fire!" A burst of bullets hit the shelves, splintering wood into fragments. TLW knew they were more interested in escaping than fighting. He aimed his gun in the direction they would run past, hoping to catch them off guard.
Two shadows sprinted past him, and then, just like that, silence.
He waited a minute, listening carefully. No movement. No sound. It was over.
TLW cautiously checked the room. The Steels hadn't had to breach the main door; they'd broken a window and cleared the area. The hostages were safe, locked in the children's reading room. The only casualties were the two guards who had fallen on TLW's watch. In the past, his instincts would have kicked in earlier, but today he had been slower to react.
The Steels followed the tunnel, discovering it led out near the Potomac River banks. The trail went cold there. By the end of the day, the scribes had regained control of the basement archives. Though many documents were top secret before the war, many were now obsolete, with the information having little value. However, one section piqued the interest of both the scribes and TLW: Operation Aurora. The files contained holotapes, documents, and personnel bios—all of it sent to the Third Link for further analysis. In time, they would uncover what had been taken, and every record mentioning the name Abold.
TLW requested a ride back to Megaton. He refused to stay at the Citadel, having already declined an apartment in the city. It felt egomaniacal to have three places to live in these times. The Vertibird touched down on Megaton's helipad just before midnight. As he walked toward his house, he rubbed his leg, sore from the day's events.
"There you are!" a familiar voice called.
It was Lucas Sims, holding a leash.
"I heard about Arlington. Thought you might need the company tonight," he said sympathetically. "Woff, woff!" a voice barked.
After the events at the Adams Air Force Base, Lucas had often cared for Dogmeat. Now, seeing the dog again, TLW's heart lifted. He took the leash from Sims.
"Thanks, kid. I'll have him back tomorrow."
"Take your time. I know he missed you!" Sims said as he walked back to his house.
"How've you been, boy?" TLW asked, scratching Dogmeat's head. The dog licked his face in response. Sometimes, a dog was all you needed.