Author note: Sorry for the sporadic uploads this last week! Upload schedule is Mondays, Thursdays, and bonus maybe-upload days on Sundays! Planning for this to be ~30 chapters with an Epilogue, like the last story, but far from done with this little Fallout-verse. Stay tuned!
Chapter 4: Transmission
POV: Leeann
Something was different today.
The hum of the lights in the ceiling seemed louder, more erratic. I watched the flicker of them overhead like they might tell me something. Fluorescent, cold. Like everything else in this place. I had no way of knowing the hour, only that it wasn't morning. Not anymore. I could feel it in my bones.
The buzz outside my door had changed. More voices. Hushed. Urgent. Boots moved faster. Doors slammed harder.
Kenny didn't bring me any food this time.
I sat on the edge of the cot, arms wrapped around my knees, my mind drifting like always. To Sebastian. To Stephen. To Beckett.
Always to Beckett, for some reason.
The door opened after what felt like hours later.
Kenny. And two guards behind him.
He looked different. Pale. Sweaty. His eyes wouldn't meet mine.
"Kenny?" I asked, voice hoarse from disuse. "What is this?"
He didn't answer.
The guards stepped in behind him, armed with guns.
My heart kicked into high gear.
"No," I said, standing. My legs shook beneath me. I wasn't strong enough to fight. I knew it. They knew it.
Kenny raised a hand. "Don't," he said gently. To me. To them. I couldn't tell.
He grabbed my arm and uncapped a syringe.
"What is this? What are you doing?" I demanded, struggling weakly. "Tell me what this is."
Kenny looked me in the eye, something dangerously close to apology weeping over his features.
Then he leaned in close. Just as the needle pierced my skin.
His lips brushed my ear.
"See you on the other side."
The world fell sideways.
I woke to the hiss of filtered air.
My limbs wouldn't move. My arms, my legs—strapped down. My chest tightened as panic surged. I blinked, gasped.
A dome.
Glass. Curving above me.
I was in a chair—a reclined one—and the hum around me wasn't just from the lights.
It was machines.
I turned my eyes instinctively to where I thought the window should be. Where Beckett had once stood. Where he'd touched the glass with his palm, promising me that he was still there.
But there was no window.
Just metal. Just ceiling.
And faces.
The doctor was here again.
So were others.
They surrounded the terminal. They whispered. They gestured toward me.
I closed my eyes again, slow. Feigned unconsciousness. The way Kenny had taught me.
"Synaptic load is stable," one of them said. "Subject shows no further resistance."
"Initiating sedation stabilizer."
"She shouldn't feel anything."
"You're sure the vessel is prepared?" the doctor asked.
Another nod. "Imprint fully cleared. Neuro-structure is clean. Memory bleed has been suppressed. This time, it'll hold."
"Begin long-term coma induction. We send her back immediately."
A cold spike of horror ran through me.
Send me back.
Send me back to where? I panicked.
They were putting me under.
Making it permanent.
I snapped my eyes open. The floodgates of memory suddenly broken.
Gasps. Movement. A flicker of faces.
And then darkness.