No Nate Nor Nora (Fallout)

It's shaping up to be a warm perfect cloudless day by the morning of October 23rd, 2287, with nary a radstorm on the horizon or a strong wind to make the skyscrapers of the old world groan. Just a mere eight days from now Diamond City is set to begin celebrations for the prewar holiday of Halloween, a much anticipated bright spot to distract from the troubles of the year that saw the Gunners, led by a Minuteman turncoat, sack the former regional trading hub of Quincy after a bitterly fought siege.

Just yesterday, the Commonwealth's favorite and only newspaper, reporter Piper Wright's popular yet controversial Publick Occurrences printed a special issue put into circulation with the headline 'The Synthetic Truth'. A retelling of the Broken Mask Incident as remembered by survivor Eustace Hawthorne that accuses Mayor McDonough of being an Institute synth, it's now the talk of every settlement and trader on the caravan routes. Paranoid hysteria is beginning to make otherwise reasonable people into vigilantes who are starting to turn on their family, friends, and neighbors...

Although the recent harvest was arguably the most bountiful the Commonwealth has seen yet, with the Minutemen effectively disbanded it was only a matter of time until the widespread reemergence of raider gangs across the wasteland. Inspired by Overboss Colter's legendary enslavement of Nuka World, they are starting to take whatever they want from farmers and caravans, bringing back ambushes, tolls, and tribute. Thanks to Mayor Kessler, the settlement of Bunker Hill has managed to broker a deal with the largest raider gang hounding at it's walls, Judge Zeller's Army, and is now set to become a new Quincy thanks due to Old Man Stockton's investment into local caravans and merchants. Elsewhere, Jared's crew are vying to reclaim Lexington from the packs of feral ghouls that have made their home there, and has put out a bounty of a thousand caps and a lifetime supply of chems to whoever can bring in an elderly woman named 'Mama Murphy' alive. Even former Minuteman James Wire and his former militia have found a new low in entering a partnership with Marowski's Triggermen gangsters in reopening Easy City Downs horse track - but with robots now?

In other news, a steam ferry known as the Duchess Gambit, piloted by Captain Nadine, arrives in the Commonwealth peddling delicious punga fruit, punga wine, strange goods, and technology never before seen this far north. Docking by the Atom Cats Garage, she tells of exotic locales such as the former District of Columbia that is the Capital Wasteland, Point Lookout of Maryland, and Broken Banks of North Carolina, distant lands anyone interested in buying a passenger ticket can visit.


Supermutants of the Commonwealth organize under the chieftainship of Fist, who advocates for only the strongest of their race to survive. Although few in number now, headquartered atop Trinity Tower, more greenskins flock to his banner by the day, among their number two chieftains whose tribes are absorbed into the horde. Hammer, a tactician known for his nigh inexhaustible arsenal of weaponry and ammunition, and Grun, an intelligent behemoth that claims the harbor as his territory.

"Mothership Epsilon, do you copy? We have secured the area, secured the HVP, and captured two native females in the process. How copy, over? Are you available to take the prisoners and send down supplies?" Silence filled the headset and Strike Officer Kvir gurgled a curse. Command had started ignoring them ever since he reported back that the HVP had lied about their discovery. Responses were sporadic, but it was clear by now. They wanted some good news.

Kvir looked around and watched the workers and the repaired utility protectron start digging through the two damaged ships to see if parts could be salvaged to perhaps repair one of them, or at least provide some equipment that the Zetans could use. His men were around the area. 3 were on guard around the caves where they rescued the pilot. The cave had turned into a bit of a warehouse for them as the spare equipment and supplies were kept there... including test subjects and the injured. 2 jumpers were at Oberland station with a cloaking device, using it as an improvised sentry tower and keeping an eye on the radio tower. The radio tower provided the aliens with a wealth of information from various broadcasts that occasionally happened throughout the wasteland.

The other jumpers were with Kvir as he had planned an expedition to look around the area. With the jumpers ready, they began to set off to the south where there was no river to stop them in their travels.

---

Summary:

1. Attempted contact with mothership to send over the two captured specimens and call in some supplies.

2. The 10 Alien Workers and the Utility Automatron work on salvaging the two ships to see if they can maybe use parts from one to being the other one back to life. If not, then they would just salvaged any useful parts/equipment.

3. 5 TJs are around the area on guard duty

4. Kvir and the 4 other TJs begin to scout out the area to the south with a cloaking device and a barrier projector.

Down beneath the skin of the earth, in a holy place where no light but one dwelled in the darkness; Something stirred. It looked to be something like a man, if one were to be generous. The figure was of twisted shape and hunched greatly before something one might call an altar. Bent down on it's knees, with its head almost down to the floor, the figure seemed to be praying. To what God or Devil it prayed too was unknown, even to itself. But this was a ritual it had done for as long as it's painfully fractured mind could remember. All else from before had already faded away with the passage of time and the growing of obsession. Allowing whatever this pitiable creature was to blissfully forget what it had once been... If it had ever been anything else at all.

Then, suddenly there was a sound. A far distant sound that echoed and reverberated in the confines of a foremans office somewhere underground. But for this creature it was like waking from a deep sleep. The being's glowing eyes slowly opening to investigate this intrusion. The concentration it had exerted in its meditative prayers now fully broken. But it was not angered by this as it almost mechanically rose up from the ground. Turning now to acknowledge the deep and slow banging upon the door to it's chambers.

"What... News?" The creature rasped through a rebreather unit of some sort, a visibly emaciated frame and sickly gray skin now being covered in a tattered robe of some kind as it dressed itself. Still awaiting a response from the thing on the other side of the door.

The said creature outside was slow in giving its reply. But it replied all the same "Much good news... Great Underminer. Expansion... Go well. Much water has... Already been moved from... Most sacred chamber. We collect and store... The water. Just as... You say." Their halted and awkward speech was something quite known to them. They could just as easily speak in their own speech of guttural hisses and howls. But, the Great Underminer found that actual human speech seemed to help the focus of it's peoples minds. So it was a practice it encouraged. Though most all of them could not speak as men do anymore... And in some this speech seemed to awaken a deep yearning and hatred towards something that they could never again find. Something alien to them now. It was something that even the Great Underminer too felt. But it couldn't understand why. For those faculties had been changed by something so very long ago that it was forever lost.

"Good. Make... Ready the... Hunters. More meat... Is needed. More meat... To sate the... Hunger." The Underminer wheezed to it's underling. Opening the door now that it was fully dressed in the resplendent though tattered attire of its office.

Otto peered out of the window of his office. A bead of water dripped down his chin and onto his beard from when he had wiped off his groggy face with a dampened cloth. He swiped it away with his thumb and again rubbed at his eyes. It was day break and the weather outside was placid and calm. Mortimer from the village center had yesterday, in all of his crackpot weatherman wisdom, predicted that rain was today's forecast. Otto disagreed judging on how clear today's sky was, but Mortimer had been right before. It was possible.

He closed the indoor shutter of the window and went to his desk. He sat down in his creaky desk chair and pulled a pencil from his breast pocket. He went about filling two papers out, which were really the only two papers he was ever responsible for during a weeks time. He felt slightly more officious and important when he was filling out papers, though, and internally relished the opportunity to scrawl his name at the bottom of each form.

He set his pencil aside and picked up the measly stack of papers. He frowned, unsatisfied with the two papers sitting by their lonesome selves. He turned and opened his desk drawer. He brushed aside a few wadded up pieces of paper and a box of twenty two millimeter bullets that was only a quarter of the way full. He produced a well preserved clipboard and closed the desk drawer. Otto clipped the two papers to the clipboard and stood up. He strode out of his office and down the short hallway to the staircase with the clipboard under his arm. The upstairs portion of his home was not insulated and was either too hot or too cold to work in for long depending on the season. Autumn was starting to get into full swing, which would mean colder temperatures. As he descended the staircase his mind churned logically along. Cold meant no crops and hard soil. He'd have to speak to Matthew and Edith about hurrying up whatever yields they were bringing in to make room for the winter kale.

He stumbled on the last step, nearly taking a spill forward onto the old rug at the base of his staircase. Otto caught himself by throwing his arms out and grabbing at the adjacent wall at the last second. His clipboard went flying out from where it was previously tucked, and skidded across the floor. It came to a rest with a soft 'thwop' as it bumped into the wall, directly underneath his outrageously heavy couch. Otto could already feel a headache coming on as he snarled outwardly and cursed his rotten luck internally. He stood up straight and strode over to the couch. The clipboard would have to wait. The couch was made of heavy duty rough-spun cloth and heavy wood. One of the workers would have to come and help move the dratted thing.

Otto rubbed his left temple with a sigh of defeat, now quite sure that a headache was inevitable. He gave the couch a final soft kick and turned to his tiny kitchen, hitting the light switch. The dangling overhead kitchen light bulb flickered to life, casting a harsh orange-yellow glow across the kitchen. It was one of his only two lightbulbs in the house and powered by a battery. He had no idea when the battery would run dry, but he guessed that it would run down sooner rather than later. Such was apparently his luck, to always meet that sort of small inconvenience. The metal wood-fired stove sat resolutely where it had always sat, as did his kettle and sole cooking pot. He reached into a nearby drawer and produced a cloth bag. Similar bags were delivered once a month by Edith, and judging by the weight of this one it was still over half full. Pulling away the drawstring Otto peered inside to see ground up and dried dark plant material. 'Dandelion coffee isn't so bad,' he mused as his spirits slowly lifted. He set to work ladling water into the heavy kettle from his water barrel and preparing the wood stove. Perhaps a hot drink would help ease the growing migraine.

Otto stepped outside of his house, now thoroughly smelling of wood smoke from having had to mind his stove. He didn't mind since he was used to such things, but also because he had in his hand a piping hot cup of joe. He took in a deep breath of crisp October air and slowly let it out. 'First thing's first.' He mused, 'Got to check on the supervisors.' He locked his front door and started strolling down the unpaved street towards where Matthew and Edith were routinely already awake, his dandelion coffee emitting wisps of steam that dissipated over his shoulder into nothingness.

Robotics. Lloyd Baird smiled. The name of the division was the Institute's greatest lie, though only it's head scientist appreciated the irony in ignoring the organic nature of their creations to make it easy to believe that they lack sentience. Dr. Alan Binet was a talented designer, and the man who deserved half of the credit for bringing generation three synths into existence. If he was their 'Father' for being the donor of their genetic code, then Dr. Binet was certainly their God. If it wasn't for his misguided philosophy, maybe the men and women in the Synth Retention Bureau wouldn't accuse him of being a Railroad agent. They were far too eager in pointing fingers at the first potential culprit that they could find. Lloyd was sure someone has been aiding the synths in escaping to the surface these recent months by forging work orders, but he didn't think Dr. Binet was anything more than a witness to the treason, if even that. He had made no secret of his dissatisfaction with how synths are treated.

He entered the sterile room after going through decontamination and slipping on a hooded suit. Though many found the manufacturing process unfolding before him a deeply unsettling affair, Lloyd was of a different opinion. To him, there is an odd satisfaction in spectating the automated machines assemble a skeleton, construct a body without flesh, electrocute them conscious, and lower them into a red pool of liquid skin tissue from where they instinctively emerged for air before being sent off to orientation facilities. The scientists of Robotics were busy searching for defects simply inherent in the latest models, poring over their personal computers as well as their wall mounted terminals. It was plain to see that this division's personnel were clearly running on fumes as of late. He patiently waited to be noticed by the staff as he eavesdropped on a conversation between Dr. Binet and his befriended colleague Dr. Max Loken. "How's that personal synth of your's working out? I've heard that Liam's grown quite attached to it." The balding man gently probed, curious.

"Not it, Doctor Loken, she. And she has a name." Dr. Binet replied defensively before responding in a curt tone. "To answer your question, Eve has been an indispensable companion, both to Liam and myself." Lloyd couldn't stand looking at her. She was denial personified. Kübler's theory in action.

Dr. Loken appeared taken aback, and settled into a worried countenance. "Alan, I know it's been difficult for you since you lost your wife, but don't lose perspective. A synth might look like a man or a woman, but it isn't. It's not healthy to become too attached."

"Need I remind you, Doctor Loken, that in biochemical terms a human being is also a machine." Dr. Binet countered, irritated.

"Don't hide behind technicalities, Alan. I'm your friend. I'm not judging you, but others will. Such behavior could be construed as deviant. You know where that will lead." Dr. Loken reasoned.

"There's no need to get worked up over it, Max." Dr. Binet sighed, assuaging his colleague's fears, dropping formalities. "I'm simply carrying out an experiment. I believe that our third-generation synths are sophisticated enough to form social bonds, even familial bonds. Only through close observation can I prove my hypothesis."

"Alright, Alan. I'll trust your judgment on this. Just be careful." Dr. Loken cautioned before looking over his shoulder to see the Director.

Lloyd approached the two promptly. Dr. Binet turned to look at him, on edge by the sudden unannounced visit. "I apologize for intruding. You'll be pleased to know that I've taken it upon myself to suspend the S.R.B. investigation into you so that I may oversee it impartially. Dr. Ayo's advocation for your banishment based on mere circumstantial evidence forced my hand." Lloyd made sure to make known before continuing. "Last night, I ordered X6-88 to download your division's access logs into this holotape." Lloyd revealed, handing it over to Dr. Binet to inspect when he has the time. "Tell me, do you ever sign in to the Robotics intranet from your home?"

"Goodness no." Dr. Binet denied. "When I retire for the day, I put any thought of work out of my mind. I find that keeping a balance between my work and my leisure time is vital for healthy living. Do you suspect that someone has logged into one of the laboratory terminals from my quarters?"

"You contradict yourself beautifully, Dr. Binet." Lloyd teased after a thoughtful pause. "Isn't the purpose of allowing Eve to live with you a part of your supposed work? Regardless, unfortunately I know so. We've already interviewed the synths that have serviced your apartment. There's only the matter of conducting a brief search, and speaking with your son as well as Miss Eve. You're not to worry. Everything and everyone will be as you left it. We simply need to prove your innocence beyond a doubt to put this regrettable witch hunt behind us."

"Let me guess, terminal three?" Dr. Binet asked quizzically, correct in his assumption. "It has been acting a bit strange of late. Probably needs maintenance. I wouldn't pay any attention to it. The only people who have any interest in this laboratory already have access to these computers. If they wanted to log in remotely, they could do so from their own quarters. But carry on, if you wish. You'll find nothing to incriminate me, I promise you that."

Lloyd nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation. Once we clear everything up, I'd like to give you a seat at future directorate meetings. Believe it or not, I think you could bring valuable ideas to the table." With that said he turned to Dr. Loken to check up on something. "Have you updated the risk level of synths Z3-22, Y9-15, B2-57, and F6-33 to bar them from scavenging duties on the surface as I have asked you to do?" He was curious whether or not the Railroad would take the bait; hook, line, and sinker. He had taken the liberty of having the four units implanted with redundant tracking chips in their teeth off the books with the aid of Dr. Binet and Dr. Loken. If all goes well, they would know the whereabouts of the new Railroad headquarters, likely uncover the locations of their remaining safe houses, and find where the escapees are hiding.

"Yes, but the S.R.B. has reported them missing from their bunks in the barracks this morning." Dr. Loken replied to the Director with a conspiratorial smirk.

"I'm sure the coursers will have their hands full." Lloyd commented, amused himself. He said his goodbyes to the two scientists, went through decontamination, and began a leisurely stroll to Dr. Binet's apartment. It was about time to plug a leak.

'GET ME A FUCKING MEDIC! NOW!'

He was on the battlefield again, dressed in full combat armor and crouched over a soldier who had the misfortune of getting his kneecap blown apart by a rifle round a few seconds prior. The Mojave heat scorched at his face as dust kicked up and blew everywhere; blurring his vision and only adding to the intensity of his calls. The man before him was on his back, screaming in agony and hitting the wall of the building they were crouched behind. This was not going well. The Legion were advancing rapidly across the Dam, and the 1st Recon had been forced to retreat further into the mountains to avoid the hail of gunfire coming their way. His company were holding out as best as as they could, but time and everything else seemed to be against them. Leon kept calling for a medic, tying off a tourniquet above the man's thigh as soon as a Corpsman ran to their position- only to take a round right to their head as bits of bone, brain matter and a thick red mist shot out of the soldier's upper right eyesocket before the body hit the ground. He shielded his eyes, looking down to find the wounded soldier had began crying as he reached a hand up to place on the Captain's shoulder; begging Leon to not let him die. Before the man could reply, the world was jolted into a white flash; dissolving into blackness as the man awoke sharply to a series of rapports on the door to his quarters. Leon quickly glanced toward the door, swung his legs over the bed and put on his service pants and short-sleeve top before striding toward the door. Opening it revealed a young man, early-twenties with green eyes and warm black hair, dressed in an urban black military BDU. When he saw the Captain, the man appeared to freeze on the spot as he spoke up. "Sir, is this a bad time?"

Leon shook his head and sighed, after a moment of peering at the soldier's nametape did he reply, "No, Williams. What is it?" The soldier nodded, continuing on with his report. "Sir, Instructor Miller wants to see you. That's all she told me." Carter sighed again, then nodded. "Very well, Williams. Tell her I'll be down in a few minutes." With a silent nod, the soldier shut the door as Leon turned on a pivot and headed straight for the closet where he hung his uniform up. Despite the wood peeling off in sheaths on one side and a missing door on the other, he was glad to at least have something to hang his outfits in. Placing his jacket over himself and lacing up his service boots, the Captain returned to the door of the pre-war bunker, opened it, and stepped outside. The smell of fresh vegetables, crisp air and Brahmin shit was a strange comfort since he'd left the Mojave behind. The settlement's construction itself was impressive so far; as a massive wooden wall reinforced by patchwork metal sheets had been secured around the entirety of the compound. Two enterances bordered the North and South, monitored by a Guard Tower and gate post on each one. The Eastern sector had recently finished construction of a Landing Pad and Engineer Facility, and the sole Vertibird was proudly perched on top of it. The West was cleared out and re-purposed as the military training grounds. Leon knew that, by some stroke of luck, they were indeed the lucky ones to settle in and thrive as long as they did when they arrived. The man looked around and spotted Amelia monitoring a group of Recruits doing push-ups, walking over to confront her over the report.

"Ranger, you wanted to see me?" Leon said, raising an eyebrow at the Veteran Ranger.

The woman turned her head to meet Leon's gaze and spoke up. "Captain. I got a report earlier this morning from one of the Scavenger Teams about ArcJet Systems. The location has been sitting unusually dormant for the past month since we arrived. Nothing's touched it to our knowledge. Raiders, Super Mutants, nothing. Engineering estimates that the resources from that location will be enough to get our Mechanized up and running, along with supplying a bit of a trade route and maybe even a factory if we can secure the line we cast out there. For the time being, this will be stretching everything a bit thin, but this is your call. I'm not sure we'd have another shot at this if we wait any longer." Amelia concluded, looking down at her recruits who were very obviously struggling now. She smiled briefly, before turning back to Leon. "That's all I have, Captain." Leon nodded, and moved away from Amelia to survey the rest of the compound. As he moved toward the Engineering department, he also rallied several soldiers and headed toward the center table to explain the situation in more detail. With any shred of luck, this first operation just might bare fruit.

Even from as close as a hundred metres, the vast concrete pyramid could hardly be seen through the swirling fog and gases that hung heavy in the air. The Glowing Sea was near inhospitable, the immediate area around the nuclear weapons that had struck just south of Boston, the area was near uninhabitable, populated by deathclaws, feral ghouls and lord knows what other monstrosities. The pyramid itself was seemingly devoid of life, a concrete monolith rising from the green fog, no lights or sounds coming from it. Appearances could be deceiving however. Beyond the thick concrete walls and the steel blast doors, there was a hub of activity. For this was The Sentinel, home of the UGC. Inside the structure figures were hurrying along the spiders web of pantries and corridors, electrical lights swaying in their mounts as the gantries shook under their footsteps sending shadowy fingers darting down the walls and ceilings. Stood before the blast doors were a group of 15 rather disheveled looking individuals, all but one was seemingly clad in little more than rags, dark green and brown in appearance. Once again however, deceiving appearances, below the rags were radiation suits, near invisible with their hoods drawn up around them, and slung over their shoulders were an assortment of ballistic weapons, from assault rifles, to sub machine guns to two sniper rifles. The 15th individual however currently had his head uncovered by rags or the telltale helmet of a radiation suit. It did appear however that such a thing was unnecessary. His skin was seemingly coming off in chunks, raw muscle clearly visible, his lips and nose were long gone, leaving a skull like smile and a hole where his nose had once been, and what little wisps of hair he had left clung to his head as best they could. To any wastelander he was easily recognisable. A ghoul, once a human but one who had been struck by the ravages of long term radiation poisoning, neither truly alive or dead, rotting but still conscious and functioning (unlike his feral brethren) and gifted with near immortality. Rex glanced up at the Ghouls assembled around the gantries, looking down upon the armed group, those watching were clad in a mixture of pre war clothing, a semblance of their former lines, his face creased into a grin, and he raised his voice, made husky long ago by decades of exposure to the radioactive winds.


“Brothers and sisters. Today we make our first steps outside of the place that we have decided to call home. Whilst we have made a true sanctuary for ourselves here, we must remember that not all like us are able to benefit from and enjoy such luxuries. The smoothskins look down upon us, they have mocked us, berated us, and killed us on sight, and for what? Nothing…. Nothing more than our appearance and what we represent. They call us Ghouls because they fear us, fear the power that we hold, we who bathe in the radiation of the Glowing Sea, a place that they fear to tred, who live long beyond their tiny lives. Today we travel forth, in search of more of our brothers and sisters who are forced to eek out a living on the edges of human society, we shall bring them back here, to a place they can truely call home, as I did to so many of you. Though the humans think we are savages and freaks, we shall not strike the first blow, we can trade, and we can co-exist. But we must not be ignorant to their cruel ways, whilst we can co-exist it must be apart, for the good of all of us,”


He raised his hands to the clamouring of support from the onlookers, his smile remaining fixed in place. He lowered his hands the noise abating as he did.


“Seal the doors behind us, we shall return within the month with supplies and new family members,”


With that he swung the helmet of his radiation suit on, pulling the hood over the top, and swung his combat rifle from his shoulder and into his arms. Each of the 15 Ghouls on the expedition had a backpack containing equipment they had scavenged, pre war tech and artifacts to trade once they reached settlements outside of the sea. The 14 men following Rex were all members of the UGC Rangers, the military wing. Whilst there were another 50 odd Rangers, they were on set duties, 30 housed in the sentinel at all times, whilst the other 20 were stationed in groups 5 groups of 4 about the Glowing Sea, serving small stints to avoid too much radiation and patrolling the area for intruders or untapped loot stashes. With a creak the blast doors slowly swung open, and the group marched out in a loose formation, close enough to see each other in the poor visibility. After just a few seconds they were lost from sight as the Glowing Sea enveloped them.

The rusty scrap door creaked open, letting in a breeze of crispy October air. In came a young man sporting a crimson and white baseball cap and a dirty soul patch.
“Sorry fer the delay, ol’ Bethy held me up wit’ one of her stories again,” Butch said and sat down on the only remaining chair at the long table.
On the far end sat a weathered man, early 40-s, wearing a bandana and with a scruffy blonde beard. What really stood out about him was the protruding claw marks, almost purple in color, surrounding his right-eye. Well, surrounding where his right eye would have been, it was notably missing from its socket. It was no other than Matt Moody.
“Randa, why don’t you start us out,” he said, looking at the red-haired woman sat next to Butch.
“Well for starters, food supply looks good currently, though with the decreased amount of hunts these past two weeks we’re not having much of an overflow to use as trading goods. If we were to smoke all we have, it’d still go stale before we’re looking at a crisis. The harvest’s been great so that’s something.”. A blonde woman next to Moody took notes.
“When it comes to the water, we’re good for now with the cans we’ve traded for, but should we increase too much in numbers we’d be looking at an issue. What we can do is make sure to keep those caravans going. We have one that should come back home tomorrow. I’m guessing recruitment will be second-to-none during winter times as usual, but the roads will also be tougher to travel.”

Moody’s chair creaked as he leaned further back in it.
“We’re looking to get a more permanent and reliable solution before winter comes. As I see it we have two options. Either we get ourselves a functional filter, buy it or construct it ourselves. This would give us the ability to purify the irradiated water we have here in the area, but would also be prone to disaster should it malfunction..
Option two is a bit more tricky. Down by the river to our south-east lies a Water Treatment Plant. Potentially, this could be rebooted. However, from what I’ve heard the place is flooded, which makes it an ideal spot for mirelurk nesting. As if that isn’t enough, a significant amount of greenies have been seen in its vicinity. They likely base themselves at the plant.
The plan right now, unless somebody has a better idea, is to roll with option one, get ourselves a filter. If that turns out to not be efficient enough, we’ll be forced to look at ways to get that plant running.” A moment of silence followed.
“How ‘bout ‘em Gunners?” Butch exclaimed. “It’d be just as beneficiary for ‘em to get that plant up and running.”
“That is a possibility, Butch. The gunners aren’t known for doing things for free though, even if it could benefit them too. It is something we’d have to weigh in if it becomes relevant.”
“I could likely get somethin’ up and runnin’, Chief.” A dark-skinned man with long dark hair spoke out. “Might need some help from the outside for it, maybe a visit to another settlement to have a look at how to do it efficiently.”
“That’s what I was hoping, Terence. You’d be heading the project. You, me, Darla and Crawford will sit down and do the initial planning of it after the meeting. Sound good?” Terence nodded, as well as a woman with short brown hair and a bald man sitting at the table. “Good, that brings us to you Darla.”

“Aye, as you all know, the hole those molerats made in the western wall poses a problem. We’ll be working to getting that fixed before the end of the week. Temporary guard posts have already been raised outside the wall. We’ll need eight extra hunters set aside to guard until the repairs are done.” Darla insisted.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Butch, you and some of your men will work with Darla until the wall is secure again.” A loud sigh let out from Butch. He usually did express his discontent with being stationed for home security.
“In the meantime, me and Jonathan will head north-west after lunch to scout for that molerat burrow. It looked like the tunnels veered off in that direction.” Moody sighed and looked down onto his notes.
“That should be everything for today, if you have anything you want to speak to me about after the meeting, grab me before lunch. Other than that, keep it all up Stalkers. It’s thanks to you we can keep the Wastelands safer.” He stood himself up and was followed by the rest of the participants. As he slid into his coat he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Chief, I have something I’d like to show you. Come over to the workshop when you have the time.” Terence had that smug grin that you would only see when he had some new gizmo to show. This could prove interesting.

Basic steps are taken to prepare defenses, traps, alarms, and turrets. Although they wouldn't hold up long against a coordinated attack, the effort gives the N.E.R.M.C.O. bunker a strong foothold in the Commonwealth. Initial exploration determines that, geographically, the maps they have of the region are still largely accurate, more or less. Radiation contamination of the immediate surroundings is minimal, although the geiger counters appear to support old prewar theories that one or more nuclear detonations occurred south of Natick.

Fort Hagen, a military command facility for the United States Army, is found to be surprisingly untouched by scavengers. The team dispatched to pilfer the defunct base find a commissary full of packaged foodstuffs kept edible by unhealthy amounts of preservatives. Although their flavor was worse than military rations, and they had few nutrients, at least they were filling. Morale soars when an unopened box of Fancy Lads snack cakes is discovered amongst a stash of junk food in the barracks. Heading deeper into the facility, the team collects old uniforms, flags, and posters for keepsakes. Stumbling upon the base's medical facilities, they manage to bring back an auto doc, several first aid kits, along with miscellaneous supplies and equipment. The officer quarters have beautiful furniture, several intact terminals, and... The skeletons of men and women that choose to commit suicide rather than adapt to the apocalypse. Finally, the door of the armory is lockpicked open. A good squad's worth of assault rifles and side arms, a duffle bag full of mines and grenades, and a fat man launcher with two mininuke shells inside. When they attempt to check up on the satellite array of the base built over a hanger said to be stuffed with vehicles, robots, and maintenance facilities, they withdraw after observing 'looters' clad in armor fashioned from scrap robot parts that have managed to reprogram the security of the installation to serve them.

The team sent to Vault 111 see mutated animals along the way, such as feral packs of dogs, two headed stags, oversized flies, and sickly bears. Life has went on without them on the surface. Inside of the fallout shelter, although they are able to blow the metal armory door open to gain access to some prototypical weapon that froze enemies, they find only corpses littering the halls, people that have starved to death inside of cryostasis pods but are otherwise in a preserved condition, the latest pipboy model, a computer game, and a wealth of salvage from metal to electronics to mattresses to be brought back home with them on their return.

"Mothership Epilson will teleport to your drop pod a case of ammunition, a container of epoxy, a container of biogel, and the weight of the two earthling fe-male specimens in rations." Kvir heard the Star Admiral respond through the static. "Further requisitions will be denied until specimens of significance or information of considerable value is obtained." The two ships are beyond repair, but the aliens do manage to salvage the undamaged parts of the spacecrafts for utilization elsewhere.

Heading out with the telejumpers, Kvir observes while he's walking along the railroad tracks a caravan using a brahmin as a beast of burden enter a fenced in empty shantytown around a cave opening. To the east, the urban ruins of the appeared war torn and unwelcoming, some of them inhabited by the hulking green mutants that have devastated other regions of Earth.

The unholy water is drained by the ancient mining pumps before they break. Those sent to collect marble and stone quickly bring it up to the entrance to make it more defensible. The search for metals comes up with much iron, but the simple minds of the underdwellers struggle to find any other use for the mining equipment other than salvage, though much technology is collected. One miner accidentally blinds himself temporarily for hours from clumsily turning on a mining helmet's headlamp while he was busy inspecting it. The fungus his people attempt to cultivate seems to wither in these subterranean confine, unsuited for the soil and rock of this place. Experimentation leads to the discovery that the closer the fungus is to the deepest point of Dunwich Borers where the shrine was found, the better it acclimatizes.

The hunting party comes back smelling of ashes and singed then dampened hair. They report of being ambushed themselves by a group of the iron men who wielded fire that once occupied the holy quarry before their arrival to the Commonwealth. They lost two mole rats, and two of their miner handlers, but captured three 'Forged' in the fiery confusion of the melee. They beg for forgiveness.

The harvest is prepared for months of eating in the winter, and frightened hungry brahmin are rustled from the wilds, already domesticated... Shoring up vulnerabilities in the defenses of the village of Motorpool goes exceedingly well too, and although it isn't much, it puts everyone's minds at ease that maybe raiders would think twice before trying to take away their livelihoods and lives from them. The scavenging team sent out to explore the rest of Stoneham discovers a cemetery filled with a hibernating feral ghoul pack, and a crashed airliner that generations of raider gangs and opportunistic prospectors have picked over ever since the Great War. As they headed in to see what was left for them to take, they narrowly avoid being spotted by a oblivious pair of supermutants. They quickly discern that there's over two dozen of them camping out in the wreckage, the largest war party they've ever seen east of Malden. Helter Skelter's savage raider gang of West Everett Estates used to be able to hold the dumb green brutes at bay... Had they finally been overrun by Chieftain Hammer? And what could these supermutants be planning?

The scavengers sent to Malden report heavy fighting between the Gunners garrisoning Vault 75 and the supermutant occupation of the city hospital, but no activity from Helter Skelter's crew of raiders that have a base in the subway. They come back empty handed, not wanting to risk a confrontation with the supermutants to see what was in the abandoned police station. They do report a boathouse appears to have been attacked by a swarm of blood bugs, but, wishing to avoid being their next meal like the family of ranchers that lived within the home had likely perished, they chose to withdraw. The team sent up to the General Atomics Galleria also return without anything to show for their efforts, but claim with the help of the right programmer they could restore the automated shopping center staffed by malfunctioning Mr. Handy units and collect the profits for Motorpool.

The fifteen men and women sent to secure ArcJet Systems discover the protectron security of the building were destroyed near their pods, and that someone had reprogrammed the two turrets leading to the first laboratory, but press onwards into the structure. Reaching a room with a sealed pair of metal doors, the engineers went to a console to unlock more of the facility, and inadvertently opened the doors to a group of generation one and generation two synths who appeared to be scavenging as well. The salvage team recounts to Leon back at base how the humanoid robots with inhuman reflexes opened fire on the infantry sent to guard their prospecting mission, and killed two soldiers and shot an engineer dead with their blue lasers in the crossfire. Despite heavy resistance, the troopers held their position and eventually killed eleven android combatants in various states of disrepair. They choose to wait within the place where the gunfight began for reinforcements before heading further into the basement. A great many different electronics and robot parts can be found here, particularly computers (and their servers) concerning the former haul.

Although the wall is easily reinforced so that it's more protective, some of the more experienced soldiers warn Leon all it'll take to topple it is a match. Additional turrets at key sections seem to content them however. The attempt to make portable field radios fails, and those involved in the project register complaints that it'll be easier to search for or maybe purchase ones instead of trying to make anything out of the scarce resources at the old rations stockpile. The veteran rangers drill as ordered, but remark that their twenty years of experience in the special forces to earn the black armor and the sequoia revolver they proudly wear and wield, respectively, is enough training.

Sentinel Site Prescott's power generators whine under the strain, but they narrowly provide the desired voltage to spread whatever message Rex cares to air to the neighboring parts of the Commonwealth outside of the Glowing Sea. The rangers and work crews sent further into the top secret military installation find little other than corpses, and more atomic warheads...

That is, until they stumbled upon a skeleton wearing moth eaten robes praying at a shrine, clutching a mini nuke shell tightly to their chest. Though whether out of fear or respect, nobody touches the remains nor the glowing offerings. It appears the worshipper had committed a ritualistic suicide. Some ghouls recognize them and the erratic chalk markings on the walls to be the work of the Children of Atom, a warlike cult. Nobody disturbed the area, though whether out of fear, or respect, nobody cared to speak out.

The settlers at the Somerville Place farmstead walk the four rangers aiming to set up on their property off the land at gunpoint. The ghouls sent to the Federal Supply Cache have the good fortune of gaining access to rations, water, and a small armory of standard issue infantry arms. Though with some difficulty, the others succeed in establishing themselves in the cave, in the feral ghoul infested church, and the group sent to the supermutant encampment of 'scrap palace' manage to lethally displace the former occupants without casualties.

Otto and Maurice were walking back towards Motorpool. Maurice called out to Goldie who was on watch duty. Goldie waved a long cut of green cloth in the air to signal that he had seen them. Otto rubbed his hands together to keep them warm as he walked. He knew he could cram them into his pockets but he had been taught by his Papa that hands in pockets meant you couldn't reach for a weapon as quickly. As he trudged along towards the Motorpool gate and behind it Goldies watchtower, he began to reminisce about the past.

Papa Albert smelled constantly of the moonshine that he had constantly taken little nips of throughout the day. He was by no means a deadbeat alcoholic and rarely if ever drank enough to get tipsy. Papa Albert was too smart to risk letting himself get drunk in the wasteland. But, Otto suspected later in life, his father had been usually lightly buzzed throughout most of the day. Otto never held it against him. His father functioned perfectly well for as long as he knew him and never missed a shot when taking out a varmint to put meat on the table. He was the best man a son could ask for.

His father was a scavenger. Otto never called him a scavenger, however. Papa Albert adamantly said that he was a prospector. He told Otto that scavengers didn't have a code of conduct but that prospectors did. He explained that prospectors were better than scavengers because they helped one another when they needed it and didn't needlessly break what wasn't broken. He thought it to be a great crime to wastefully break something, even if it was necessary to break it to get to a desired piece of salvage. After all, someone else might want that thing intact so they could find it and use it later.

Otto never had a mom. He never questioned his father about her after he turned ten. Prior to turning ten, he had always been stonewalled when he brought up the subject. After a while Otto realized that she was either dead or didn't matter anymore. He dropped the subject and eventually stopped caring - after all, he had never really had a mother to lose. To him, she was more the unknown face that had facilitated his existence. He was fine with just that.

Papa Albert taught Otto relentlessly. He would make him recite the alphabet after they had made a camp fire. He would make him do addition and subtraction as he pitched the tent. He would very rarely give him a piece of candy for memorizing a difficult fact, like what convection was and how it made weather work. One time Otto had tried to figure out where he kept those little candies by rooting through his backpack during the night. Papa Albert had awoken with a start. He later told Otto that he had thought a rat or thief was trying to get into his things. He nearly panicked and shot Otto before Otto yelped and tumbled over in fear. Thinking about him, Otto could still clearly recall the face of his father. His black mustache was bushy and thick. He never allowed stubble to grow anywhere on his face or his sideburns to trawl down his head, though. He would relentlessly scour his face with a straight razor every morning.

Presently, Otto crossed the threshold of the Motorpool village gate. Goldie pushed it closed and then stuck the thick bar back into place behind it, before finally securing the whole mess with a lock. Otto finally felt safe enough in his village to cram his hands back into his pockets. He flexed his fingers eagerly, trying to warm them up in the lined pockets of the jacket.

Goldie peered out the back of his watchtower and called down to Maurice and Otto. 'Mortie. You're on second watch for a half shift. Get chow after.' Maurice, who Otto suspected would like nothing more than to just get chow immediately and then collapse into bed gave Otto an exasperated look as if to say 'Why me?'. Otto sympathized, but held his tongue. It was Goldies place to command the guard and a good leader was supposed to delegate. Goldie clambered down the ladder of his tower noisily and gave Maurice a friendly slap on the back as he went climbing up. Otto gave him a nod since he was unwilling to remove his still-warming hands from his pockets. 'Chow?' He asked. Goldie grinned good-naturedly and exclaimed, 'Best idea you've had all day. I'm beat.'

The duo walked down the dirt path towards the village center. The various metal and wooden shacks stretched up and down the lane as they went. Otto knew where he was of course. His own house was a few rows to the left. Goldies was somewhere far forward of where they were walking. He lived with his wife, though Otto only knew her very passingly. 'So Goldie. I've got to give you the scoop.' Said Otto. 'Oh?' Said Goldie bemusedly. 'I thought you and Maurice were having a lovely stroll through the countryside.' Otto dryly looked at Goldie who let out a small huff of amusement. 'Fine, fine. Update away, boss.'

Otto turned left at a corner and started down towards the chow hall. 'We found a computer.' Otto stated.

'What, like a terminal?' Goldie asked. Otto shook his head and tried to explain as best he could, lacking the technical expertise to fully explain all of the oddities of the machine.

By the time the duo reached the chow hall Otto's stomach was rumbling and Goldie was nodding understandingly. 'So it's fine to come?'

'I don't think it cares.' Otto mused. 'It seemed happy to just have someone to talk to. It nearly scared my socks off when it started talking and locked the cellar door. Maurice too. He was howling like an alley cat and banging on the door to try to get me out.'

Goldie snorted. 'Sounds like him. Maurice has a good head on his shoulders, Otto. He'd have gotten you out if you needed it, I bet.'

Otto nodded silently in agreement. 'I guess so.' Otto swung the door to the chow hall wide and the two crossed the threshold. A few laborers were having bowls of stew ladled out of a big cooking pot. It seemed to be some sort of diced meat and root vegetables. Otto didn't care what it was so long as it would quiet his impatient stomach.

Goldie and Otto wrapped up their evening by discussing matters and eating soup. It wasn't half bad, but it lacked proper seasoning. Goldie didn't seem to mind the soup at all and quipped, 'Lots of people out there haven't got anything to eat at all tonight.' Otto felt a tad guilty for complaining and quickly changed the subject. After a pleasant dinner with Goldie, Otto retired to his home for the night. His key rattled in the lock to his front door as he stepped inside, and then locked it behind himself. He went about tossing his backpack into the corner and placing his pistol on his bedside table. As he took a sip of water from his cup and leaned his head back onto his pillow, he got to thinking more subtle and subdued thoughts. Otto didn't often bother to whisper words to what might be plain nothing. Papa Albert was a skeptic about religion. He always told Otto that 'Two hands working do more than ten clasped in prayer.' Otto put the thought out of his mind, just this once. He drifted off to sleep while trying to count his blessings and ask for safety to be afforded to Motorpool in these dark times, hoping that whatever being that existed might care enough to listen.

The wall restoration and expansion project goes ahead as planned under Darla's close supervision. The hunters bag two radstags while away, and manage to find the entry of the mole rat burrow near the shores of the lake held at bay by the dam. For now, anything beyond primitive water filters seems impossible without additional resources and know how, but Terence creates multiple rain catchers around the settlement to collect any rainfall that isn't irradiated. The caravan returns with a modest cargo of food and water, though Moody suspected they could get more each trip if they gave the men and women something to trade with rather than expecting them to scavenge along the road on the way to find things to sell.

Chieftain Fist's supermutant horde overruns the Gunner outpost within Malden's Vault 75, and begins to consolidate his control over the ruins of downtown Boston. The Gunners, anticipating the conflict to intensify, mobilize at the Plaza in the hopes of breaking through to their besieged Mass Bay Medical Center stronghold that allows them to resupply their urban outposts via the overpasses.


Mayor McDonough, the very same day a man named Kyle is shot dead by security officers for threatening to kill his brother Riley due to his misguided belief his family member had been replaced by some lookalike Institute infiltrator... Delivers an impromptu speech in defense of his humanity to the concerned citizenry of Diamond City. The crowd quickly becomes a rioting mob, and despite the best efforts of law enforcement, Mayor McDonough is lobotomized on the stage and exposed for what he truly is for all to see. Hung from the window of his mayoral office, the Diamond City council convenes in an emergency session to announce an election likely to be it's most contentious since the former mayor's own ghoul expulsion platform. Candidates register themselves, and begin campaigning door to door for the votes they need to determine the great green jewel's increasingly uncertain future.

Rumors abound that Overboss Colter has been slain by his former lieutenant in combat during the final round of the 'Gauntlet'. What this means for the three raider gangs of Nuka World is unknown, but many worry what this news could mean for the Commonwealth once the theme park is pacified...

'....This is Task Force Exodus at ArcJet Systems. Crossroads, do you read, over?' The restored Ham Radio crackled to life with the voice of Exodus's Team Leader, Marcus Fields.

Leon stood at the 'War Room' table situated in the bunker, giving a few moments to allow the signal to clear up before depressing the transmitter on the unit, then speaking in the microphone. "This is Crossroads, report situation Exodus, over." Another pause of what felt like forever, but finally the radio had crackled to life again.

'We encountered a group of unknown bipeds in the facility. Security wing was shot to hell, so they must have entered before we did. Three men down; we're holding our position until we're sure further progression into the facility is possible at this time, over.'

Leon winced at the mention of the casualties, yet pressed forward with additional instructions to the Task Force. "Understood. Have the Salvage Team secure the bodies of our men and at least one of the bipeds to transport back to the facility for examination. Any weapons and vital components you encounter, take those as well. Crossroads out." Letting go of the transmitter, he sighed and stepped out of the bunker. Amelia was waiting for him outside his quarters, looking rather grim. "Some of the personnel filled me in on what happened. Those were good men." Leon nodded; at any rate it would take a considerable amount of time before replacements could be found, screened and accepted. "I know they were. Nothing we can do but ensure they have a decent burial once the Salvage Team returns. In the meantime, we still have work to do concerning fortifications." Ameila and Leon went over to inspect the wall's progress, and both came to the realization that they wouldn't last long if it came under attack. The only thing they had access to beyond wood and metal was concrete, and reinforcing the compound walls would take quite some time, but would offer the benefit of added protection and security. As Amelia went to draft up plans for the construction, Leon prepared to send the next volley of orders across the UIC.

As the Commander and his officers stand in the command room, dark moniters and mostly silent radios. As the radio crackles they start to get their reports. Orders get sent and Commander steps out, gathering troops and material. He had this as his mission ever since he was a kid, taught that Democracy was the leading factor of the American Golden Age and how the American nation will always endure. The American people were born into the world with a pistol in one hand and a flag in the other, with them having to fight against all odds to even survive. They endured, just like they will now. His ancestors were some of the greatest people during the other biggest conflict in the world. When his great ancestors declared that he would be back to American Allied lands he meant it, when the Great War happened they declared that they would would be back to restore America in its darkest times, and they meant it. Now, he's back, and by the end of this America's flag will shine from sea to sea.

With the scent of ashes and the blackness of soot, a grim spectre had reared it's ugly grinning head. Its terrible visage pointed squarely towards Dunwich Borers. War had come. Already it had claimed the lives of two of the Underminer's people. A foul crime that would not go unpunished.

"Burned... Alive. What a... Terrible fate." The Great Underminer hissed, angered terribly at the cruel means in which its people had been dispatched. Burning and in agony with their two attack rats. "A trial... Will be convened. Justice will... Be had." The Great Underminer said unto its followers, who clacked their sharp teeth together and nodded in stoic fashion. So it was with a fatalistic air that The Underminer then dispersed the hunting party. Giving each individual member the missive that they were to inform every Underdweller that there was to be a great meeting convened in the chamber above the holy-site with the rising of a new moon. That a trial would be held, and important news given to the people.

The Underminer waited for its minions to disperse fully before it gave forth a low hiss of anger into the open tunnel before it. Turning swiftly on it's clawed little feet, The Underminer quickly made way towards the area where they were holding the three captive Forged prisoners.

The Underminer would spend most of it's time there. Studying and interrogating each captive to an almost intimate detail. But most of all, it began to paint a picture of the beings themselves after a long while. Which helped the Underminer to choose it's next actions justly.

Meanwhile, as time passed by and the Underminer had the prisoners transferred below; The Underdwellers began to congregate. Each moving in eerie order to one another. Before standing still and silent in neat and equal rows. Each headed by either a foreman or supervisor. But all tilted their heads upwards to the stilted mining office used as the Great Underminer's quarters. Where bound and gagged upon the walkway the prisoners kneeled. Surrounded by ten armed guards, all ready to shoot, stab, or bludgeon any prisoners that seemed a bit too flighty.

It was here that the Underminer exited his temporary home and presented himself to the people. "During the... last Moon. Our hunting party... Was... Viciously... Attacked by these... Mongrel things. Burned... Alive. Burned... In agony. With... Two faithful... Mole-Hounds." The Underminer then pointed a clawed finger towards the prisoners. "Foreman... Knik-Nak has... Informed me... That these three man-things... Are part of... The group... Who... Murdered our people." The Underminer listened as the slow cascade of chattering teeth and hisses of rage slowly began flooding the chamber. It was a rising sound that began to echo as anger and indignation swept over and filled the crowd. "The wronged... Shall... Vote. They will... Decide... The fates... Of... Two. But one... Shall remain with us." And with its verdict said, The Underminer chose the prisoner to be kept and taken back to captivity. Before of course retiring to it's own dwelling. It had much to prepare before the moon set.