A Wild Kind of Wasteland

by Leroyian21

An amnesiac prisoner after numerous attempts to escape from his confines, now set on an odyssey across half a contentment of the United States in a search for answers. A wanderer turned corporate janitor sent on a globe trotting adventure at a ravage future held together by machines to find his paradise. A man lost with no place he could call home.

1. Space Oddity

Chapter 1 — A space Oddity

Everything felt off…

I mean my body. It laid motionless, refusing to move to my commands. No matter how intense I concentrated, I couldn't willed my limbs to move, they remained still. Any sensation beyond that was gone.

The same old familiar sensations of tingling, aching, or the comforting feeling of touch had disappeared, leaving a disconcerting sense of emptiness.

My sights, too, offered little help. The world around me had been a stark, colorless expanse. Everything was white, an endless void stretching in all directions. No shapes emerged from this blank space — no shadows or highlights to provide depth or dimension.

The absence of color was absolute, and even more absolute that it send me insane inside my mind to grasp for any semblance of familiarity in this colorless hell. The constant mental strain or the silence is pushing me to the edge of insanity.

I squinted my eyes, desperately seeking any sign that might look different from the endless white expanse before me. My efforts proved to point me to nowhere. The boundless void I found myself in remained unchanged, clouding my senses and leaving me to question whether my sight had failed or if I had somehow arrived at the other-side.

At last, I had reached the last destination of my mortal existence.

I think I heard a religion called this purgatory. Something about between heaven or hell — I must be in between. Just nothing.

I never once one to believe such religions, but I will admit, I'm reconsidering now.

The funniest thing about all of this, I can't even remember anything before. Just as I arrived here and everything went dark. Unconscious for an unknown amount of time, I lay on what appears to be solid ground in this place, unable to recall any details.

One more time for how many long I even remember, I fell back asleep.

The only thing I could do.

The next time I wake up, I'll give it another shot to move my legs.

—-

One more… I held my breath and teeth clench together, grinding one another as I put every force on my left arm. It was hell — I felt like I was carrying far heavier than my strength could, but it was my body that I was lifting.

I didn't feel any pain despite my scowl on my face — it was the feeling of nothingness that was I felt horrified to grasp.

I clenched my jaw, muscles taut; I focused all my energy on a single goal. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my temple.

"Argh!" The guttural cry finally escaped my lungs, a primal sound of frustration and determination. All of this exertion, this monumental struggle, for a single finger to move.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, it happened. A twitch. A slight tremor. My index finger shifted ever so slightly against the smooth surface beneath it.

Finally… Progress.

My heart raced, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I was ecstatic, my breath coming in short, excited gasps. This tiny movement, barely visible to the naked eye, felt like a monumental victory. A little finger moving had never before seemed so significant, so worthy in my eyes for celebration.

Baby steps… One at a time.

I might have changed for a small part in my physical predicament, but location wise, it's still an endless expanse of white void stretched before me, just as insanity driving as the silence. Only being filled by my shouts and screams.

Not like I was expecting any different, really. That hope fizzled out long ago.

But after my accomplishment from earlier, it was time to push myself further; to move my left arm would be my next goal.

A flicker of hope in my mind — I'd pat myself on the back if I included my shoulders.

One more. One more.

I immediately went all in, pushing every muscle in my left arm to its limits. The effort was excruciating, yet exhilarating. All to feel something — anything.

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as I focused, pushing against an invisible, unyielding force. Then, miraculously, I felt it — a twinge, a spark of life traveling from shoulder to fingertips.

Finally, with trembling effort, I could raise my arm. The sight of it cutting through the white expanse was almost surreal. A burst of laughter escaped my lips, the sound of pure joy at this small yet monumental victory.

I finally felt the sensation between my fingers when I clenched them together in a fist.

I am still trapped in here but I could move!

A fuck you to whatever brought me here.

The rest of my time was spent on one thing: hurling punches around my body. It was crude, but igniting my nerves through pain was definitely a far faster way to feel something. Either way, the pain was something I never thought I'd welcome that to my body, but here I was. Enjoying its searing sensation on my muscles.

The sensation on my body soon was finally lifting, bit by bit, punch by punch as I hurled to myself. Until it finally paid off.

The searing pain bombarded every muscle around my body, all of it was necessary as I grit through the pain. Until I finally could stand on my own feet. Like a child learning how to walk, I limped around at first.

I scanned the featureless white expanse, unable to discern any landmark or direction. Despite the disorienting void, I made a decision and I am going to stand by it to move forward in a single direction.

There was this uncertainty gnawed at me, my destination unknown, but I reasoned it was far better than succumbing back to idleness by laying back down.

With determination, I took my first tentative step. Each movement felt like wading through an invisible resistance, yet I pressed on.

My mind grappled with the surreal nature of all of this, now finally no longer just focusing on my numb body for so long. I wonder if any of my attempts won't be in vain. Can I escape this hell at all?

But I clung to the small comfort that motion, any motion, was preferable to lying down and surrendering to the nothingness.

As I continued my aimless trek across this endless plain, a flicker of hope kindled within me. Perhaps somewhere in this place. Only ever stopping to check myself, besides the clothes on my back, a leather coat and metal protection around my body, there wasn't much, a strange device on my wrist that only ever shows static.

But I found cracked sunglasses on the one inside my pocket. Just for a peek, I could see my face on the reflection. Man, I am one ugly mug to look at.

I would try for god's sake. I finally got to my feet to just give up now.

Soon, a figure at the distance. A contrast of a dark shape against the white expanse.

My heart leapt at this first sign of change in this pale hell.

I mustered my strength, limping towards the shape with renewed purpose. "Hey! Hey!" I called out, my voice hoarse from disuse. "Over here!" I emptied my lungs out as I lifted my arms, attempting to wave, but the motion sent a barrage of needle-like sensations through my limbs.

Despite the discomfort, I pressed on.

"I'm friendly! I… stuck here too."

My determination outweighed the growing fatigue in my body. Pain became a luxury. I try to take as much as I can. My left leg began to slow, transforming my walk into an uneven limp. As my knees weakened, threatening to give way, I resorted to dragging myself forward.

Each movement was a struggle. There was no chance I was getting this small opportunity to walk away from me. The mysterious figure stood motionless, seemingly waiting. With every ounce of willpower, I inched closer, driven by the hope of finally encountering another person here.

It never once dawned on me about something. About this person already was off about them. Only after I had moved a significant distance when I could finally see them more clearly.

Slowly, they turned around, a small flicker of red beam. No, it was like a perfectly shaped rectangle of red light sliding down his face. It fast disappeared. Finally, I could see the person clearly now.

It was a man… Moreover… It was me, but younger and looked different.

It was small, but there was something different about him.

As I drew closer, the stark differences between us became increasingly apparent. My gaze traced over the figure before me, noting every detail that set us apart.

First, his clothes felt more… different compared to mine, more… "out there." The familiar elements of my own attire were conspicuously absent on this look-a-like. Gone was the well-worn leather coat, its surface changed from a brown tanned leather to this black cloth. The leather hat was nowhere to be seen. The intricate network of harnesses crisscrossing my chest, designed to hold an array of pouches and holsters, had vanished without a trace.

This person I was looking at wore a starkly contrasting ensemble. A black outfit dominated his form, sleek and pristine. The centerpiece was a black coat, its fabric smooth — expensive looking.

Beneath this imposing outer layer, I could discern the crisp lines of a well-tailored suit, its edges sharp enough to cut through the white void surrounding us.

The person who looked like me dressed more professionally and something I will never acquire in my life. Not even if I gave up an arm or a leg.

But he was no rough rider, that much I was certain. This wasn't the outfit of someone accustomed to frontier life or the wilderness.

No, this was the attire the other me wore of someone more at navigating offices and paper mountains on his desk than open trails and untamed landscapes. Every aspect of this person's appearance, from the cut of his coat to his suit, screamed first-rate settlement elegance.

The juxtaposition was jarring, almost surreal. It was as if I were looking at a version of myself from an alternate life - one where I…

The sight stirred confusion in me.

Taking in every detail of this enigmatic figure, I couldn't help but run my hands over my own familiar attire as I look down at my own combat armor. It was covered in various dents and scratches. A very rough contrast between me and the clean-cut outfit from this look-a-like.

Finally, the man ever slowly turns his body to face me, his movement deliberate almost gave me an uneasy feeling about this person. The pristine fabric of his coat rippled softly as he turned. My muscles tensed instinctively, a familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Soon, I steeled myself as the man's hand, encased in a sleek black glove, slowly crawled under his coat. His fingers disappeared into the folds, clearly fishing for something concealed within.

I reacted swiftly, my body moving on instinct. With a smooth motion, I pushed back the weathered edge of my own coat. The leather brushed against my side as it revealed a well-worn holster, fitted snugly against my hip, a revolver nestled within.

My fingers hovered near the grip of my revolver, ready to draw if necessary.

But as I watched the other me continue to reach for something hidden, a grim realization settled in my gut. It seems this meeting won't be the amicable exchange I had hoped for.

I had envisioned a different scenario — perhaps not pointing at each other with steel and more of something amicable. Instead, we found ourselves locked in this wordless confrontation.

Two versions of the same person like staring into a mirror — fighting my reflection.

This thing doesn't look good. Not at all.

But I'll see if this city slicker can take me on.

Slowly, just as he turned, the man extracted his weapon, a sleek pistol that gleamed almost otherworldly build and frame to my eyes. Its design was unlike anything I'd seen before, all smooth curves and pulsing energy lines. The barrel, a seamless extension of the grip, emitted a soft, blue glow. Intricate circuitry patterns adorned the top of its slide-lock with crackling electricity. A small holographic display hovered above the rear-sight.

Not even the station has something like this design…

That weapon; It looks like it means business and I don't want to be on its receiving end. A man dressed nice like him, of course he gets the strange fancy weapons.

I kept a vigilant eye on it, my nerves on edge as I awaited his next move.

Along with the man, I gripped my revolver.

Curiously, he never aimed it in my direction. Instead, the entire pistol hung rather limp in his hand, like he was just barely able to carry it, its muzzle pointing downward towards the featureless white floor.

Just what was he planning? The question barely had time to form in my mind before the situation took a nasty turn.

I heard him.

"How… a g-gonk like you could…?" A weak groan from his mouth. Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, the man abruptly raised the handgun. He pushed the weapon's barrel into the ceiling of his mouth. The rectangular light grew more prominent, swirling around his body in a mesmerizing dance, multiplying in numbers.

Not so much as a thought seemed to cross his mind as he pulled the trigger. The sound of a high-pitched crackling discharge of energy followed by a sizzling and crackle from skin and bones.

The aftermath was instantaneous and grotesque. A blinding flash of energy erupted from the back of his skull, vaporizing bone and tissue in its wake. Gore exploded outward in a fine mist of red and gray stain, the ground under the man.

The man's body crumpled, falling to the featureless ground with a dull thud that echoed in his fall.

The scene unfolded before me with brutal swiftness, leaving my mind reeling in its wake. A chill crept up my spine as the reality of what I'd just witnessed began to sink in. One moment, everything had been still, almost peaceful, then a bang and ending with a thud.

"What the fuck?"

I slowly walked over to what was left of the person. Mister rich here might have something for me at least. His death ain't all in vain.

Oh well, his loss is mine now.

I never met you that long, but I left him a small message as I began to loot his pockets and even the clothes he wore. "Don't worry… I don't blame you." For taking the easy way out. Suppose I'm strong enough to not do the same.

Huh… he had implants…

---

Chapter 1.2 — Last Magic Trick

"Urgh…"

As consciousness slowly returned, my senses began to awaken, one by one. They all took their time and I as well to get acquainted with my body.

"Final health screening… Check… No problems in vitals. Operation is a success." sounded a robotic voice, its artificial tones echoing in the sterile environment. The monotony of its delivery contrasted sharply with the weight of its next words. "You have to be the third recorded person in this station to have survived a procedure to programming your brain smarter. Congratulations."

The voice's attempt at congratulations fell flat, devoid of any genuine enthusiasm. Its flat tone only served to heighten my confusion and unease.

What? Where am I?

As if sensing my internal turmoil, the robotic voice continued, "Thirteen, I believe you have somewhere else to be?"

I looked around, my eyes finally focusing on my surroundings. The room coming into form before me - an operating theater of sorts, its walls a uniform expanse of cold, not that far off from the white void, really.

I found myself lying in the center of a steel table, its surface still warm from my body heat, hinting at a recent procedure. The clinical atmosphere was punctuated by the soft hum of advanced machinery and the occasional beep of monitoring equipment.

My gaze was drawn to a large monitor mounted on the wall, the source of the disembodied voice that had been addressing me. The screen displayed a peculiar image: a bird, motionless and unnaturally still, perched on a table. Its unblinking eyes seemed to stare directly at me, adding an unsettling element to an already disconcerting situation.

"Where… Where am I?" I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my own ears. A part of me recognized the potential danger of my situation, yet the fact that I wasn't already dissected on the table provided a small measure of comfort. Perhaps this A.I could help fill the alarming gaps in my memory.

"Who… I… I don't…" Stuttering like coming out from a hangover. Did I actually had one?

"Oh, yes… I suppose the side-effects are still in place." the robot noted, its tone still as flat and emotionless as before.

With considerable effort, I groan while I pushed myself up into a sitting position on the table. What the hell was I just on? Made me wonder what happened to me while I was knocked out.

I waited, heart pounding, for some explanation of how I ended up here - on a blood-stained operating table in this alien environment.

The robot seemed to pause, allowing me a moment to adjust. Then the robot stated this.

"Ahem, In the absence of joy would be a bliss in the presence of grief."

"What?"

I asked, but my question was cut short as an overwhelming sensation flooded my consciousness. It felt as if my skull was suddenly filled with compressed air, expanding rapidly and threatening to shatter my very being.

A scream tore from my throat as I toppled from the table, my body contorting in agony on the hard floor. My fingers clawed desperately at my scalp, futilely trying to relieve the immense pressure building inside my head. The pain was all-consuming, far beyond anything I could have imagined or prepared for.

In that moment of excruciating torment, a deluge of memories cascaded through my mind. They came in a chaotic rush, some vivid and crystal clear, others hazy and indistinct. The flood of information was relentless, forcing my brain to process itself and organize a lifetime of experiences before it permanently imprinted itself on my head, all of it in rapid succession.

Some memories were frustratingly vague, leading me to only understanding bits and parts of it before they slip away from my grasp of them. Others burned themselves into my consciousness with startling clarity, each one a piece of the puzzle that was my past.

The barrage of images, sounds, and sensations continued unabated, my mind working overtime to make sense of the onslaught.

When I found myself writhing on the floor when suddenly I felt a sharp jab of a needle on my neck. "Hold still, I am administering MedEx or Morphine of you're more specific."

"There." The voice said. "Take a deep breath and relax. Any strong emotions would hinder your reintegration and illicit painful responses from sensory overload to your brain."

…

"Perhaps now you would be set in a more functional manner, hm?" another remark off from that robotic voice.

Conspiracies… Collaborators… Secret Societies… New plague.

Christ's mother, Mary… I sighed. I relished the brief moments of rest before getting back on my feet.

Presper, I need to stop him.

"Odysseus, how long was I out?"

I grab the space suit and I slip it on, each seal and fastener clicking into place with reassuring precision. I work to adjust the system on the suits's internal system connected with my Pip-Boy to hand me manual control over the oxygen distribution on the tank attached to the suit's back only when I need it.

In case Presper cut the oxygen to certain parts of the station, this is just insurance.

"About half an hour for the procedure and about three minutes under the effects of anesthesia to wear off and about a six minutes to gather yourself. I say, it is not a large difference. Victor Presper is still far behind to prepare the payloads."

I'm willing to bet he'll actually do it with how desperate he was to stop me at BloomField.

My hand closes around the APOLLO laser pistol. The weapon's sleek design belies its destructive capabilities, refined and perfected, a testament to the advanced technology at play in this station left behind by its creators at Poseidon Energy ages ago.

"We lost an hour?"

"Which is still not a large difference, If I repeat myself." The A.I stated as the monitor flickered an image of missiles being prepared. "Not that my and Xian's attempting to redirect energy to other parts of the station to slow down the arming of the missiles didn't help."

"Jesus, you could have warned me?"

"If this is what you believe, then, arguing with me for all you want simply won't make Presper slow any more than if you would leave now."

Prepared with my assessment, I approach the room's exit.

My heart races as I slowly peek out into the hallway — I admit I'm still in an anxious state after waking up.

The corridor that greets me is far from spacious - it's a tight fit, barely wider than my shoulders when fully suited up. As I begin to navigate the constrictive passageway.

I went through many rooms and halls navigating this maze of a station. Picking up anything I found remotely useful and fighting the robots that swarm them.

While Odysseus's voice guides me through the labyrinthine structure, his directions no mere suggestion with it using the map after I downloaded him to the station's system, albeit at a lower administration access.

However, I quickly realize that the path ahead won't stay idly still. The corridors seem to shift and change with each step I take, doors sealing shut behind me in a swift motion.

"He's trying to box me in." I realize aloud, my pace quickening despite the confined space.

As I navigate through this ever-changing maze, the realization hits me - Presper is manipulating the station's very structure, using his control over the systems to stop my progress. Each locked door, and sealed corridor and room.

Rounding a corner, I find myself in a narrow hallway that stretches out before me.

For a moment, all is quiet. Then, with a series of mechanical whirs, multiple turrets rise from the ground and ceiling, their barrels tracking my movement with deadly precision. Tight space, a long stretch of hallway and no cover — what a wonderful spot I got myself in.

"Thirteen, to your left is a maintenance shaft." Odysseus voiced through my Pip-Boy.

Oh, I already know what that means… Without hesitation, I was quick to adjust the settings on my APOLLO laser pistol, switching it to sustained fire mode. The weapon hums to life, its energy core pulsing with barely contained power.

A red laser erupts from the pistol, a concentrated beam of intense energy that slices through the metal wall like a mini-gun on an unarmored bandit.

As I carve my improvised exit with my laser pistol while the turrets spring to life. The surrounding air erupts in a cacophony of gunfire. Bullets whiz past, their trajectories alarmingly close. I feel the impact of near misses, the suit's outer layer barely deflecting the barrage.

With a final surge of power, the section of wall gives way. Without a moment to spare, I dive through the freshly created opening, the sound of bullets impacting where I stood mere seconds ago ringing in my ears.

As I tumble through the hole, I somehow got out of the situation without any damage.

Rolling to my feet on the other side, I take a moment to catch my breath, adrenaline coursing through my veins. That was a close call…

I quickly scan my suit for any damage, relieved to find it intact despite the barrage of gunfire directed at me.

The echoes of the gunfire fade behind me, replaced by the returning steady hum again.

But now…

Oh, come on… I thought loudly in my head, frustration evident in my tone. My eyes reluctantly traveled upward, fixating on the daunting sight of a towering ladder. The metallic rungs stretched out, seemingly endless in my mind.

As I glanced at the map displayed in my Pip-Boy, my fingers tracing the lines, it confirmed what I already knew: the Command Center resided at the pinnacle of the station. I just needed a second look, an assurance before I go up climbing.

With a deep breath, I could almost taste the metallic tang of anticipation in the air.

I knew there was no other choice but to ascend. I hesitated for a moment, contemplating if Presper had seized control of the lifts as well — I could use it, if it won't instead drop me to the lowest level.

But time was a luxury I couldn't afford now, and I couldn't let to waste a precious second.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I took the first step. The ladder groaned in protest, as if telling me it was a good idea and the age of the metal left along for ages won't collapse when I'm already far too high up. What a reassuring sound it was.

With each upward movement, the station seemed to sway.

My muscles strained, burning with exertion, as I fought against gravity's relentless pull. Every rung brought me closer to my goal, but also heightened the realization of the sheer distance left. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own labored breaths and the occasional creak of the ladder.

Save the goddamn world… But I have to climb a ladder while wearing this suit that ain't helping me move my arms and leg much.

What a thrill…

I pressed on still, not allowing the fear of the ladder collapsing or an elevator decides to go down and turn me into a fine mist. Or the aches and pains of wearing a restrictive space-suit while forcing my limbs on a small ladder.

The last floor, finally. Thank god.

I arrived at the final floor, the elevator doors sliding open with a soft hiss.

Victory. That's what I felt right now after what I just did, but instead, my body betrays me. My legs, once steady and determined, now tremble with fatigue. Without warning, they give way beneath me, and I find myself collapsing onto the cold, metallic floor.

The impact of my fall is softened by my space suit, but the jarring sensation still reverberates through my body. As I lie there, sprawled on the catwalk,

The familiar voice of the A.I. from my Pip-Boy becomes a muffled, indistinct murmur, drowned out by the sound of my own labored breathing and pounding heart.

Bullets, explosives or blades. If they won't be the end of me, if I die from natural causes or age first…

Soon, however, the urgency of my mission returned to seep back into my consciousness. The luxury of rest is one I can ill afford, not when I'm so close to the end.

With the effort similar to lifting a truck, I force my eyes open, my vision slowly coming back into focus.

Despite the protests of my weary muscles, I push myself up from the floor, rising to my feet with a grunt of exertion. My gaze falls upon the elevator doors, now closed.

With renewed vigor, I approach the doors. My gloved hands find purchase in the slight gap between them. Gritting my teeth, I begin to pry them open, calling upon reserves of my [Strength].

Time to see if I still had it in me, despite my age.

The doors resist at first, their mechanisms fighting against my efforts.

But I persist, my resolve unyielding, only unloading grunts to fume out my frustration. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, the doors begin to part answered with the harsh sound of metal scraping.

Finally, with a last surge of effort, the doors yield, sliding apart to reveal the path ahead. As I stand there, hands still gripping the edges of the doors, I take a moment to steel myself for what lies beyond.

I'm this close to Presper. Time to end this.

The command center, finally, my exhausted body propelling me through the final threshold. As I stepped inside, the sheer scale of the room take me another glance.

The room was split into two distinct levels, each playing a crucial role in the station's operations. The first floor sprawled out in a wide circle, its perimeter lined with an array of sophisticated computer terminals and towering monitors. Each screen flickered with streams of data, creating a hypnotic dance of light and information.

My gaze was drawn upward to the second floor, which overlooked the first through a large, circular opening in its center.

However, as my eyes adjusted to the room's layout, a chilling realization dawned on me. The command center wasn't just filled with inanimate technology. Scattered throughout both levels, their metallic forms gleaming under the harsh lights, were robots.

Hover Eyebots, Assaultrons, Security robots, and loadlifter robots… Tons of Loadlifters carrying boxes.

In fact, dozens of them. And in that moment, as if responding to some silent alarm, they all turned towards me in perfect unison.

Oh…

…

The transmission room buzzed with an electric tension, its walls lined with an array of monitors that flickered and hummed in unison. Once dedicated to routine communications from Earth, these screens had been repurposed for a far voyeuristic use: surveillance of the entire space station, B.O.M.B 001.

Each monitor offered a unique vantage point, creating a mosaic of screens that painted a comprehensive picture of the unfolding chaos.

Installed all over the Command Center, visible through these lenses, was a hive. At the heart of it was the mayhem that whirled around where it stood a lone figure, a man whose movements blurred the line between desperation and determination. Around him, robots swarmed like metallic locusts, their sheer numbers threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.

Yet, despite the odds, the man fought on with a ferocity that was terrifying. Plain and simple. His every motion was a brutal, each strike precise and devastating.

The robots, for all their technological superiority, seemed to crumple under his relentless assault, their mechanical bodies twisting and breaking in ways their designers had never anticipated. Yet the man persists it being possible — by force.

The air in the Command Center was alive with deadly energy. Bright lines of laser fire crisscrossed the room, their red beams cutting through the air like angry, luminous threads. Interspersed among them were bursts of green plasma, their otherworldly glow casting an eerie pallor over the scene. These flashes of lethal light caused the monitors to flicker erratically, as if the very act of witnessing such violence was too much for their circuitry to bear.

As the battle raged on, a new development began to unfold. One by one, the broadcasts began to shut down or be left with static. Each screen, moments before alive with the frenzy of combat, suddenly went dark. It was as if an unseen hand was methodically extinguishing these digital windows, each blackout shrouding the lone man watching.

In their final moments before going dark, each monitor captured a snapshot of the man's relentless struggle. Here, he was driving his fist through the chassis of a robot, shooting various firearms to the rest. Then broadcasts from the next camera. He was dodging a barrage of laser fire with inhuman agility.

As the last few screens flickered and died, they offered fleeting glimpses of the man standing amidst a sea of mechanical carcasses — a carnage to some, or a prospector's gold-mine.

His figure, illuminated from behind by the glow of damaged circuitry and sparking wires, cut into a silhouette that was both heroic and haunting as he must have noticed the eyes watching, slowly tilt his head towards the last camera.

Soon then, with a final burst of static, the last monitor went dark, plunging the transmission room into an eerie, expectant silence.

The sudden chaos shattered that short-lived quiet that had settled over the small room. Dropped in a flash as started a distant rumble, growing louder and more intense with each passing second. The walls seemed to vibrate with the force of the approaching chaos, dust shaking loose from forgotten corners and dancing in the air.

The man, his heart pounding in his chest, turned towards the door. His eyes went wide, filled with fear and resignation.

He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to his core, that he was next. After all, wasn't he the catalyst for this very end? The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity.

There was no denying it. No running from the consequences of his actions. He had set these wheels in motion, and now they were rolling to crush him.

With trembling hands and ragged breaths, he scrambled across the room. His fingers, clumsy with adrenaline, grasped at various objects on the table. Papers flew, small gadgets clattered to the floor, but he paid them no mind.

He was searching for something that might give him an edge in the confrontation he knew was coming.

It soon it finally arrived for the man. Dents appeared, the metal buckling and warping under tremendous force. Each impact sent a jolt through the man's body, violent winces of his muscles tensing in anticipation of the inevitable breach.

Then, with a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, an explosion ripped through the air.

The door, once a sturdy barrier, was reduced to twisted shrapnel in an instant. Smoke billowed into the room, acrid and thick, obscuring the entrance for a heart-stopping moment.

As the smoke began to clear, a figure emerged from the chaos. Thirteen stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable tension. In his hands, he held the remains of what was once a hover Eyebot.

He had carried the robot with express use of the machine's laser weapon. The device, partially damaged but still menacing, glowed with residual energy.

With a casual disregard, Thirteen tossed the robot to crumple to the ground. It clattered across the floor, coming to rest in the center of the room like a gauntlet thrown down in challenge.

The two men faced each other across the debris-strewn space, the air between them charged with unspoken words and impending conflict.

The man, cornered and desperate, clutched his hastily acquired object, knowing that the moment of reckoning had finally arrived.

The deadman has finally come to collect his dues.

Two figures, finally for too long, now stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. A long history is faded and hazy memories locked or erased from my head now finally arrived for their closure.

I finally broke the silence. It was already getting to me.

"Hello again, Presper." Those three words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken accusations, a confrontation brewing to happen.

This was it.

The moment everything had been leading up to. So long have I waited for this.

"Thirteen…"

The one and only, Victor Presper. Finally, he stood before me in a white spacesuit. A helmet that fit to the suit lay discarded on the ground beside him, revealing a mop of tousled white hair and a clear, horrified expression.

His response, meanwhile, was barely above a whisper. His voice, a hint of surprise and something else - perhaps fear, perhaps resignation. My name hung in the air between the two of us.

The final confrontation. The culmination of events set in motion long ago. Both, we knew it, could feel the inevitability of this moment pressing down on them.

"In the flesh."

With these words, I extended his arms in a theatrical gesture, presenting myself with my laser pistol still aimed at the mad scientist. He made his threat in exchange, holding up in his hands wrapped around a detonator.

Presper's reaction was immediate and instinctive. His eyes widened slightly, darting around the room as if searching for an escape route that didn't exist. His footing shifted, each small step backwards, a silent admission of his growing unease.

"I never expected you of the rest to be the one to… Hm."

Presper's voice trailed off, the unfinished thought hanging in the air. His brow furrowed in contemplation, as if trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle. The pause stretched on. I could already sense, no, see Presper was nearing his limits — just the silence alone was eroding his will. Me prolonging it wasn't helping the scientist any further.

Finally, the puppet master no longer holds the strings.

"I'm glad you still remember me. I appreciate that." I nodded. I motioned at the clear detonator in his hand; try to stop him. "There's nothing left. Your cabal, or what's left of it, are already dead, arrested or in hiding — a miserable life really. Presper, president Wendel had already discovered of you and Coleridge's betrayal."

I immediately added. "Those research notes you left at Boulder, they have already been sent to NCR laboratories for study. You could still help them — stop all of this."

I carefully took one step only for Presper to raise the detonator. A warning was raised. "Stay back! One more step and I'll launch the missiles!" Crap. Even if the arming process is slow, that doesn't mean the ones that are complete couldn't launch first.

I need more time, Oddyseus and Xian should be trying to breach higher administration access by now to stop the arming sequence for the missile payloads. Sure, there's that, but I know there's another way I could go at this.

I could try to sway Presper back to his senses.

It was a long shot, sure and an even longer distance to convince for his cooperation, but I need everything right now and against the "New Plague" by swaying back the person who has the most knowledge of it.

Maybe, if it is any consolidation, I found I could try to sway Presper through stroking his ego. A man of science like him sure to have a large head like Mobius did and the talking brain did say they spend years together — Maybe some of that brain-in-a-jar's ego rub onto Presper.

It was definitely an idea, alright. Not sure if it is good or bad. But I'll find out soon enough.

I recall upon my [Charisma], a perk I picked up from my Pip-Boy that my companions often remarked upon somehow attracting people behind my cause, something to appeal to the doctor's ideals. My voice was measured, each word carefully chosen as I inched forward to who held the fate of the wasteland in his trembling hands, slowly lowering my APOLLO laser pistol.

"Think, Presper, Think! What's next after this? What else is left for you and your 'pure-race'?"

I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. The world around us was a testament to the nuclear hell we'd barely survived from below, a ruined planet that bore the scars of nuclear devastation. Yet, in my heart, I knew it was still home - a sentiment I desperately needed Presper to understand.

"The world just went through nuclear hell, people barely made by the first few years with Cochise and then the master. Do you still expect the same thing to happen now once you return back to the surface; The corpses will continue your legacy?" As I spoke, memories of the struggles we'd endured flashed through my mind — of the past heroes' fight against Cochise's technological tyranny, the battle against the Master's twisted vision of unity and evolution.

But a viral plague? Now that was different. There was not a leader or anyone to stop for the rest of the dominoes to fall. It would be complete chaos if left untreated.

My eyes never left Presper as I continued, my voice a mixture of reason and passion.

"This virus. It won't stop, as long as anything that is alive; it will infect and use it as carriers to spread to the rest of the wasteland. You are the only one left from the original expedition on the Rockies that researched it."

I could see a flicker of something - doubt, perhaps - in Presper's eyes. I pressed on, my words becoming more urgent.

"I know you've been through a lot trying to stop it, but right now? You're throwing it all away — those years for nothing."

Presper's response came after a moment of heavy silence. His voice was strained, a mix of frustration and resignation.

"You proved a good point. This was my last resort,"

He emphasized his words by raising the detonator in his hands. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't just any weapon - it was a relic from the resource war, a detonator linked to missiles aimed squarely at the United States, ready to launch at a moment's notice. A gem of a weapon for anyone who got their hands on it, and this mad scientist had won that deadly prize.

This relic of the resource wars, now in the hands of a man teetering on the edge of reason, was perhaps the deadliest weapon left on the planet.

"and as you can observe, nothing has gone according to plan."

Presper's voice rose, filling the room with his anguish and frustration. He stood by the control panels, surrounded by the blinking lights of various buttons, a king in his crumbling technological castle. It was a rather pathetic sight to behold, really.

"I have dedicated thirty-five years of my life to a cure, and what do I have to show for it? A pathetic, miniscule amount of progress? How can you expect me to discover anything significant at this point?"

His shout echoed off the walls, a cry of desperation and defeat. The man before me was no longer the composed scientist, but a broken individual grappling with the weight of his failures and the enormity of his actions.

The composed scientist I had expected to confront was gone, replaced by a broken individual grappling with the weight of his failures and the weight of his actions.

The last of his kind. The remnants of a bygone era thawed, and he's now close to his expiration date. Tried and failed to leave a legacy to be proud of. Had one chance and everyone but him gone.

"You still have a life ahead of you. You had people who'd follow you. If you didn't finish it then your own students will. Is that not enough?"

I raised my voice, years of anger finally unleashed when I couldn't hold in anymore — and rightfully so.

This was the monster.

The words echoed in my mind, a stark realization that sent me years that had gone by where I had constructed an image in my head, a terrifying visage of some uncaring, mad scientist. From the instant I first learned of their group's existence, my entire life devolved around them. To find them and take back what I lost.

My memory, my past, my life. Waking up everyday surrounded by four walls getting closer and closer.

The one I've been building up inside my head when I first learned of their group's existence…

I let the thought trail off, struggling to reconcile the reality before me with the demon I had fabricated in my mind. This creature, this person, was supposed to be the embodiment of all my suffering, the cruelty that had defined my existence.

The one who locked me for all of my life alone.

The words left a bitter taste in my mouth. So many years locked underground, of degrading mental state, all traced back to this figure who left me in Tibbets Penitentiary under the watchful eye of the A.I that now helps me. I had spent countless day and night speculating, constructing a monstrous image in my mind. While inside my numerous cells, ever becoming more derange and deeper inside the facility to in my tent, or watching the night sky.

Just what kind of monster he'd be like.

But now, confronted with the reality, I felt a surge of emotions I couldn't quite point to.

Disappointment, yes, but also confusion, and perhaps a touch of something that felt dangerously close to empathy. The monster before me was so… ordinary. So human.

Where were the cold features, the markings of his apathy?

I always dreamed of this moment. The first words that ever slipped from that NCR veteran's mouth before he died. The first time I ever heard of this conspiracy.

I reflected, a tired smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the gravity of the situation.

How I get to slay this beast to no longer terrorize the wasteland.

But now, standing here, face to face with the personification of the source for my hatred and fear, nothing felt straightforward.

Boy, do how dreams love to disappoint.

The so-called monster now was just nothing but a decrepit old man, jaded and right now have his life taken over by his own sense of justice, now clouded by his desperation that turned into insanity. Clinging on to some semblance of righteousness left or a perverted form of it.

"Those years gone, is that really what you want? What your colleagues wanted out of this? To be responsible for destroying what's left of the wasteland?" Presper remained frozen, his eyes widening. "I lost so much. And the thing is I can't even know what they are."

I didn't know much when I came along into this whole mess. I do know when my last recollection of escaping, people around I meet seem to recognize me — told tall tales of my own mind couldn't remember nor fathom me to attempt such a feat being the person in these people's story.

But the thing that always gave me chills was that the stories told about me almost always tended to end with a large robot or a swarm of Hover Eyebots that always taken me away.

The turning point in my journey came unexpectedly near the canyons. There, in an abandoned fort, was where I stumbled upon a crucified man with a noose on his neck. His flesh was charred beyond recognition. It was a horrible sight back then, even hard to imagine the man was alive during the entire ordeal and lived. He almost looked like the burnt side of a brahmin steak left too long over the fire — if I attempt to describe what was left of him.

Despite how I remember it, the man, he didn't mind it; Hell, when I tended to his wounds, he had the smile nailed to his face that relished that fact he was left to die — as I eventually find out soon — despite his cruel nature, he in fact became my closest ally, the first one to suggest writing down my journey until I get kidnapped and have to discover myself again. This time, he was waiting for me with my journal.

Out of pity for a wanderer with no clue how to survive, or out of obligation, the hanged-man stayed with me the longest.

He taught me to survive. In a sense, he stuck his teachings to me like wonder-glue.

I mean everything — the good, the bad, and the ugly about the Hanged-man.

Eventually, the destination of for my captors came into focus: an NCR penitentiary called Tibbets where they always threw me in, bordering the state lines of Arizona and Utah.

This revelation sparked a flurry of questions. Why would someone go to such lengths to lock me up rather than simply adding a new hole through my head? It seemed that an unseen force wanted me to suffer longer, preferring to keep me behind bars and electric fields rather than a new six-inch socket between my eyes.

Following my most recent escape attempt, I made a shocking discovery. My pursuer was not human, but an artificial intelligence known as Odysseus.

That's right, the same one that is helping me. This digital entity had been programmed with a singular purpose: to keep me confined within the prison.

To accomplish this task, Odysseus had dispatched a relentless army of robots called Argos across the wastes like police dogs sniffing my trail, their sole mission to track me down and return me to my cell.

These robot hunters were unlike any other threats in the wasteland. They showed no aggression towards anyone but me, single-mindedly focused on their programmed objective.

For some reason they're attracted to me and only me. Nobody else that they decide to kidnap.

I wasn't planning on finding out if Odysseus would actually attack anyone but me if provoked back then.

My numerous escape attempts had not gone unnoticed. With each bid for freedom, my reputation grew, spreading like wildfire from one settlement to another along the West coast from California to the plains of Illinois in the Mid-West.

It wasn't long 'till people started donating supplies for me. From pity or to out of genuine kindness — I took it, disregarding the why.

These newfound allies that joined me lend more than a hand to my plans. I wasn't about to let my capture be easy — In fact, most of my plans involved being a bigger pain in the ass for it. Our goal was twofold: to keep me out of Odysseus's grasp long enough to track down the individual responsible for Tibbets.

This quest for answers led me on a journey across the continent, from the irradiated wastes of the Midwest and back to the familiar territories of the West-coast.

To finally, here, at space.

What a huge jump.

An actual huge leap in all manner.

"Too bad, after everything." I began, my voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and accusation. "You were right in what you told Mobius. You should have joined your colleagues that day. Perhaps someone else would have emerged from the base alive. More sensible."

Presper's eyes narrowed, but I pressed on, sensing an opening. "Xian and the rest… What about them now?"

The doctor's lip curled in disdain, but his eyes betrayed him. Behind the sneer, I glimpsed a flicker of something deeper - a well of regret and nostalgia that time had failed to dry up.

"What about her?" he spat, but the venom in his voice couldn't mask the pain beneath.

Seizing on this crack in his facade, I pushed further. "You never gave her a chance-"

Presper's composure cracked, his voice rising with a mixture of anger and defensive justification. "She's an insolent brat! Like the rest. A-a hindsight I never took into account after I brought her and the rest of the ungrateful collaborators to my lab. I should have realized my mistakes then and maybe…"

As he trailed off, I saw my opportunity to drive the point home. "She looked up to you like a father!" I exclaimed, my words carrying the weight of truth I'd uncovered on my journey. "You locked everyone out who ever wanted to follow your vision of a permanent cure and vaccine to the radiation sickness."

I paused, letting the gravity of my next words sink in. "I know because I spoke to some of your former students that survived in Boulder Dome. And Xian… Xian has a lot to say about you."

Presper's face remained impassive, but I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. I pressed on, revealing the extent of my investigation. "I followed your trail to a big mountain and met a person named Mobius, who almost went into a Mentats and Psycho addiction for you, thinking you're a crash test dummy and never left Big Mountain after helping in your research."

At the mention of Mobius and Xian, something in Presper's demeanor shifted. His grip on the detonator tightened, his body tensing as if preparing for action. I realized I'd struck a nerve, perhaps awakening memories or guilt he'd long suppressed.

The doctor's reaction was almost frozen, his eyes locked on mine as he raised the detonator higher, anticipating that I might try to make my move.

However, the change in his expression was striking - the mask of cold determination giving way to a look of abject horror. It was as if the full weight of his three and a half decades of madness had suddenly crashed down upon him.

His eyes, once narrowed with contempt, now widened with the shock of realization. The doctor's movements were hesitant and uncertain as he carefully placed the detonator on the nearby table. Each motion seemed to cost him great effort, as if he were moving through mud. Slowly, he stepped back from the device that had moments ago been his bargaining chip, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

Presper's voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper.

"The terminal… The password is Tom… Tom Sawyer."

His words trailed off, laden with the weight of defeat and a plea for mercy.

"Just… make it stop…"

As I watched the doctor quietly look down and retreat from the terminal.

Guess the two of them don't need to hack the terminal now. Of course, I get the hardest job.

As the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by an almost eerie calm.

I stepped forward, my footsteps echoing against the cold, tiled floor. Eventually, I reached the terminal, its once secure surroundings now abandoned by Presper. Fingers tapping against the keyboard, I granted access to two individuals, anticipation building as I prepared to witness the imminent collaboration of Xian and Odysseus.

[ Welcome Doctor Victor Presper. ]

[ Shutdown connection to central B.O.M.B.-001. ]

[ Stop Payload arming sequence. ]

One final keystroke for me to press on.

[ Remove Time Sequence Activator? Y/N ]

[ Time Sequence Activator has been severed. ]

There! I found myself staring at the terminal, scanning it repeatedly to ensure that I hadn't missed anything important until I proudly said those words over the communications. "Xian… it's over… we did it." It was such a relief, and I finally got the feeling. After almost a full year of traveling up and down, left to right on the west coast to Mid-West America, I could finally take a deep breath and relax for once.

Finally.

The atmosphere in the room shifted like a weight has finally been lifted.

"I-is Xian at there?"

I nodded, anticipating his request. Without hesitation, I removed my communication earpiece and tossed it towards him. Presper fumbled to catch it, his hands shaking slightly. As he brought the device to his ear, the air was suddenly filled with no doubt Xian's angry voice, her words sharp and biting even from a distance.

"Good luck, pal. You'll need it. She still bites after all these years."

A sense of relief washed over me as I watched this exchange unfold. The crisis that had seemed so insurmountable was finally nearing its resolution.

Thank god, this whole mess is almost closing… Plus, I even got the good doctor back to his senses to fix the mess he made. Guess I'm in lady luck's grace this time around. Hope he can pay back with finding a cure after this…

After this, I could start with mediating the deteriorating relations between the NCR and the first Brotherhood of Steel. I wanted to avoid threading these types of ground, but to keep the two groups of further destroying the wasteland, so be it.

Make no mistake, it's still dirty business and an equally dirty group of people I'd rather not get involved — called themselves politicians.

Perhaps later after this diplomatic business is resolved… My mind wandered to other threats that need my attention: I should also take an even closer look at this new tribe over at the East swallowing up smaller groups. Ceasar's raiders or something they called themselves. Lord knows what could happen if they're just left to themselves with no intervention.

A part of me always had this gnawing unease settled over me each time the flag of the golden bull fluttered above another smoldering tribal settlement. Perhaps a return to Macomb was in order. The Midwest Brotherhood chapter might be willing to lend a hand, especially if the NCR and the First Bos remained preoccupied with their petty squabbles over something they might call trivial to them.

On the other hand, the Montana state chapter of the Brotherhood, whom I had come across during my search for the remains of the Skull in Wyoming, could prove to be a valuable ally.

Despite the weight of these pressing matters, a flicker of desire for respite ignited within me. The Mojave desert, with its stark beauty and relative tranquility, beckoned. A brief rest there could offer a much-needed reprieve coming out of this.

Mainly my special room of a king-sized bed at the Dusty Heart's saloon at Hoover Dam was calling for me again.

I examined the small box Presper handed to me, lifting the lid to reveal a collection of holotapes nestled inside. The sight of these compact data storage devices, each potentially holding years of valuable research, piqued my curiosity.

"These holotapes," Presper explained. "they contain my life's work. I've been keeping a close notes over the years on my travels. I'm certain you'll know how to use them, given that you're wearing my Pip-Boy."

I nodded, my fingers already working to insert the holotapes labeled "115" into the device strapped to my wrist. As I began the data transmission back to Xian, Presper continued, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of a true scientist. "You're right about that. I've already grown quite fond of this little device."

"You'll find more than just research data on those tapes," he said, leaning in conspiratorially. "I've included schematics and recipes for various inventions. Nothing too outlandish, mind you, but when you've been isolated and deemed a madman for as long as I have, your mind tends to wander into… unconventional territories. Creative, yes. Unorthodox, also that — Yes."

Presper tapped his temple, a wry smile playing on his lips. I couldn't help but wonder what sort of "unconventional" ideas I might find on those tapes.

"I have high hopes for you," Presper continued, his gaze appraising. "Your intelligence should be more than sufficient to grasp the concepts. After all, you managed to breach my vault and retrieve my Pip-Boy. That's no small feat for anyone, let alone a fellow scientist."

I kept my expression neutral. "I couldn't resist the allure of the Pip-Boy's advanced features," I admitted. "The 64-bit display and camera sensors are incredibly, especially when combined with the built-in almanacs. Worked wonders around the wild."

After our exchange, we swiftly began loading cargo onto the space shuttles bound to Earth. Presper took the remaining space inside the ship. As he stowed away his remaining belongings, he bid his farewell with a promise to rendezvous later in Shady Sands.

I made my way to my own shuttle, the one I had arrived in, which I stored some of my personal inventory during my time traversing this station. Like I was going to leave 'em — no chance.

Settling into the pilot's seat. I prepared the launch sequence to take me back to Earth.

Here's to hoping I won't land too far from the West Coast, for that matter, not at the ocean.

My hands moved towards the radio. The control panel lit up, a constellation of blinking lights and readouts that held the key to my safe return. Soon, the ship rumbled to life.

"Ground Control, Ground Control, this is Space-Cowboy. Do you read me? Over."

I held my breath, waiting for a response. The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the soft beeping of the shuttle's systems. Then, a crackle of static preceded the response, the familiar voice of Ground Control cutting through the emptiness of space.

"Space-Cowboy, this is Ground Control. We hear you loud and clear. Mission status? Over."

The tension in my shoulders eased slightly at the sound of a human voice. I couldn't help but smile as I replied, my words carrying the weight of our unexpected success.

"Mission done and done, Ground Control. But there's more — expect a second vessel inbound. Over."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I could almost feel the confusion radiating from the other end of the communication. There was a pause, longer this time, filled with an almost tangible bewilderment. Then:

"Space-Cowboy, please confirm. Did you say a second vessel? Over."

The use of my alternative call sign didn't escape my notice, a subtle indication of the gravity of the situation. I took a deep breath, steadying myself before responding.

"Affirmative, Ground Control," I responded, my voice steady despite the excitement bubbling beneath the surface. "We have a high-priority passenger returning from orbit. I repeat, a VIP is en route to the surface. Over."

As I waited for their response, I glanced out the shuttle window, watching Earth. The mission had yielded far more than I would admit I never would have anticipated. Not a single bit. It was a one-off line I thrown to Presper, and I just went with it till it finally worked.

The radio crackled to life once more, breaking the contemplative silence that had settled over the cockpit.

"Understood, Space-Cowboy. This is… unexpected. Prepare for detailed debrief upon landing. Safe travels. Heads-up, Commander Deth is expecting you in her office back at Capital after this. Ground Control out."

I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Ah, of course, they couldn't wait for me to land back first.

"Alright," Time for some shuteye. "Odysseus, I trust you'll take over control for me?" Soon one of the terminal's display flickered of a picture of a bird made out of computer numerical and symbols.

"Understood. Take a rest now. Your journey is done." Heh, I wish that's the truth. It's not done. Never done.

However, that one beautiful word I like to hear right now.

But too bad. The peace didn't last long.

I opened my eyes to be greeted by a hellish red glow engulfing the deck. A fire broke out and the machines began to burst. The rumbling intensified, growing more violent with each passing second. Instinctively, I tightened my seatbelt, the click of the buckle barely audible over the cacophony of alarms blaring throughout the shuttle.

My gaze darted to the main terminal, and my heart sank. The shuttle was plummeting at an alarming rate, far too fast for the ship's integrity to withstand. The numbers on the display flashed by in a blur, each digit a stark reminder of our rapidly diminishing altitude.

"Ground Control, this is Space-Cowboy! We have a situation here. Shuttle's entering an uncontrolled descent. Do you copy? Over!"

Static was my only reply. Either the communications were down, or we were already too far gone for them to respond.

The interior of the shuttle had become a maelstrom of chaos. Everything not bolted down was airborne, transformed into potentially lethal projectiles. I ducked my head just in time to avoid a G11 rifle that whizzed past, missing me by mere inches.

"Jesus! That was close," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the din.

But lady luck, it seemed, had other ideas. Instead of being brained by Kraut space magic, my face made a one-sided intimate encounter with a bottle of some rancid energy drink. The impact was jarring, and the contents spilled over me, filling my nostrils with a stench that made me gag.

"Urgh, this tastes even worse than irradiated water," I spluttered, spitting out the foul liquid. "Who the hell thought about selling this stuff before the bombs?"

While I was more angered at the mess of a bad-tasting excuse for a beverage that didn't justify being so rare to find only in a single state, Odysseus, the shuttle's A.I., deployed the parachutes in a last-ditch effort to slow our descent.

For a brief moment, hope flared in my chest. Then, just as quickly, it was extinguished along with the parachutes, which ignited in the intense heat of our re-entry.

"Odysseus! What the hell is happening! Do something!" I shouted, desperately searching for options.

The A.I's voice was calm, contrasted starkly with the situation. "We've taking in speed far exceeded the shuttle's capabilities. Parachute deployment failed. Hull integrity at thirty-seven percent and dropping. Estimated time to impact: ninety seconds."

Ninety seconds!?

Ninety seconds.

That's all I have?

All that is left?

The words echoed in my mind, each repetition hammering home the gravity of our situation.

How was I supposed to fix this?

My eyes darted frantically around the cockpit, searching for something, anything, that might help me. But as the seconds ticked away, the truth became painfully clear. I couldn't. There was just no logical way I could salvage this situation.

My breath caught in my throat as I took it all in. The realization hit me harder than any physical impact could: I was going to die here. No matter what I did — or could even attempt — this was it.

The finality of it was overwhelming. The weight that pressed down on me was heavier than the g-forces of our descent.

No amount of my experience in [INTELLIGENCE] or [REPAIR] could stop me from turning into Joshua Graham, but actually dead, or a fine pink paste deep inside a crater. All my training, all my experience, all the close calls I'd survived in the wasteland - none of it mattered now. In the face of this unstoppable fall, I was as helpless as a radroach in a deathclaw's matriarch in looking for food for its young.

I… felt afraid.

The emotion washed over me, unfamiliar and unwelcome. For the first time in years, my heart just began to pound like it was trying to jump from this sinking ship, not from fatigue, but from fear. It was a primal sensation, one I thought I'd left behind in the harsh lessons of the wasteland. But here, facing the void and my own mortality, it returned with a vengeance.

The shuttle continued its relentless descent; the vibrations intensifying with each passing moment. Warning lights flashed across the console, a symphony of impending doom. Outside the viewport, the ground grew larger, details becoming clearer as we hurtled towards it.

In these final moments, memories flashed through my mind - faces of those I'd leave behind, quest unaccomplished and people I wanted taken care of when I go. Seems some of them just have to live with it.

"Ground Control, if you can hear this," I spoke into the comm as I turned to my Pip-Boy after the terminal erupted in flames, my voice steadier than I felt. The green glow of my Pip-Boy cast an eerie light across the chaotic cockpit, a stark contrast to the red warning lights flashing all around.

I paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "Well, this is it. I know you guys were waiting for me to get back down there…" My voice trailed off as I watched a small piece of the hull peel away, revealing the fiery atmosphere outside. "But I… I guess there's a change of plans."

The shuttle lurched violently, and I gripped the armrest tighter. "Me? My road ends here… The space shuttle is burning up and I don't think I can do anything about it with the parachute turned to ashes."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I knew would be my final words. "Take this as my goodbye."

My mind raced through faces and memories, and I found myself addressing each of my companions, my voice growing thick with emotion.

"And Joshua, don't be hard on yourself, learn to not make people run you out of town every time you enter and remember to feed Dogmeat the free-range brahmins. He always loves those."

A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought of the loyal canine. "Arcade, thanks for the help with those Arch gizmos. Tell Cassidy and his missus congratulations for the kid when you go to back to Texas."

The shuttle shuddered again, reminding me of the precious little time I had left. "Xian, loosen up, will ya? Just keep an eye on the doc. He probably won't go crazy again, but chat with him from time to time, okay?"

A chuckle escaped me despite the dire situation. "Jericho, you son of a bitch, you still owe me fifty caps from that caravan game — Keep it."

My voice softened as I addressed the last person. "For Kurisu, I hope you find peace with your tribe. Your brother will always welcome you back regardless of what happened."

"Fifty-five seconds," the A.I's emotionless voice interjected, shattering the momentary connection I'd felt to my far-off friends.

I sighed, resignation settling over me. "Oh fuck… Welp, that's that. I don't have much time," I said, my words coming faster now. "Tell everyone I'll be waiting on the other side, maybe make sure the coast is clear for when you folks follow me beyond this place; Eventually."

The ground was visible now, rushing up to meet us at an alarming speed. "Good luck out there to anyone listening and we'll see one another eventually. This is Thirteen, signing out."

As I finished speaking, I closed my eyes, thoughts racing through memories of my life, of the wasteland, of the travels that had brought me here. In these final moments, I found myself hoping that somehow, someway, the data we'd recovered would make it back to Earth. That even if I didn't survive, our mission would.

The heat inside the shuttle was becoming unbearable, and the cacophony of alarms and creaking metal filled my ears. Yet, as the end approached, a strange sense of peace washed over me. I'd said my goodbyes, made my peace. Whatever came next, I was ready to face it.

Maybe the folks back home could get something good out of this if they could, regardless of what happens to me.

Fuck it., I thought. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die how I like it. Happy.

I reached for the worn rucksack hanging on the back of my chair, the fabric rough against my fingertips. With a firm grip, I untied the knot and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. The sound of the cap popping echoed in the room as I eagerly twisted it open with my rigid fingers and had a small trouble to bend for a moment.

Without hesitation, I tilted the bottle back and drank the sucker empty in a couple of swigs. Well, that's me happy.

This was it. The light from the window was bright too bright. All shined in by a white light.

Well, I had a good run.

I just wished I could have done some things differently in my life.

Time to face the big man in front of the pearly gates.

As the countdown in my head reached its final seconds, I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact that would end it all. In that moment, suspended between life and death, I found myself hoping that somehow, some part of our mission, of me, would survive this fall.

That something good might come after this.

The last thing I heard before impact was the A.I.'s final words: "Brace for impact in Three… Two… One…"

Then everything went dark.

---

Everything felt off…

The world around me had been a stark, colorless expanse. Everything was white, an endless void stretching in all directions. No shapes emerged from this blank space — no shadows or highlights to provide depth or dimension.

The absence of color was absolute, and even more absolute that it send me insane inside my mind to grasp for any semblance of familiarity in this colorless hell. The constant mental strain or the silence is pushing me to the edge of insanity.

I squinted my eyes, desperately seeking any sign that might look different from the endless white expanse before me. My efforts proved to point me to nowhere. The boundless void I found myself in remained unchanged, clouding my senses and leaving me to question whether my sight had faltered or if I had somehow arrived at the other-side.

At last, I had reached the last destination of my mortal existence.

I think I heard a religion called this purgatory. Something about between heaven or hell — I must be in between. Just nothing.

I never once one to believe such religions, but I will admit, I'm reconsidering now.

The funniest thing about all of this, I can't even remember anything before. Just as I arrived here and everything went dark. Unconscious for an unknown amount of time, I lay on what appears to be solid ground in this place, unable to recall any details.

I scanned the featureless white expanse, unable to discern any landmark or direction. Despite the disorienting void, I made a decision and I am going to stand by it to move forward in a single direction.

There was this uncertainty gnawed at me, my destination unknown, but I reasoned it was far better than succumbing back to idleness by laying back down.

With determination, I took my first tentative step. Each movement felt like wading through an invisible resistance, yet I pressed on.

My mind grappled with the surreal nature of all of this, now finally no longer just focusing on my numb body for so long. I wonder if any of my attempts won't be in vain. Can I escape this hell at all?

But I clung to the small comfort that motion, any motion, was preferable to lying down and surrendering to the nothingness.

I stood back on my feet, disregarding the numbing pain around my body.

I found checking myself on the first step to find out what happened, to reassure my senses that I was still real, still present in this strange and silent world. My fingers traced the familiar contours of my attire - a black trench coat that hung heavily from my shoulders.

Beneath the coat, I wore a two-piece suit. Okay, I must be some hot shot or a man of taste.

As my hands roamed over my clothing, they encountered something unexpected. Hm, there's a strange device, I realized, my fingers closing around an elongated metal object that fits snugly in one of my coat's inner pockets. Curiosity piqued, I withdrew it, turning it over in my hands as I examined it more closely.

The device was sleek and unfamiliar, its purpose eludes me. It was roughly the size and shape of a large television remote — a bit larger actually — but far more sophisticated in appearance. The casing was made of a lightweight yet sturdy metal, cool to the touch and resistant to scratches. Along one edge, I noticed a series of small ports and connectors, their purpose as enigmatic as the rest of the device.

When I opened it, I discovered a set of keys arrayed beneath a small monitor. The keys were arranged in a layout similar to…

A computer keyboard.

So, a compact computer this is.

The monitor, though currently dark, appeared to be a high-resolution display, its surface slightly curved and protected by a layer of what seemed to be extremely durable glass or plastic.

Eager to see if it works, I attempted to activate the device. My fingers tapped across the keys, pressing them in various combinations, hoping to activate some response from the silent machine.

But too bad, I thought with a sigh of disappointment, on trying to make it work - looks like it's useless.

The screen remained dark.

I turned it over once more, searching for any markings or indicators that might shed light on its purpose, but found nothing beyond a small serial number etched into the base, its sequence of letters and numbers meaningless to me.

With a mixture of frustration and resignation, I slipped the device back into my pocket.

But a found cracked sunglasses on the one inside my pocket. Just for a peek, I could see my face on the reflection.

For God's sake, I am one ugly mug to look at.

Well, that's a bust…

Just where the hell am I?

A long while I have been travelling in a straight line. I might just maybe reach something by the end if I kept going straight.

But for the love of anything still holy, how long have I been here? The question echoed in my mind, a maddening refrain that offered no solace. Everything has been white. A nothingness that stretched in every direction. No matter where I turned or how far my legs carried me, it has always been this damn void.

The monotony was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity. Each step felt like an exercise in futility, a cosmic joke played at my expense.

It was as if I was walking on a cloud, except clouds had the decency to at least look solid for me to not feel vertigo when looking down.

Time had lost all meaning in this place. Hours, days, weeks - who could tell? The concept of time seemed as abstract when nothing changes. My mind, desperate for stimulation, began to play tricks on me. Shadows that weren't there, sounds that couldn't exist in this vacuum of reality. Or there were the whispers that nudge my ears to look over my shoulder where there are none behind me.

I found myself ache for something, anything, to break the silence. Pirated ad board for the latest BD. A stray of gunfire headed towards me. Hell, even a hole would be a welcome change from this repetitive hell.

But no, the void seemed content to mock me with its emptiness, as if challenging me to actually find meaning in its blank canvas.

Hold on…

My cynical musings that stayed to accompany me here came to an abrupt halt as something caught my eye.

There's someone!

The sight was so unexpected, so out of place in this barren place, that for a moment I wondered if my mind had finally snapped, conjuring hallucinations to ease my solitude.

But no, the figure remained, a dark smudge against the white backdrop. Hope, that traitorous emotion, surged through me, propelling me forward with renewed vigor. I drag my legs to reach them, each step a spent much effort against the lethargy that had settled into my bones.

As the distance between us slowly closed, my feet became too heavy, leaden weights that refused to cooperate. Undeterred, I resorted to dragging my legs, leaving faint trails in the featureless ground that disappeared almost as quickly as they formed.

Finally, within earshot of the figure, I mustered what little energy I had left. "Hey, pal," I called out, my voice rough from disuse. I force to raise my hand in a wave, the simple gesture requiring far more effort than it should. "Don't mean no harm. I'm lost in this place like you."

The words felt inadequate, a gross understatement of my predicament. Lost didn't begin to cover the existential nightmare of this void. But what else could I say? Lighten the mood — while being trapped in this place?

As I waited for a response, a part of me braced for disappointment. After all, in a place like this, where nothing made sense and everything was an illusion, who was to say this encounter would be any different?

Nothing, most likely. I wasn't paying top for shelf for pleasantry when the situation is almost hopeless.

Slowly, the person turned to face me. The movement seemed to stretch on for an eternity in this void. In fact, it was a guy.

Huh, it looked like an old man. The thought barely had time to form before another, more absurd one took its place. A time traveler with the outfit the person was wearing — that's a joke. But even as I dismissed the notion, I couldn't help but marvel at the anachronistic sight before me.

The man did indeed wear a leather jacket and hat like a cowboy, his attire a stark contrast to the featureless void surrounding us. The jacket was well worn, its rich brown leather creased and weathered by years of use.

Atop his head sat a classic picture of a cowboy hat, its wide brim casting a shadow over his face. The hat was a deep, dusty tan; just the cliché, and just everything about screamed stereotype about this person.

His face, partially obscured by the hat's brim, was a roadmap of wrinkles and age spots. A white beard covered his jaws.

His eyes looked tired, jaded, and somewhat frantic. He stared towards me like I just threatened the guy with a weapon — well; I didn't.

Either he was from the past or he came out of a western movie filming. The thought was ridiculous, of course.

As I stood there, taking in every detail of this whole encounter. I can't help but think if this was my mind playing tricks on me — surely, this stereotype of a cowboy looking towards me wasn't actually real.

"But I… No… How?" the cowboy's voice stammered, his words trailing off as I returned my attention to this Clint Eastwood wannabe.

The surreal nature of our encounter in this endless void took an even more bizarre turn as I watched him draw his revolver from beneath his leather coat by his hip.

The movement was executed with such speed that I barely could catch up, my eyes struggling to follow the fluid motion. It was as if time itself had accelerated for him while I remained trapped in slow motion. The glint of metal caught what little light existed in this featureless expanse, the barrel of the revolver emerging from its hidden holster like a snake uncoiling.

In that split second, instinct took over. I reached out for my 'Lucia' Electrical Laser Hand-Cannon in response, my hand moving almost of its own accord. I panicked at the sudden speed of the man that I almost pulled the trigger at him.

But something I didn't expect happened next.

His scream filled my ears. "Argh!"

The sudden outcry shattered the eerie silence of the void, causing me to flinch involuntarily. I was taken aback, my finger frozen on the trigger of my own weapon as I tried to process what was unfolding before me.

It was a short scream by the cowboy, yet it sounded like it was being played over and over, like a song on a loop. Five — no, seven seconds of agonized, pained screams repeated endlessly as I idly stand and watch.

I watched in shock as the cowboy's head began to go red. It wasn't a gradual change, but a sudden shift, as if someone had flipped a switch. The crimson hue spread across his face, a stark contrast to his weathered skin and the endless white surrounding us.

His drawn gun, which had been aimed squarely at me, soon began its painful ascent. The barrel of the revolver moved slowly, inexorably upward, as if guided by an invisible hand. I stood frozen, unable to look away as the weapon traced its arc towards the cowboy's own head.

Time seemed to slow even further as I realized what was about to happen. I wanted to move, to shout, to do something - anything - to stop what I knew was coming. But I remained rooted to the spot, a helpless spectator to this macabre spectacle.

With a final, jerky movement, the cowboy pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was lost in the endless loop of his scream, but I saw the flash, the puff of smoke, the violent jerk of his body as the bullet found its mark.

In that moment, as I witnessed someone offing themselves, I felt the fragile grasp I had on reality begin to slip. The white void, the cowboy, the echoing scream - it all swirled together in a nightmarish cocktail that defied explanation. I stood there, my own weapon forgotten in my hand, as the implications of what I had just seen began to sink in.

"Hng… Ah… What the hell… " Well, I can't waste time. I walked over to him and crouched to get something worth from this stiff. Avoiding the spilled blood and brain matter. Huh, funny little toy he has on his wrist.

Might as well take it from him. Not like he'll need it.

"Hey! Hey!" That voice… It couldn't be. "Over here!" I froze at that familiar voice. It was coming from behind me.

Despite the discomfort, I slowly turned towards the voice.

"I'm friendly! I… stuck here too."

Impossible, he just died before me. What the hell is actually happening?

"How… a g-gonk like you could…?" A weak groan from my mouth. Without a flicker of emotion crossing my face, the man abruptly raised his revolver. He pushed the weapon towards me before everything grew black.

---

"What the fuck?"

I slowly walked over to what was left of the person. Mister rich here might have something for me at least. His death ain't all in vain.

Oh well, his loss is mine now.

I never met you that long, but I left him a small message as I began to loot his pockets and even the clothes he wore. "Don't worry… I don't blame you." For taking the easy way out. Suppose I'm strong enough to not do the same.

Huh… he had implants…

After getting everything I can, I continued off. Maybe I'll find something eventually to get out of here.

...

As the lone cowboy continued drifting towards the vast expanse of white void, the body he had abandoned started emitting a gentle, ethereal glow.

Gradually, it began to fade away, dematerializing into thin air. A soft, mesmerizing light radiated from its vanishing form, silently trailing the drifter. With a subtle touch, it stealthily embedded itself within the man, slipping through the back of his head. All without notice.

---

A/N: Hello everyone! Back at it again with a rewrite.

I know it's sad that I had to toss the original, but again, it's hard when my original drafts and ideas were dumped and I was basically demotivated but kept being in denial about it until after my finals, I decided to rewrite this story.

Now, with a new twist that I was going to plan originally as a small idea that I liked to add to the story now.

I'm sure you all caught on to the new addition.

Also, big thanks to those who stuck around - even more to the ones leaving reviews and personal message to me. You have no idea how much they help.