General Culleolus didn't like this at all; he hated the fact that The first Legion had gone through the gate while his own personal Legion had to remain on this side. Ever since the mystics had reported that the time was right and the gates would open, untold riches and slaves would be promised, a man at the very edge of his prime was forced to guard the gateway between this world and the other.
"Gods damn it," he cursed as his wine goblet fell from the makeshift chair that he had taken for himself. He sat in the perfect position to look at the gate, with the rest of his own personal Legion and makeshift camps that mostly consisted of tents made of tough cloth.
One of the legionnaires approached their general, announcing his presence as he pulled a scroll from his satchel and handed it to his respective general, "General Culleolus."
Snatching the scroll from his soldier, the general read its contents and let out a frustrated growl as he tossed the scroll to the side, onto the wine-stained ground. "That damn bastard in the capital wants us to continue staying here, that more forces will be deployed soon, along with the various surrounding lords bringing their supplies and women to help ease the burden of the men here," he said, summarizing the contents of the scroll in his own words.
The women in question were mostly just slaves, bought and sold from various slavers. As for the supplies, they were likely requisitioned from the locals after being threatened by the point of a sword, or forced to give up what they had in order to save themselves for future winters. These facts didn't truly bother him too much. Why should they? The strong should rule over the weak. And if any of those villagers were strong enough to survive winter, then they deserved to become part of his Legion. There, he could have true soldiers who were not weakened or feeble.
If the women proved to be hardy enough as well, why not take a few amongst the legion to sire good, strong sons and fertile daughters? They could be carted off to various other legions that could use some good breeding stock.
While the general was thinking of this, he couldn't help but notice the odd noises coming from the gate, causing him to stand up from his chair and immediately reach for his Gladius. "Now what was going on?" he asked, directing his question to no one in particular, but mostly to the situation itself. For 3 months, he had heard nothing coming from the gate, and now, with the first sign of activity since the first Legion had entered, he could hear sounds that almost seemed similar to those of crows.
Not just the general was pondering these odd sounds that were coming from the depths of the gate, as the crow-like sounds began to increase, along with the fluttering sound of wings. Within moments, everyone could hear the almost hundreds of murders of crows, and they emerged as a large cloud of winged creatures, fluttering about out of the gate like one big cloud, frightening many of the men who had seen this unbelievable spectacle. These tens, if not thousands, of crows were flying within this giant swarm of them. Once the last number of crows had entered the large cloud that they had formed, they immediately began to disperse, flying in all directions. All except for one, which started flying around over the encampment. After half an hour of flight, the crow had landed within the nearby encampment.
"By the Gods, what is that thing?" one of the soldiers in the camp swore, as he saw the crow being twice the size of a normal crow. He and a few other Sadera soldiers had noticed that the crow had metallic red eyes - six of them, three on one side and three on the other, with the middle one being the largest, while the others seemed to extend and shrink into its skull.
The spy synth Crow was already sending data through the Gateway as it let out a mechanical caw, extending its wings and taking to the sky. A few soldiers began firing arrows at it, but it was unaffected, as one stray arrow hit it and bounced off its reinforced body. It continued to fly higher and higher, until it was at a good distance to watch and survey the field.
Scrambling around, the general began readying his army for battle, as Culleolus did not consider the large cloud of crows to be a good sign. From the few reports he had received, the crow that had entered the camp wasn't normal - it was more or less a demon crow, according to all accounts. He made sure to keep such reports from spreading too far within the legion, lest his men consider abandoning their posts in fear that demons might appear. Within 30 minutes, his army was in the perfect Crescent Shield formation at the opening of the gate, with spears at the ready and his own sword drawn.
"Remember, men, we are the Empire of humanity. Anything that comes out is less than human, even if they appear as human. Make no mistake, anything beyond the gate is barbaric, savage, and not of us. Treat them as you would treat any beast that has entered your home uninvited," Culleolus said, delivering a brief but rousing speech as he readied himself for what could possibly come through the gate.
The gate had remained largely silent, with nothing coming through besides a strange smell that would be caught by the wind on the opposite side of the gate, wafting through and making many of the men remember what rot smelled like, as if the world on the other side of the gate was a world of ruin of some kind. Others claimed that they could taste metal in the air. Those who had had the misfortune of standing near or even taking a step within the gate, not enough to pass through it but just enough to get a full taste of the air, began to fall ill and started losing their hair and bleeding from the anus.
A new sound began to emerge from the gate, a roar of some kind, causing everyone to tighten their grips on their spears. As they peered into the gate, they could see a flame within, half-expecting some sort of dragon to emerge. Instead, they saw what looked like an arrow being propelled by flames, flying through the gateway and up into the air before bursting into white smoke. Following this, a few other arrow-shaped objects did similar, each one soaring through the air and then exploding into white smoke. At the end, there were at least five destroyed arrows raining down smoke.
One of the soldiers had a bit of the white smoke pass through his helmeted head for a brief moment, and the others immediately watched in horror as he threw off his helmet and began clutching at his throat, his face turning red and eyes almost bulging out. The legionnaire dropped down to the ground, foaming at the mouth and scratching at the skin on his throat as if he was trying to remove whatever was strangling him, before finally succumbing to death. A few more suffered the same fate, before the men began to panic and tried to step away from the poisonous cloud that was slowly surrounding them.
Realizing the danger to his own men and himself, General Culleolus ordered a retreat from the gate, joining his men in running away from their current position as the white cloud continued to descend, obscuring the gateway completely, along with the bodies of the fallen who were the first victims of this odd poisonous smoke.
"What cowardly tactic is this? Sending out poisonous smoke and attempting to kill us? Don't the fools realize this stuff could kill them just as easily as it could kill us?" Culleolus questioned, finding this type of tactic idiotic. Then again, there wasn't much wind blowing into the gate, rather, whatever strong wind was coming from the gate made the cloud as dense as it was float towards the camp, which prompted him to immediately order everyone to evacuate and reform behind a new protective line that was the furthest from the gate and almost down the hill.
The white smoke that had surrounded the gateway began to let up, revealing a large force clad in large armor, followed by men dressed in black uniforms, helmets, and masks with glowing red eyes that were the same as the heavy armored wearing monsters.
"The cowards now show and the cloud clears! Go forth, my Legion, slay the enemy for the Empire!" Culleolus bellowed out, as his men began to charge with sword and spirit in hand towards the enemy, while others slowly approached with the shield wall formation that they had formed.
Those in power armor formed a protective line and took aim with their new Gatling plasma weapons. After a few seconds of charging, they began unleashing purple plasma that started to mow down the first wave of enemies that were in a charge, while also gunning down the shield wall formation. The sheets of metal used as protection stood very little chance against the superheated plasma, which reduced it to molten slag. Those who weren't behind shields felt the devastating effects when plasma penetrated through the thin layer of armor and into flesh, as their bodies literally exploded in the immediate area of contact.
"They're using magic, terrible blasphemous magic," one soldier cried out, before dropping his sword and shield and running off. He wasn't alone, as a few others began to abandon the line against the frightening demons that had emerged from the gate.
Culleolus couldn't believe what he was witnessing - his men getting killed before even making contact with the enemy. First, they died from the cowardly attack when the enemy sent out their poisonous smoke, and second, they were being attacked from afar. By the looks of their armor, it seemed strong enough to withstand most blows, but he would be damned to run back to the Capitol with his tail between his legs - not until he had drawn blood. That's why he kept on ducking between the piles of bodies that were beginning to stack up from the few men who had refused to retreat, just as he had refused. Yet, he couldn't help but smell the sizzling scent of human flesh and burning bones. Once he was close enough to one armored warrior that seemed to be advancing with others, he took his gladius and ran up to the one who was busy mowing down his men from the side, attempting to blindside them. He let out a war cry as he lifted up his sword to jam it in between the helmet and shoulder armor.
The Paladin heard the war cry and his own instinctive reaction was swift, grabbing hold of the arm that held the blade and slowly looking at Culleolus through their X01 power armor helmet, with its crimson eyes glowing menacingly. "Stupid primitive," he spoke in the English language, before bending the arm to the point that he could hear the bone snap. With a ruthless motion, he jammed the sword into and down the throat of Culleolus, who had thought they could sneak up and kill the Paladin.
He felt his own blade being jammed down his throat and into his chest, and when he was let go, he fell onto his back, spitting and gurgling blood. His head was leaned back, and everything was upside down as he watched more of the armored demons trample past him. Not just the armored demons, but also less armored forces dressed in black, marched by, their footsteps echoing in his fading consciousness. He didn't know how long he remained conscious before the darkness in the corner of his eyes began to take hold, and he felt the cold sensation of death welcoming him into the realm of Emroy.
an hour later
Preston Garvey wore his standard Minutemen uniform, which was slightly modified to include armor similar to that of the riot gear worn by all Minutemen shock troopers. The armor was mostly made of Kevlar material, designed to prevent stabbing, and incorporated specialized lightweight alloys to prevent gunfire, as well as a special wiring resin to absorb most energy-based weapon attacks. As he looked out over the battlefield, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the amount of carnage that had been inflicted. He knew that the enemy was primitive, but it still didn't sit well with him that they hadn't even lasted more than a few seconds against their advanced technology. Nevertheless, this was the order of his general - or rather, the man who liked to style himself as Emperor of the Commonwealth, a title that many had already acknowledged him as, including the various settlements who seemed to enjoy having someone strong looking after them.
"Lieutenant General Garvey, we have rounded up the remaining forces; the rest have fled," a random Minuteman shock Trooper Captain reported while saluting his superior officer.
Looking through the red optical vision of his airtight helmet at Captain , he gave a nod. "Have you already ordered the collection of the dead to send back through the gate? Those who are more intact, of course, and the rest incinerated," he questioned, knowing the procedure that had been drafted by his general and ruler of the Commonwealth. He glanced in the general direction of first and second-generation synths putting the bodies into mobile carts that were being dragged by other machinery back through the gate, while prisoners were also being escorted back through the gate at gunpoint.
"Yes, we are in the process of digging a large ditch and will begin the incineration process. The skeletal remains will be harvested for fertilizer," the captain recited what was the game plan for all those in senior command to order the various forces to do while they fortified this position.
Preston gave a nod acknowledgment of the current procedure regarding the enemy, their dead, and the prisoners. Another thing he didn't like, besides dealing with the Institute, was the plans his general had for the prisoners and the dead. But Preston couldn't argue the fact that the Commonwealth was much safer now after Nate assumed control. Hell, the population of the Commonwealth was starting to grow, thanks to people traveling from whatever rundown settlement or state they were barely scraping by in, just to come to the Commonwealth to enjoy the security and peace. The Commonwealth citizens enjoyed this; sure, all of them had temporary residency until they got a job or joined the military for a 10-year stint in service before being granted full citizenship—a citizenship that could be extended to their families and an upgrade from temporary residence to extended residency.
Bringing himself back from what he had remembered over the last three months about how rapidly the Commonwealth changed, Preston looked up at the blue sky. Thanks to the large amount of radiation in their world, the sky was discolored and almost seemed lifeless, but this sky was as blue as Vault-Tec jumpsuits. There were even clouds that didn't look like they were carrying a great deal of acidic rain.
Ignoring caution, he began to unseal his helmet, hearing the positive pressure sound as his helmet hissed when he took off the part that protected his skull and removed the mask. He looked at the greenery everywhere and breathed in the fresh air—air that felt much gentler compared to the heavy air of the Commonwealth. Preston felt almost euphoric for a brief moment, taking in so much clean air that he had to remember to exhale to allow in more air. After a few moments, he acclimated, but still, the relaxing sensation in his lungs felt as if he were born anew.
In a similar fashion, the shock trooper removed his own helm, revealing a shaved head and cleanly shaven face. The man let out a cough, as he was ill-prepared for breathing in such clean air. "Is this what it feels like to breathe air before the bombs? God, this feels too easy just to breathe," he gasped a few times, drinking in the sensation of the clean air causing his lungs to inflate to their full capacity before letting out a relieving breath.
Going on down onto one knee, he began touching the clean, unradiated earth. He pulled up some grass and soil and brought it to his nose to breathe in its scent. Before Preston became a Minuteman, he was the son of a farmer who lived just on the outskirts of the Commonwealth. One thing his father taught him was how to know if the soil was still viable. His father, being a man who seemed well-traveled, did the same thing as he was doing now: he kneeled to the ground, pulled out a piece of earth, sniffed it, and even tasted it, just as Preston was doing. He could taste no metallic tang in the soil, nor did he smell anything but fresh, living, fertile soil. The little hole he made revealed a small worm that was mildly inconvenient for a brief moment before it burrowed back into the ground.
"Oh, Nate, once the men rotate back through the gate, rumors are going to spread about how fertile the soil is here. Every citizen of the Commonwealth who knows how to farm will be begging to come here," he murmured to himself before carefully and gently putting the patch of dirt and grass back into the same spot. He lightly padded it with his gloved hands and muttered some words of apology to the ground for desecrating it with his less-than-gentle hands.
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The Senate Hall was a place where many voices could be heard, but at present, the voices speaking out were mostly filled with anger, shouting primarily between two factions that had only recently begun to form: the Doves and the Warhawks.
"Are you saying Alnus Hill is currently being occupied by this unknown savage enemy? Why did the Imperial Army not stop them?" a well-armored senator slammed his fist onto his golden throne-like chair.
Many others from his group murmured words of agreement, but quietly amongst themselves. The representative of the Doves faction stepped forward—a man wearing white robes with brown hair and pale skin who looked to be in his mid-twenties, showing the slight signs of a beard. "How can they repel them? From my own reports, those who managed to flee speak of metal monsters that shoot devastating purple lightning, eviscerating and burning anything they touch. Worse than that, those who got close to the enemy found their armor impregnable to sword or spear. Would you want what's left of the Imperial Army guarding the gate to be completely decimated without warning us about this, eh?" the senator shot back.
"Impenetrable, my ass! They're probably just utilizing mages and golems. I think we need to go to that city-state, Rondel. They have a large mage population; we can use them to bolster our forces as we try to retake the hill, possibly even capture the enemy and make them our vessels," the same senator argued from his chair. Just like before, many of the Warhawk faction agreed.
This continued back and forth while the emperor simply watched from his throne. He didn't know whether to find it truly amusing to see those who were his actual enemies fighting amongst themselves in this setting or to be concerned about the enemy waiting on his front lawn, whom he had yet to see but only heard reports about—reports that were slightly embellished, or so he assumed. He didn't believe half of the reports spoken by his own little band of spies, who were among the generals and commanders he didn't trust. He had already set up plans to either have them removed or transferred to somewhere they would most likely perish, either from boredom or at the hands of the locals they were supposed to safeguard.
Getting up from his throne, Emperor Molt silenced every one by this single action alone, as all attention shifted to him. "As dire as the situation seems for the Empire, regardless of the enemy arriving through the gate, make no mistake: we will take back that hill and march our forces beyond the gate to seize all that shines and glimmers beyond, just as we have always done. But we shall use the vassal kingdoms that swore allegiance to us." He paused for a moment, looking between the two groups—the Doves and the Warhawks. Those who wanted peace seemed to be placated a bit, while those who wanted to fight the enemy appeared disappointed that they wouldn't be allowed to mobilize their legions. He would have gladly allowed it if it weren't for the fact that two of the largest legions had already been destroyed. He needed to allow the Royal Army to rebuild and swell with numbers before he would permit that to happen, just in case any more demi-human rebellions arose or the elves and dwarves formed a joint collaboration to try to reclaim the territories his Empire had taken centuries ago. "If we are all in agreement on this, then let us take back Alnus Hill," he declared passionately, pumping his fist in the air. Many of his Warhawk senators let out their own raucous war roars and approval, despite many of them not yet having seen the enemy.
Meanwhile, the spokesperson for the Doves returned to his senatorial seat and began talking amongst his Confederates.
"This is going to end just as badly as the legion that was sent to guard the gate. There's no telling what happened to the other legion that went through it," one senator whispered to another.
"Some spies who managed to glimpse the aftermath of the battle said they were forcing the prisoners through the gate and taking the dead. None were spared except for those too mangled. Could they be practicing necromancy or worse?" another senator spoke. The conversation continued within the Dove section of the Senate, with possibilities and theories going back and forth, which worried the spokesperson. It was bad enough to have the thoughts of what might be happening to their Saderan soldiers being taken beyond the gate.
He could only hope that whatever was happening was at least painless and quick.
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Standing on his own balcony, Nate surveyed the Boston City area, which was once in ruins but now, to an extent, was in a state of repair. The buildings that were still structurally sound, despite 200 years of neglect, were being reinforced and cleaned up by the mechanical synths working around the clock. Thanks to Strong, who acted like an overlord with a few dozen clans of mutants to lord over, the super mutants were no longer causing problems. He had sent them off to explore the West for some time, hoping to find more bands of mutants willing to join his Empire or to eliminate rival clans before they became a threat. Before they left, Strong, Preston, and he had conducted a massive search-and-destroy mission to eliminate any creatures that could threaten his citizens, from radscorpions to deathclaws. Everything outside of the glowing sea was exterminated; the only things that remained were the local wildlife and insects, which were still somewhat manageable.
As he looked over the city that was starting to come alive again, he was reminded of the efforts he had made to secure this land. He pulled himself away from the balcony and headed into his expansive office, which had several monitors on the nearby wall displaying different places of interest. Surprisingly, most of those places were focused on the gate that had appeared at the airport.
Ever since the gate had appeared, the former Institute, now known as the C.C.T. (Commonwealth Center of Technology), had scanned and conducted various analyses of the structure and its composition. From what they could gather, it was like any other stone structure made of fine marble, with unknown crystals lining it that could not be appropriately identified. Everything about it seemed natural and normal, but it was only upon entering the gate that specialized energy detectors picked up unusual energies that were not nuclear in nature, but rather something close to quantum. This was especially true at the midpoint or the "point x" section of the gateway, which emitted all sorts of strange readings and particles.
Nate had tried to read as much of that report as he could before passing it on to someone else for further analysis. His desk was filled with a hefty sum of paperwork, and he couldn't help but decide to endure the terrible grind that any leader had to face: bureaucracy. Walking around his desk, he sat down in his fine leather chair, the leather having been removed from a deathclaw he had killed himself to test out his newfound strength. This act had worried those close to him, as it was both bold and foolish, but for Strong, the mutant had laughed for weeks on end, bragging to the other super mutants about Nate's strength.
"Well, let's get started," he said to himself while grabbing hold of the inkwell pen. He glanced over at a picture frame that contained the last photo he had kept on his person when he entered Vault 111. Even after he was forced to give up his original clothes to wear the jumpsuit, he had managed to keep his wallet, which contained a few precious photos. The one in the frame was of his beloved wife, Nora, and their son, Shaun. It was taken after she had given birth, her hair a messy dishevel, with their firstborn son still pink from birth, swaddled and held close. He could still remember how she hated that photo for how unkempt she looked, but it always brought a smile to her face, reminding her of those few moments after the intense labor she had undergone to bring their beautiful child into the world. Those memories helped fill the emptiness he felt in their absence and served as a powerful motivator to continue his work.
Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he returned his focus to the paperwork at hand, beginning the long, tedious process of reviewing requests, reports, scheduling, and other matters requiring his attention, including a few requests for permits and other administrative tasks. "How did Napoleon deal with this?" he questioned to himself as he continued with his work until he had completed a significant portion of the paperwork.
The double doors to his office opened, and Piper, wearing her usual outfit, stepped in. She looked around the impressive office and let out a low whistle. "Little blue scored himself a big office. Never thought you would make it all the way to the top, especially being on top of a refurbished skyscraper," she playfully quipped as she walked over to the first edition of the Imperial Gazette.
Nate paid no mind to the teasing remarks that Piper had made as he looked over the first national publication. With a combination of the advanced technology from the Institute and some other equipment, Piper's little printing press was now automated, and she had received a larger facility to conduct her editorial work, along with many more people to help gather the latest scoops and feed them straight to the designated head of the Imperial Gazette news media. "Your finest work yet, even if it is your first on behalf of the Empire," he praised, glancing over the first column, which mostly discussed the debut of The Gazette, thanks to him, the emperor of the Commonwealth. The article featured a picture of him off to the side in his black and gray uniform, possibly taken when he was giving a speech to the trainees.
Turning to another set of pages, he noticed numerous advertisements for the new businesses that were starting to open up. There was even a column for those looking for work, and beyond that, a section for word puzzles—something he knew Piper didn't have the knack for constructing. He doubted that most people in the Commonwealth had the skills to think outside the box for some of the words being hinted at.
"Thank you! Besides your praises, I do enjoy caps or Imperial notes," Piper smirked as she extended her hand, expecting payment for this little piece she had crafted.
Feigning annoyance, he grumbled as he opened his drawer and pulled out an Imperial note. It was just a recycled piece of cotton from Old World money that had been cleaned up and redesigned to represent his Empire's currency. It was backed by caps, making it easier for exchange within the Commonwealth.
With the Imperial note in her hand, she inspected it, even letting the sunlight shine through to see the watermarks on the bill. "Yep, it's real. Can't be too careful; new money like this might end up with a lot of counterfeits," she said with a smirk, stuffing the denomination note into her pocket.
"Don't tell me you're going to check every time I give you money. If it's coming from me, it's always going to be real," Nate tried to sound annoyed, but he found her antics just as amusing as Strong's or the few other companions he had befriended in such a short span of time since emerging from Vault 111.
~
She gave him a playful grin as if to tell him that she was planning on doing this every time he paid her. " I don't know blue you have to have someone who keeps on checking it after all I can't always trust the money that comes in especially those people who are keep coming in." Piper stated as she brought her finger towards a section of the news article that Nate had skipped over that had a written story of a issues in regards to the immigration of people from other states it's along with bringing their problems in the form of illegal chems human trafficking and counterfeit caps.
Nate let us sigh he had already read reports and took the appropriate steps when he had finished that layer of paperwork as well as beginning to consider putting up a zero tolerance policy that would have the following punishments a for illegal Contraband immediately booted from the Commonwealth human trafficking would be execution causing troubles Within the Commonwealth that didn't warrant Exile or execution 15 years of hard manual labor if whatever trouble they caused warrant that amount of time drunken and disorderly conduct and would only have them stent in a prison cell for a day or two the majority of these Petty crying issues he left to Nick Valentine his newly christened head of Imperial Bureau investigation or the IBI.
"I'm going to speak with Nick about this. I don't think simple paperwork can show the importance of maintaining law and order," Nate stated, not against Nick knowing the Synth had his hands full, especially with bestowing him the head of his crime prevention unit, in addition to being the head of a slowly growing organization dealing with more organized crime.
She watched as Nate got up from his desk and put on a brown leather coat that looked similar to the one that the former Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel had. "Well, don't be swarmed by your adoring fans too much. I'll be heading back to my Gazette to see what latest news could be incorporated in the upcoming week." Much like Nate, she was already heading to the door, giving him one last glance as she opened it. She couldn't help but wonder if she missed her opportunity to become the most powerful woman attached to the most powerful man in the Commonwealth. But as soon as that thought occurred to her mind, little reminders of her duties came to the forefront, such as her little sister, who had been left in her care, and the new large news gathering center that she was now head of. Those priorities took precedence over dating or even trying to form more than a friendship with someone, especially if that someone happened to be so high up the food chain that she doubted a woman of her position could ever find herself entangled with him without reporting on the entanglement. Letting out a sigh, she exited Nate's office and headed to the various transport pads C.C.T. had installed in the building. Going over to the control panel, she began punching in the coordinates for the accompanying pad that was linked to her printing press. After hitting the execution button, she was immediately sent off with a small jolt of electricity, instantly zapped through several kilometers before rematerializing on the other side.
After Piper had finished being transported, Nate also stepped onto the pad and began punching in the coordinates for where he wanted to go. In a similar fashion, he was immediately transported; it all happened in the blink of an eye. Although this form of transportation was much faster and required less energy from the transport relays, the effects were still there—the tingling sensation on his skin and the smell of ozone still peppered the air surrounding him as he stepped off the pad. He went through another set of doors, and there he was bombarded by the sounds of several men and women dressed in what looked like almost pre-war clothing, bustling about, bringing one case file from one part of the office to another, while others dealt with phone calls regarding reports on things that needed to be investigated. Some were following up on certain leads from different investigative teams. Once Nate had set up this little bureau, the number of crimes reported to the proper authorities began trickling in slowly within the first day. After that, it seemed to be an unending storm. Most of the calls were about civil disputes over land ownership, animals, or teens getting into mischief and accidentally putting the occasional bun in the oven, and the parents of said teens demanding justice. Despite the chaos, Nate was still immediately recognized by the few detectives employed there, as many of them stopped what they were doing to stare in astonishment at his sudden arrival. Some even began whispering about the reasons why the emperor might be there, but he paid them no mind as he continued on his single track toward Nick's office.
As he arrived at Nick Valentine's office door, which had frosted glass that read "Nick Valentine, Head of I.B.I.," Nate couldn't help but notice the arguing sounds coming from the other side of the door. Not one for knocking, Nate opened the door and could hear much more clearly what Nick was arguing about. He saw the enraged detective pacing back and forth while speaking into the radio.
"So you're telling me you busted up a person's shop because you suspect them of having contraband, all because of a rumor you picked up from another merchant?" Nick tried to summarize what his less intelligent detective was reporting. He hardly noticed that Nate had entered his office, so enraged and frustrated that a few of the detectives he had painstakingly trained on how to spot crimes and even start investigating rumors were already starting to mess things up—something he used to do when he was still human and often found himself on the receiving end of reprimands from the chief and commissioner. However, he had the fortunate luck of being right, earning him some accolades from the media when he was still flesh. "Well, I don't give a damn. Now you're going to apologize and ask them how much it's going to cost to replace their damaged goods and the fucking door you broke, and it's coming out of your pay. Keep this up, and you'll find yourself no longer working for this bureau. Do I make myself clear?" Nick said very angrily into the walkie-talkie. He could hear some words of apology, but it hardly mattered; the conversation from that point on was over as he turned off the walkie-talkie and slammed it onto his desk.
Nate let out a cough, grabbing Nick's attention. Nick immediately raised his head, revealing not a second-generation synth, but rather a third-generation one—one of the storage models that had been remodeled to match the old detective, granting him the ability to eat, sleep, and possess other human-like qualities.
"So, the big cheese has come to visit. Is it my turn to get chewed out?" Nick said as he settled into his leather chair, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and took one. He popped it in his mouth and ignited it with a lighter, taking one long drag before blowing out a large cloud of smoke.
"Not really much here to chew you out about, but rather wanting to know how things are going regarding the current immigrants and the issues they're bringing along with them," Nate replied as he took a seat comfortably in the cushioned leather chair.
Taking another long drag and immediately exhausting that cigarette, Nate blew out some more smoke before sticking the cigarette among the large pile of butts in his ashtray. "We're still working on it. I'm training up a special task force. I will do a secondary evaluation after they leave the checkpoint to the Commonwealth, mostly in the guise of merchants that might be interested in buying some illegal contraband and possibly specialized human services of the unwilling variety." Nick recalled the current progress on that front, especially how he had taken on the task without being requested to. It was something he really wanted to have done 200 years ago if he had happened to be head of some investigative organization dealing with all sorts of stuff coming from Mexico or Canada. That was before the annexation, based on the memories he had from 200 years ago that were restored thanks to his upgrade. The only thing he wanted to keep were his eyes, just to prove the fact that he wasn't exactly human. Plus, it always intimidated his new recruits; having glowing yellow eyes was more than enough to make him laugh at seeing how they cowered before such a glare.
"Well, it's good that you are already on task. If you need any additional help, I can always ask Paladin Danse to send a few recruits to act as extra bodies, if that would help," Nate suggested. Though he wasn't too keen on the whole police work aspect, the only thing he had dealt with before now was mostly military work and mechanics. He had little interaction with the MP, and thankfully he never had to deal with anyone who was either suspected of treason or screwing up on the base—always meant trouble, the type of trouble he didn't need to get himself into, especially with the woman waiting for him at the end of the Anchorage campaign.
The detective shook his head. "No thanks. As much as I love having more bodies helping me with this type of work, soldiers are a broad sword. What I need is more of a scalpel, and those are in limited supply." Nick politely reject the offer. The last thing he needed was trigger-happy men who would shoot at the first thing that gave them any provocation, even if it was just a friendly gesture—especially those who were under the strict regiment of Drill Sergeant Paladin Danse.
Nate laid back on the leather chair and began drumming his thumbs on the armrest for a brief moment as a thought occurred to his head. "On another matter, do we have any new sightings or captures of the Outlanders?" he stated cryptically, all while his slightly glowing red eyes bored into the synth.
Recognizing the type of wording that Nate was using, Nick immediately flipped the switch underneath his desk, deactivating any listening devices and hidden cameras that were in his office. He even turned off and removed the battery from his walkie-talkie, creating a literal bubble of anonymity for what was going to be spoken next. "We had about at least six cases out of the four false reports, but the last two happened to be genuine." Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a file that he had already planned to give to a courier to deliver directly to the emperor. "The first place we investigated that was genuine, they surrendered without a fuss. It was either hunger or possibly radiation exposure that forced their hand to fall under our gentle care. The last one is quite horrible." But the detective didn't elaborate further, as the file contained all the information needed regarding the Outlanders who managed to escape the one-sided slaughter when the medieval fools walked into a fully armed and still battle-ready force on the other side of the gate structure from which they emerged.
Grabbing hold of the thick file and opening it, Nate immediately scanned through it. It was only when he got to the part regarding the second capture of the Outlanders that his blood began to boil and his crimson eyes glowed a little brighter in outrage. "They killed the husband of the farmstead, took the mother and daughter hostage, and raped them repeatedly." He gritted his teeth, displaying a few canines that had become a little longer and sharper, linked to his existing mutations that had yet to stabilize.
"Yeah, they were taken to the C.C.T. medical wing, and it's been confirmed that both are pregnant after the repeated assaults. I guess that does answer the question of whether they have the same type of DNA that would allow for copulation." Nick didn't like having to acknowledge that fact regarding the victims.
The Emperor of the Commonwealth remains silent as he looks over the file a few more times, reading in the details and looking upon the faces of those who would murder and rape his citizens. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, holding it in for a brief few seconds before letting out a sigh. Then, opening his eyes, the red glow seems to become more intense within them. "Where are they now?" Nate questions as he closes the folder and pushes the document away, unable to continue looking at the file without being filled with enough rage to destroy anything in his path—something he does not want to do in Nick's office.
Grabbing hold of the sensitive documents and reports, Nick puts them into the secret compartment of his desk drawer as he thinks back to what happened to them and remembers where they currently are. "They're in the holding cells below. I have yet to file the paperwork to have them transferred for processing," he answers.
Rising from his seat, Nate turns his back and heads straight for the exit of the office. "Bring them to the arena. Give them back their weapons and inform them they will have a challenger. If they defeat said challenger, they will go free; if they don't, well, we all know what happens to those who cross my path and have truly earned my ire," Nate says all this without looking at Nick as he opens the door to the office and heads straight for Cait's arena.
Watching his boss leave, Nick Valentine can't help but open another drawer that contains a flask of homemade whiskey. He takes a single pull from it before returning it to its hiding place, all while thinking quickly about how best to inform Cait that she is going to need a cleanup crew for her newly constructed arena due to the incoming bloodbath that is about to take place there.
an hour later
A group of Saderan soldiers, at least half a dozen of them, surveyed their new environment, so far removed from the metal cage they had been captured in after holding up in a farmstead. Now they were in this grand arena that looked similar to the one they had at home, except instead of marble, the walls appeared to be made of a durable metal far greater than what the dwarves could craft, yet painted black.
"Captain, I don't like this," one of the legionnaires spoke to their captain, and others voiced their own concerns, which were basically the same.
Alexander, a man who was 25 and in the peak of his prime, remained level-headed—the same level-headedness that had allowed his little squad within the legion to survive the one-sided slaughter. Sure, their numbers were far fewer than they were now, after some of them had been swallowed whole by a frog monster of all things, while a few others had fallen gravely ill as their flesh peeled off their bones—until they found the farmstead where they held up for a while. "It's not a matter of whether we like this or not. Whatever choice we have, it is obvious that we're being given a chance where others were not. We're going to fight, and when we gain our freedom, we'll inform the emperor how strong the enemy is, among other things," he spoke with the charisma expected of a captain within the Empire's Legion, and all of his men seemed to look at him with renewed hope of getting out of this.
A few seconds passed before a sudden burst of static electricity erupted from a rack of swords. Without hesitation, all Saderan soldiers grabbed hold of their familiar weapons and tested the weight of their blades, which had been returned to them, including the captain, who managed to find his original sword with a gold hilt and an eagle-like claw clutching an obsidian stone used as the pommel. In a similar fashion to his men, he swung the blade a few times, ensuring it was the right weight and balance— a quick inspection that met his satisfaction, just as his other men got comfortable with their acquired weapons.
The rack that had appeared immediately vanished in a burst of static, and within seconds after it disappeared, a second discharge of energy revealed a new presence: a man who looked quite fit, with short black hair and red eyes that seemed to glow a little more brightly than the lights shining upon the arena.
Stepping forward, Alexander held his sword in his right hand at the ready while his men remained behind him. "Who are you?" he questioned, though he doubted that this person would understand his native tongue, as all these savages didn't seem to comprehend the common tongue of the Empire.
"My name is Nate Maxson; that is all you need to know about me," Nate spoke in their native tongue. The process of learning it wasn't difficult, but it would cause him some headaches later. The memory recliners were truly being underutilized for entertainment by recalling the most glorious events in one's life. How little the current owners could think about using this technology to simply extract the memories and knowledge of individuals, then later implant them in others, making learning more simplified. What takes a whole month of learning could be reduced to a few hours of tickling a few neurons to absorb the downloaded information.
This new individual surprised most of the Saderan soldiers; he spoke their native tongue quite fluently, without the slightest inflection, as if he had been born and raised in the Empire. "So, are you our opponent that we have to face in order to obtain our freedom, or are there others?" Alexander spoke again for his men and surveyed their possible opponent. The man was fit, as previous glances at his exposed upper torso indicated a muscular physique. If he was, then he was poorly prepared, only wearing what looked like black pants as the only other article of clothing, with no visible weapons. It seemed he was truly confident that he could get past men trained to fight and kill with swords in hand.
"You are correct. If you can defeat me in battle, you will go free. But if you fail to even leave a single scratch on me, you all die," Nate grimly replied, all while his face remained neutral, his eyes glowing a little brighter.
Suddenly, Alexander felt a cold chill run up his spine. For a brief moment, he felt as if his legs were starting to shake, as if he were standing before Rory Mercury, their world's living Grim Reaper, and catching her in one of the rare instances over the centuries when she was in a proper rage, promising only death. The captain could also feel a single bead of sweat running down the side of his head. He raised his left hand to touch the temple that had the perspiration, wiped that part of his head, and glanced at his fingertips, which were clear to see.
"I think I can do more than give you a single scratch," one of the bolder and slightly foolish Saderan soldiers shouted, charging forth with his sword held high and letting out a battle cry as he closed the distance between himself and the one man who stood between him and his freedom.
Nate raised a single eyebrow, watching the man let out a battle cry as the distance between them shortened within seconds. As soon as the man was in range, Nate twisted out of the way of the downward slash of the blade. In that single motion, Nate used both hands to twist the neck and head of the charging soldier a full 90 degrees with a loud, sickening crunch. Then he stepped back and watched as the dead man, still wielding the blade, swung a few times before dropping to his knees and coughing up a large wad of blood that ran down his back and onto the ground, before the rest of his body fell forward.
Turning his gaze from his first kill, Nate surveyed the other men, who were now eyeing him more cautiously. "Tell me, how many do I have to kill just to see one of you put up a challenge? I will kill you all before the end of this day, but it's a matter of how you choose to die: as pathetically as the one I just killed, or trying to die with a little more style and dignity." He mocked them, a hint of a grin on his face.
The fear he felt quickly gave way to anger. He knew that the man who had just died, while not the smartest of the lot, was still under his command, and Alexander would not allow this to stand, even from one man who stood between them and their freedom. "I'll give you this: you're pretty strong and fast, but you're still outnumbered. When we kill you, we'll take your head as a trophy and present it before our emperor," he shot back with certainty, believing that he and his men could win and nothing would stand in their way to return home.
"Are you certain of that?" Alexander could hear a soft whisper as he turned his head and saw their opponent standing right next to him. The sudden appearance caused the captain to immediately jump back, and the rest of the men reacted the same way. None of them were prepared for the monstrous speed that this person exhibited.
Shaking his head for a brief moment, he pointed his sword at the now surrendered foe. "Everyone surround and charge," Alexander commanded, and his men followed without hesitation.
The remaining six closed the distance. Nate had only glanced between his back and his front, making a swift movement between two men poised to cut his head off, and stabbed one in the back. Everything appeared almost as if it were in slow motion as he moved out of danger, watching the two men miscalculate. The one who had previously been in front started to cut into the neck of their companion, while the other buried his blade into the man's gut. Switching his attention to another who was approaching him, Nate saw his next opponent jump into the air with both hands on his sword, aiming downward in an attempt to impale him. Just like before, he moved out of the way of danger, grabbed hold of the man's leg, and pulled him straight to the ground with enough force to crack the very earth that the arena was built on, watching as both skull and upper torso broke like an egg.
Nate paused for a brief moment and glanced over at the remaining two, who had stopped their approach, staring at the carnage that had taken place within a few seconds. Nate could see absolute terror in their eyes, realizing what had just happened.
"Just stand there or fight me; it makes no difference to me. You're all going to die, and it seems that none of you pose a challenge. What a pity." His tone was as cold as ice, just as cold as his stony expression. The only fiery heat emanating from him was from those burning eyes that glowed like hot coals.
One man gulped, while the other was literally pissing himself out of fear, realizing the danger they were in. The remaining two soldiers dropped their swords and immediately ran toward the only exit from the arena, crying out for mercy.
The only one who remained was Alexander. He was shocked at how quickly his men had been killed, all without leaving a single scratch on their bodies. He stood there, watching as this demon approached slowly. Despite the cries of his remaining men echoing in the arena, he could hear the footsteps as if they were the only sound he could actually perceive—bare feet padding over the fine sand. He couldn't help but hold his breath as death stood before him. For the first time in his entire life, he felt small, like a mouse compared to this mountain. What made matters worse was that the hand holding his sword began shaking uncontrollably, and he gulped, staring into those eyes of doom.
"I'm going to save you for last. A commander should watch all his subordinates die first before joining them in hell," Nate informed the leader of this band of marauders as he went after the remaining two. He watched them stop their banging and crying out for mercy before dropping to their knees and kowtowing before him, begging for mercy. Their pleas only fueled his anger and rage toward these despicable monsters.
Grabbing the nearest man by the back of his neck, Nate got a better grip on his throat and lifted him high above the ground, watching as life began to bleed from his eyes as he slowly choked the man to death. Tossing the dead man aside, the other began crawling toward him, kissing his feet and covering them with tears and snot, as if that would appease him. With the same foot the man was kissing, Nate pulled back and delivered a brutal kick with enough force to sever the man's head from his shoulders, sending the severed appendage flying to a nearby wall with a splattering crack sound as the skull split open, spilling its contents against the wall and onto the ground. The body, still clutching his leg, began to spasm and twitch. He then turned his attention to the still-frozen leader of this group of the dead.
Alexander tried to make sense of everything. The gate had opened, and he, along with the elite of the Empire, had been sent through to find whatever riches lay on the other side, along with possible slaves. He had prayed to his gods, offering them acceptable offerings, and laid with his betrothed, promising he would return with enough riches to pay for her bride price. Yet, all that he had given and promised now felt like nothing. He closed his eyes and tried to think of his beautiful betrothed—a dirty blonde woman with pale skin, painted ruby lips, and light purple eyes. The more he imagined her in his mind, the more vivid the image became. He could even smell the herbs she liked to use in her cooking. It was a lovely image to calm his fears, but as soon as he opened his eyes, reality returned tenfold as his executioner stood before him. "The emperor will stop all of you savages," he said defiantly to his executioner.
He couldn't help but give this man credit. Despite the overwhelming fear, Nate would give him credit for this one's bravery. It was a pity that he was going to kill him slowly. "Stop me? Your Empire invited me by sending all of you fools into my domain. You challenged my strength, so I'm going to play the game with your Empire—the ultimate game that will see everything you have ever known and believed in burned and destroyed. I swear it." Nate shot back, right before grabbing hold of the throat of this commander and lifting him off the ground, watching as he dropped his sword to grasp at the arm that was raising him up. "This is for the crime of murder and rape of my citizens. May you burn in whatever hell you believe in as you burn here and now."
As soon as he finished that sentence, a burst of energy began to surround the outline of his being. Nate coursed energy through the man in the form of static electricity. The man in his grip began convulsing, screaming in guttural agony as the Gray prison uniform he was wearing turned into a smoking mess. It slowly caught on fire, and his flesh began to burn and melt from the inside out. Even his eyeballs popped out of their sockets in an explosion of gore, and the slight pop sound of the skull cracking echoed as the brain was boiled. The screams of long ago ended while he continued to burn, the energy coursing through the now-deceased commander. Only after a good thirty minutes did Nate let go. The corpse was burnt black, barely any charred flesh remaining on the bones as all of it had been reduced to ash. To add further insult to the deceased, Nate stomped on the exposed skull with a loud, audible crunch.
With it all over, Nate still didn't feel any satisfaction for avenging that family who had suffered so much under these monsters. He couldn't even imagine what was happening on the other side of the gate, where these animals were doing the same thing to other families—murdering husbands and brothers, stripping down women, and using them for their own ends. He clenched his fists, almost desiring to launch a full conquest now to see this Empire crushed under his heel. He wanted to replace every name mentioned in the history of this Empire that stood against his own, erasing them from existence. No relic or treasure would remain; all there would be would be ashes swept against the wind to be forgotten. This he vowed to himself, along with other vows he'd taken, to see that his people, his Empire, would flourish outside this radiated world.
special training facility C.C.T. Advanced Medical labs.
Danse did not feel comfortable being outside his power armor, yet the fusion core of his T-60 needed to be rationed. Sure, his new Grand Elder had the means to refuel all their fusion cores thanks to the former Institute's fusion reactor, but conservation was a necessity at present until more fusion reactors could be brought online. Until then, he would have to stick with the new uniform that he and his fellow paladins and knights had to wear when they weren't in power armor: a simple black and gray military jacket and pants, along with heavy-duty military boots with steel toes. The only other accessory he had with this uniform was his modified laser pistol, which could shoot multiple shots while also having the ability to catch fire upon anything that stood between its beams.
Just thinking about his weapon, he briefly tapped it in its holster attached to his right hip while walking and inspecting the medical labs. He looked upon the Autodocs and the few C.C.T. scientists working on their recruits. The medical scientists were stripping away layers of skin and flesh, exposing the muscle layer beneath, before placing flexible black mesh material over the existing muscles. Following that, they added synthetic layers of muscle over the black organic protective plates. Danse moved on to the next stage that the medical scientists would perform. In a similar manner, the Autodocs assisted with the surgical opening of a man's skull—or maybe it was a woman; it was hard to tell with their head completely shaven and the skull cap opened, exposing their brain. One of the surgeons performing the delicate brain surgery inserted a single organic component into the gray matter, along with a few other cognitive-improving implants, before closing up the skull and sealing it.
On to the final stage of this little program: after everyone had undergone their surgeries, which varied from what had previously been seen to more advanced procedures, all were placed into a device similar to a memory lounge chair. The occupants in these devices had a piece of leather or rubber placed in their mouths to keep them from biting their tongues as their memories were erased and overwritten by new ones. Within this part of the facility, there were at least 50,000 being processed, and once they had been fully reprogrammed, Danse would begin teaching them how to fight as a unit to help them work with their new muscles and cognitive abilities.
"Truly fascinating that the emperor would come up with this interesting solution for our lack of military numbers," a C.C.T. scientist said, wearing a full medical suit and mask that obscured their identity and voice, further making it difficult to discern their gender.
Looking towards the scientist for a brief moment, then back to the men and women being processed, Danse replied, "Yes, though I am uncertain if the first Grand Elder would approve of this." He voiced his own doubts, but then again, he had very little to go against the current Grand Elder, especially considering the fact that he wasn't technically the real Danse. As much as he believed in the cause of the Brotherhood, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he was, and still is, a synth. His current Grand Elder had informed him of this and given him a choice to either stay or leave, and it hadn't been too difficult for him to make the choice that would fulfill the hopes and dreams of the man whose place he now held, despite the bitter truth of his nature.
"Well, it's better than the alternative of killing them all—raiders, those outlanders. It would be too much of a waste, especially with the emperor outlawing third-generation synth production," the C.C.T. scientist opined. They believed that third-generation synths would be a better compared to this alternative to simply taking the enemy and going through this lengthy process of converting their forces to the Empire's will, along with some special inhibitors implanted in the event that they discovered their true nature that had been stripped away.
He couldn't argue against that. The Brotherhood of Steel had experienced a small decline in their numbers, not just because of a lack of recruitment, but mostly because all members of the Brotherhood were, in a way, related to one another, as most members were born into the faction. There had been fewer births and fewer opportunities to try to enlist outsiders, and that was if the other chapters would allow it—unlike the East Coast, which did allow some to join. "I will not argue against the grand designs of the Grand Elder. My opinions on this matter are of no concern; only the results of what this force could provide." Danse spoke like any other commander who was just waiting for his reinforcements, whether they were of good quality or not. As long as they were bodies on the ground to wield guns and obey orders, that was all that mattered.
"Well, I hope the emperor is pleased. Once this batch is done, we should receive some new processor units to increase the number of units that would be completed within the next month. Hopefully, the prisoners do not get too rowdy in their cells before they have their special second chance at serving the greater good," the C.C.T. scientist stated before walking past the paladin to observe other sections of the facility.
One of the processing pods finished, and a second-generation synth walked over toward the completed pod as the doors opened. The machines grabbed hold of either the man or woman, who was drooling at the mouth, and carried them off to be placed in the training barracks where they would stay for the next month of training before being deployed into the field.
Seeing enough, Danse returned to his little boot camp, where he was the overseer, and headed straight for his office. He began making subtle arrangements for the upcoming new recruits and planned how he was going to put them through hell to make them battle-ready before the end of next month.
BTC
Arthur's Note*
"This is Galaxy News Radio, and I'm your host, Three Dog, here to give you the news."
By popular demand, Japan will not be included in the conflicts within this timeline of events. For those who were hoping for Japan to become involved, I apologize for not going ahead and including them. It would defeat the purpose of having a technologically advanced civilization destroying a primitive one, especially one that has magic at their beck and call but is underutilized in an industrial military way. Perhaps I will create another fanfiction that explores a split timeline of sorts, following the same plot points as this story. However, I think this will end in the same way that Nolan dealt with the Flaxans.
"Tara is not yours to conquer." *Teleport a massive nuke in the middle of the hill that the JDF was occupying, or use chemical weapons, quantum bombs, or send out an Iron Giant version of Liberty Prime. There is also the possibility of a non-aggressive request for them to withdraw within their own gate, with promises of fusion technology being granted.* That's just a list of things that could possibly happen. Japan would not want to get involved with another Empire that has no hesitation when using more unconventional and unspeakable methods of warfare. Nate isn't going to be using the Geneva Convention, nor is he going to use kid gloves—just as he had used no gloves or weapons against the soldiers in the arena.
To quote something that a reader said, they want to see the Empire destroyed—simply rip and tear. I couldn't help but hear the Doom music in the background when they said that. Thank you for that little bit of encouraging words.
Until next time, Fable out.