"Blood, Sweat and Tears"

[Keanumoreira]

C'mon Alias, you can't stop here. You've got a riveting masterpiece chalk full of adventure, romance, and the search for ultimate understanding and justice going on. Every chapter brings new insight to places in Fallout 3 we thought we already knew. This thread is one of the few good things to come to the Garden in a long time and it would be a shame if it were to end here and now.

[AliasTheory]

C'mon Alias, you can't stop here. You've got a riveting masterpiece chalk full of adventure, romance, and the search for ultimate understanding and justice going on. Every chapter brings new insight to places in Fallout 3 we thought we already knew. This thread is one of the few good things to come to the Garden in a long time and it would be a shame if it were to end here and now.

Thanks. However, I frankly feel my writing and characters are too shallow here and lack depth. But more importantly, yes, I'm busy. I barely have enough time to genuinely absorb my academic material, and I don't feel too motivated or obligated to post publicly. I don't exactly get a lot of writing feedback or anything, so I still follow my own rule: I write or make art for myself first, then everyone else. Furthermore, I'm writing another story which I'm far more satisfied with, with 25,000 words of script (and counting) set out.

 

Sure, it sounds a little selfish. As I said, I may come back to this, but I am not sure.

 

If anyone is curious about how everything goes along, I can explain if he or she is that curious.

[Keanumoreira]

C'mon Alias, you can't stop here. You've got a riveting masterpiece chalk full of adventure, romance, and the search for ultimate understanding and justice going on. Every chapter brings new insight to places in Fallout 3 we thought we already knew. This thread is one of the few good things to come to the Garden in a long time and it would be a shame if it were to end here and now.

Thanks. However, I frankly feel my writing and characters are too shallow here and lack depth. But more importantly, yes, I'm busy. I barely have enough time to genuinely absorb my academic material, and I don't feel too motivated or obligated to post publicly. I don't exactly get a lot of writing feedback or anything, so I still follow my own rule: I write or make art for myself first, then everyone else. Furthermore, I'm writing another story which I'm far more satisfied with, with 25,000 words of script (and counting) set out.

 

Sure, it sounds a little selfish. As I said, I may come back to this, but I am not sure.

 

If anyone is curious about how everything goes along, I can explain if he or she is that curious.

 

Right, right, school is more important, understandable...

 

And I know that no motivation ticking timebomb. Been feeling like that too lately and it sure brings things down. Anyway, if you do decide to return then please do let us know. I'm sure I'm not the only one who appreciates this story.

[AliasTheory]

*shifty eyes*

 

Hey. I'm going to start posting stuff again. So you can keep a look out.

[AliasTheory]

<----- BACKWARD

 

============================

Chapter 23: Scout

============================

 

The following morning, over some hot food at the Ninth Circle’s counter, I finish explaining aloud to my friends what I had carefully and mentally recited to myself the previous day. The clock just strikes eleven; most of Underworld is up and going again, save for the rowdy night bar scene, but Lyn remains asleep back at the room, our important piece of luggage stored there as well. The people change and adjust with time, though like some of the more abandoned parts of the world, Underworld itself knows of no such concept. Persistently dark, rusty, decaying orange – not the stuff you’d want in your food, or at least, not again.

 

“But I still don’t get it,” Saori squirms, parting the sauces on her plate with a fork. “Why would they – I mean James – pick you and his own kid? Because you were both basically parentless? How does that ‘mitigate eventual guilt’, to use his words? And needing more time?” She hums in thought. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Now you’re like a broken record,” I say, smirking faintly.

 

Butch reclines in his seat and rests his feet on the long bar table. “Yeah, I don’t get ‘em either. I know I saw that thing with you at the place, but that’s weird. You know, maybe someone is just trying to screw with you as a sick joke or something.”

 

“No way.” I cast the idea aside. “Even then, how would this hypothetical person know about my existence? How would he or she know within a day that we were going to go on a little adventure to Vault-Tec?” I scoff. “Impossible. It’s James; deal with it.”

 

“Maybe,” Saya says playfully, twirling around on the barstool. “Though you seem pretty okay me. I never would have guessed it, but you told me, so…yup! It’s freaky.”

 

“That’s what I was saying before!” Saori blurts. “You seem fine. A perfectly normal guy.”

 

“You seem to be very awake this morning,” I chuckle. “Well, that’s because you don’t have anything to compare to. There was no ‘before’ and ‘after’ because I’ve always had it!” I close my eyes and shake my head. “It’s the only way you’ve known me. I’m not fine.”

 

“I meant relative to the rest of the Wasteland life,” she corrects. “The sane portion, anyway. But you’re normal to us, and that’s all we care about. Right? Even if it does make you comparatively different.”

 

“We wouldn’t be here without you,” Saya smiles.

 

I hesitate. Maybe I don’t have this crazy thing in my head, though what if I do? How do I know? Can I know? Sure there’s coincidence, but that doesn’t make everything suddenly true, although it is still a possibility. Perhaps Butch is right about the setup. What and where is the truth that keeps eluding me? If this does turn out to be the truth, what does it mean for me, and for every part of every equation where I’m written? Is my livelihood at stake? Who am-

 

Shut it down. You know what? F*** that noise.

 

I close my eyes and sigh gently. “I guess you’re right. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

 

Butch coughs and speaks up again. “What about a raider a mile away with a sniper?”

 

Man, sometimes I feel like an idiot. “Okay, you’ve got a point. Fine. You know what I mean though; it’s one of those times.“ I put my head on the edge of the counter and stare at the mucky floor between my legs, but upon my next thought, I’m upright again and alert. “Just one last thing. What about Lyn - if I’m right? I said it was a no-go as far as spilling the beans already, but what about you guys? Everyone has a say here.”

 

There is quietness, as if the three are too embarrassed or fearful to have their opinion heard. The ceiling fan blows softly overhead, but after some much needed thought, I get my responses.

 

Butch is the first. “Keep quiet about it.” He pounds his left palm with a fist. “She might be a b****, but she doesn’t deserve that.”

 

“Don’t call her that!” Saya admonishes with a finger extended. Almost immediately, I see her arm retract, fingers now grazing her lips. “I like the being quiet part even if she might have…err…umm…that’s not nice!”

 

“What?” Butch shrugs, chuckling and grinning. “I’m just being honest here.”

 

The two begin to quickly fire verbal exchanges with each other – one of utmost kindheartedness, and the other perhaps a bit inconsiderate. Despite the noise, Saori is able to question me over the arguing in seriousness. “If you had a choice and could go back, would you have wanted to know all of this?” she says. Tilting her head, she leans closer, eyebrows raised. “About you and your head?”

 

The sound of silverware rattling by the now incoming bar customers fill the short pause. I answer without a hint of doubt.

 

“I would have rather not.”

 

“Then there’s your answer. And promise me you won’t talk about it again for one day, or at least until tomorrow.”

 

“I promise.”

 

--------

 

Within the hour, we pack up our belongings and restock on supplies and ammo. The store areas are indeed unchanged from the past night, being continually chaotic and disorderly. The actual shopping is never the big deal for us since we find plenty neat things to trade during our travels; one time we found this tiny blue pistol with these strange, glowing engravings. That thing was quite the glass cannon as after a few powerful test fires it refused to work, so we sold it to some wealthy-looking man with a hat in Megaton for whole thousand caps, the weapon being beyond our repair. And for the record, we’ve fixed a lot of junk. One’s trash is another’s treasure, I suppose. But the crowds are the worst part. Having people in the vicinity is truly something that should go without saying I appreciate, much of the world lacking that, but the environment tends to get more repulsive when there’s plenty of begging – at times quite literally – for survival.

 

Cross-legged in the dim and quiet corner of our temporary home, I begin to individually slip in bullets into a spare gun magazine, astute to keep things orderly in case disaster strikes. It’ll be a relatively short trip, but who knows what we’ll see out there. He**, if there’s one thing I’ve learned out here it’s to be the slightest bit paranoid and to overpack; underdo it, and you’ll in for much more suffering than you asked for – and definitely more than carrying around a heavy bag. It’s happened to us a couple times - we made it out alive, and therefore, one thing is for sure: it could just be game over for you, too.

 

Oh yeah. That last part? I read it in a book once.

 

I finish tinkering with my gun and ammunition. I’m getting to my feet, but with my utility belt a bit loose, one of my newly purchased frag grenades detaches itself and hits the floor with a light, hollow thud. It wobbles across the tiled floor, conclusively stopping at a familiar pair of black boots.

 

The pin is still on at least.

 

“Mornin’, Lyn. Hey, uh, could you pick that up for me? Just don’t toss it or anything…okay? Explosive results, you know.” I end it all with a big smile, feeling witty and intelligent for a moment because of my lame gag.

 

Lyn flexibly bends over to her toes and collects the olive green spheroid in her fingers.

 

“Well, it’s yours. Duh.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she walks over and firmly places it in my hand with a smug expression. Suddenly, she lightens. “Just don’t blow up anything,” she cautions with strange warmness in her tone. “We aren’t there yet.”

 

“Heh. You’re not funny.”

 

I put the grenade back on my belt. In the Capital Wasteland, unless you’re pretty wealthy or have some medical knowhow, even a lesser grenade blast will surely kill you – eventually. I might have bought these things, but I hope I won’t even have to touch them unless I have to. Guns kind of work the same way for all of us; people buy guns so they won’t have to. That’s weird, right? Truthfully, the Capital Wasteland won’t change for me or anyone else for that matter. I guess it’s all just a matter of opinion, and I’m just some guy. As a foulmouthed friend told the four of us back when the entire world was still a total stranger, “Opinions are like a**holes. They’re full of sh**.”

 

I start talking again. “Hey Lyn, thanks, but did you get any of these? We might need them, ‘cause bullets don’t curve.” I snicker. “Duh.”

 

Lyn lightly shakes her head in disagreement.

 

I clear my throat. “Okay. So suppose there was a guy behind a hall corner, and you didn’t have any of these bad boys. Now, he’s got a gun – semiautomatic, close quarter combat, within 20 feet. CQC. That sucker will mow you down if you try to close in. How do you take him out?”

 

Lyn looks at me in amused silence.

 

“What, don’t like that example? Fine by me. Consider he –“

 

“She.”

 

“Sure, sure, okay, fine. She is the same distance, but has a knife instead. And you don’t know she’s there at all – an ambush. A head on sprint down the hall straight to you or me, pistol or rifle undrawn. Twenty one foot rule: your average human can’t react fast enough to draw that gun and not get stabbed. I would check that corner with explosives prior to the situation.” I flick the chain on the grenade. “Safety first. So seriously, without these little things, how would you take out this guy-“

 

“Girl.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

For a moment, Lyn glances to the flakey ceiling, struggling in a particular thought. When sudden warmness reemerges across her face, she reaches over to pat my head a couple times, and then gracefully slides away towards the door. She raises her hand as she walks out, actions now done confidently as if without a second thought.

 

“Very carefully.”

 

Jaw-dropped, I’m not sure whether to laugh or be disappointed, so I remain flabbergasted, doubting such an underwhelming statement. What a bad joke.

 

“Lyn, what the heck? Get back here! Could you just answer the question? For Christ’s sake…”

 

She doesn’t stop for me, and raises her hand again.

 

“It isn’t rocket science, Drew!”

 

“That’s a load of bullsh**! Otherwise I would know!”

 

“You don’t even know that you know the answer!” she says, laughing.

 

-------

 

Slinging my assault rifle over my back, I walk towards the entrance to Underworld. Everyone else is there. Winthrop stands around with his robots, he conversing with Lyn, and likely wanting to see us off. Greeting Winthrop, I make a shy, friendly wave towards everyone as I approach.

 

“Oh gee, look who finally decided to show up,” Butch spits, arms crossed. Everyone’s attention shifts towards me.

 

“Hey. I was getting prepared, alright?” I get a little defensive. “Better safe than sorry. We must know that better than anyone.”

 

“Prepared for what?” he retorts. “Lyn says the Depot is basically dead. A steaming pile of concrete. No dudes inside, no security, no nothin’!” He kicks back on the giant metal door behind him. “Taking those Stealth Boys will be like taking candy from a baby.”

 

“Those words don’t make it so.” Saori shakes her head in disappointed amusement. “We can’t know that until we get there.”

 

Lyn knows her air has been saved. Butch makes a weak grin, and gives in seconds later, nodding agreeingly. Saori smirks, but upon making contact with my eyes, her own eyes seem to have evaporated of all their soul in an instant. Her expression is then of indifference.

 

Everyone takes a calm and deep breath.

 

Winthrop then breaks the silence with his raspy voice. “Well, I assume we are all now on good terms, correct? Do what you all have to do, and don’t be out for too long. I’m surely being redundant, but D.C is dangerous.”

 

“We know,” Lyn smiles.

 

“Just remember you are all still children,” he continues. “Don’t be too foolhardy.”

 

“We understand,” Lyn says. She gives Winthrop a hug and closes her eyes. “We’ll be back really soon, I promise. In one piece.”

 

Just like when we had initially entered Underworld, the rest of us have to shudder a bit at the thought of touching Ghoul skin – craggy, scabbed and discolored. I hear Butch whisper to Saori. “He doesn’t have to tell me twice.” Now upright, he points to them, keeping his hand close to his body in concealment. “Man, would you do that? If there’s one thing she can do that I can’t, it’s that.”

 

Saori pinches his right cheek with her nails.

 

“Owww! Stop pinching me!”

 

“Don’t be so rude then!” she whispers through her teeth. “Have some manners.”

 

Lyn unlocks her arms and then turns to us happily. “Well, we’re off.”

 

With that said, she leads the way, opening the door to the ghastly exhibit entrance. The giant mammoth skeleton and the fire barrel are still there, as are the marble flooring and red carpet. It’s all still so grand. I turn around to look back at the Ghoul city as if it was the last time I would see it; who knows what could happen out there. However, my eyes don’t focus on the walls, the paintings, the door or even Winthrop and his robots. Saya is the last person – not me – to walk out, head low to the ground. I fall farther back to give her some comfort. She was so distant and hidden, everyone had forgotten about her.

 

I scoff. “Saya, did you get a load of that idiot? You know, that guy, Butch. He’s always so arrogant.”

 

Glancing up to me, Saya hypnotically shakes her head side to side. She looks so sad, green eyes glistening in the fiery light. “He’s not an idiot.” She continues slowly shaking her head in the same manner. “He’s not an idiot.”

 

“Oh come on. I didn’t mean it like that. Brighten up; you looked perfectly happy earlier this morning.” I put my arm around her shoulder and look ahead. “He’s our friend from well…forever. I know that.”

 

“If you know that, then stop calling him that.” Her head sinks lower. “It all just reminds me that things haven’t been going well lately, so can we all work together? …Please?”

 

-------

 

Opening the door to the Museum of History reveals the blinding light of the late morning. The Mall thankfully seems very quiet today, and the weather isn’t too hot either; a nice breeze is able to pass through the area due to all the fallen buildings. Because of that, we can all take a little detour as planned, and basically head straight to the Depot in the northeast. Maybe we won’t even have to weave past all the Super Mutants, either.

 

The trek is another silent one. We snack along the way. Everyone sticks to the roads of the city as we go over a hill. Lyn and Butch look straight ahead at all times. Saori looks down at her feet, kicking at gravel, and Saya swivels her head side to side, as if someone may be watching. I just look straight ahead for the most part, though. There’s nothing much to see anyway, unless you are into slabs of concrete and everything that’s broken and dead. Same stuff, different day.

 

About an hour later, a small rivulet comes into view on our right side. I might as well be a victim of horrendous word choice, because “rivulet” is not even really the word to describe it. What I’m seeing makes a terrible excuse for something so small, so insignificant and so…ugly.

 

“We’re on track,” Lyn comments. “We just have to follow this; I’ve been there before, maybe a month ago. All this liquid is from the oil runoff from that robot repair shop up north. There are also traces of copper and mercury, so don’t go messing over there. When the Depot was doing all this experimental technology, one of things they did was try creating heat-pins for spacecraft cooling. In case humans would have to go to another planet to survive the aftermath of the war.”

 

“Another planet?” I wonder. I haven’t seen enough of this planet to even consider going to another one. The knowledge of planets to us must not even be a couple years old.

 

“Yes. The Depot also tried to look into mind-uploading. That was another one of the big projects. If the human mind could be fit into a computer in terms of data, then everything in it could be treated like regular old information. But more importantly, maybe it could be manipulated, or controlled by someone else. We could figure out how the brain really works and how people think. Maybe people could even live on forever in computers.”

 

“If people could live on forever in computers, then generations of knowledge wouldn’t have been lost,” Saori thinks aloud. “It could have been saved. All that information!” She laughs merrily at the thought of it.

 

I feel like we are wandering in dangerous territory here. Not physically, though.

 

“What about control?” I say. “So people may be able to live on forever, but there is the authority figure. Do you think anyone is really fit for that position? How can we know what we are controlling? How can we know everything?”

 

Lyn’s walking pace seems to slow momentarily. “What do you mean?”

 

“Is it too much power to have? Can everything really be reduced to a yes or a no?”

 

A pause. Saori looks around and smiles, giving me an answer instead. “There’s far too much grey around us to control, anyway. For anyone. Just look around.”

 

Butch clears his throat loudly. “You wanna speak English?” he says.

 

I suppose she’s right. Not even what was formerly a great power – the United States – and its mighty government could keep this stuff standing. It’s all gone; achievements were shattered by ones that were falsely hailed, and quite literally at that. There is no question that yeah, there’s nothing much left, because we’re living on the odds and ends. And it was all gone with a boom – if you were around to hear it. It doesn’t matter what or when you compare to; there’s too much grey for nobody to have, and for everyone to share. Man can’t control his own crap, no matter his quantity…and neither can I.

 

I’ll try one more time, super quick, just more cunningly.

 

“So Lyn. If there is the controller, there is the controlled. If we can treat the controlled as simple computer data, can it be shared with another? Like data from one computer hard drive to another.”

 

“Well, yeah, certainly it could,” she shrugs.

 

“What if I could be both? What if I could be the controller and the controlled simultaneously? What if another person - or should I say for you - what if she could too? I share what I want, that person shares what she wants all the time. Does that make them…”

 

“…The same person?”

 

I’m caught off guard for a moment. “What? Where did you pull that from? No, I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to ask if they could be each other. You know, like through memories or something.”

 

“’I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.’ They would be like two sides of a spectrum. Counterparts, probably not exactly the same.”

 

“And where did you hear that from?”

 

“My dad told me it to me once. The Bible.”

 

Now you have me more curious than ever. So big deal; I lied. I can’t keep being cryptic if I want to stay that way. But just how much do you know?

 

-------

 

That really was a peaceful hike. No bullets were fired and no blood was shed. Now, after following the trickles of polluted water up north, the environment starts to become more like what I had initially described. Finally is there some real quantity of water, and it’s far more runny and natural. Nevertheless, it’s still dirty as crap, even more than some of the other bodies of water in the area. Over here, I could probably stick a finger in the oily fluid and it would mutate into some hideous, carnivorous creature. Maybe I could even throw something dead in there and it could spring back to life. That’d be just downright creepy, though. And kind of cool.

 

Yes, I know. There’s not much to do in the Capital Wasteland than dream of something fantastical, so deal with it.

 

Taking a U-turn, we now face south. In front of us now stands the rusted metal gates to the National Guard Depot, complete with barbed wire. There are Protectrons and several other kinds of discarded robots, none of them active at all. The windows on the second floor are foggy and shattered in a few spots, and the door is thick, wooden and generic, the glass portion covered with nail boards without any crevices.

 

“God, this building looks boring already!” Butch booms. His voice echoes along the sides of the buildings.

 

“You mean there were exciting buildings?” Saori teases.

 

“The Museum of History…?” Saya says softly.

 

Lyn resumes control. “Quiet. There shouldn’t be any hostile contacts inside due to the building’s obscure location, but don’t count on it. There’s only a single entrance. It only looks like a normal office building from a glance, but what we are looking for is the underground bunker. The prototype Stealth Boys are inside. The Depot also houses some nasty pools of radiation, though we shouldn’t have to actually have to come into contact with them at all. Alright?”

 

Slowly crossing the parking lot and all of the abandoned nuclear-powered cars, we arrive at the door. I take the lead. As carefully as always, I draw my assault rifle and begin to thread it through the door crack, whilst twisting that golden, glimmering handle. Darkness swallows the interiors. However, my anticipation is cut short. I rattle the door a bit, hoping to get through, and my only reply is the clanking of some nearby metal.

 

“Guys, the door is chained from behind. A very small chain though. You know, like the ones at the Statesman Hotel in downtown D.C.”

 

“Lyn,” Saya says, hushed, “Didn’t you say you had been here a month earlier?”

 

“Yes, I did.” Lyn, puzzled, scratches near her ears. “There was no lock the last time.”

 

“Let me see.” Saori steps through, brushing my arm out of the way. “I’ll figure it out.”

 

“Sheesh, and not even giving me a chance,” I complain. “I can know stuff too. Anyway, Lyn and Saya, try get our six meanwhile. Butch can help watch the door.”

 

“Hmm.” Squatting down, Saori takes out a small flashlight and a slab of a mirror from her backpack’s side pocket. Starting to analyze the door, she begins to move the door handle up and down. “Well, for one brainiac, the handle isn’t even working. It’s so easy to move because it’s not catching inside at all.”

 

Butch laughs and gives me a friendly hit on the arm.

 

“Shut up.”

 

And inside,” she continues, angling the mirror around the door, “is definitely the hotel-style lock mechanism. Yet it looks new; no rust buildup and not many signs of good aging, outside the remolding of the alloy in one spot. So the chain has broken before. Though in this weather, being so hot and moist, the oxidation process accelerates. I’d almost have to say that-”

 

“-The lock is new?” I finish, squatting down next to her. For a moment, I glance upward in observation and notice something shiny and peculiar.

 

“Yep. Or newly installed. Somebody doesn’t want us here, or knows we’re coming.”

 

“Or wants to be alone,” Lyn adds.

 

I then hear Butch’s voice. “Then let’s tell ‘em we’re coming!”

 

I turn around in time to see Butch blazing towards us in a full sprint, ready jump and kick down the door.

 

“No, wait! You can’t do that!” I yell, scrambling to my feet.

 

I’m ready to intercept his movement. Lyn tries to pull backward on his shoulder, but Butch shoos her hand away, hardly an impediment to his rage. But it’s enough for Saya to step in front of him first.

 

“You can’t do that!” Saya cringes, eyes tightly closed, pushing back against Butch with her full body weight. Even with all her might, his muscular strength keeps her skidding on her boots towards the door. “You can’t break the lock for another time! If they’re expecting us, they might want to kill us! What if there is a trap?”

 

“And there is,” I say. Butch stops in his tracks. I point upward to the peculiar thing I had seen earlier. When the door is cracked open, above can be seen a suspended bouquet of at least a half dozen grenades, lined up sideways along a single looped rope. A large nail serves as the wrapping point. Unfortunately, the grenades are unreachable from our position.

 

“Wow…! How did you find that? Why were you looking up there?” Saori asks me, bewildered.

 

“Well, the sky sure is pretty today.”

 

“Bull friggin’ horsesh**.”

 

“Just give me the light and mirror.”

 

She groans. Without giving me any eye contact, she slaps both into my hand.

 

“Okay. Here, just look at this.” I angle the mirror to the door handle on the other side as to demonstrate. “Look at that. It’s really a common knot around the handle, a one-to-two-loop shoe knot, or some variation. The hanging end for unwrapped loop is tied on that stake over there.” I turn the mirror again. “If this door is pushed in too far, that end will elongate and break the knot. But remember the door handle; there’s another rope tied in this knot.” I turn the mirror back. “The catch is that if the former knot breaks, then the tension in one of the ropes above will lessen, causing the potatoes to fall. Their pins will be pulled, suspended by the knot from the ceiling, and the last thing we want is a loud welcome.”

 

“Or maybe even none at all,” Saori comments. “Enough explosives to level this area.”

 

“However, the rope goes back around the nail above, right?” I continue, tracing the rope pathway through the mirror. “It actually concludes right here by the door on this stake.” I tap the wood block protruding not too far from the center of the door crack. This knot may have been in rather plain sight, but that just makes it all the more elusive.

 

Butch speaks. “That’s a slip knot. Frequently used in hanging executions. It’s also meant to be untied and adjusted easily by pulling an end.”

 

I’m genuinely surprised, but no matter. “Yes!” I exclaim. “It might be that someone is traversing through this doorway rather frequently, very flexibly. He or she just has to tie the knot again. Or make a different one for the next visitor, if you’re an a**.”

 

“So about us releasing it?” Saori questions.

 

“No good. Well, you have to keep it tight all the time, otherwise we have an explosion, just due to the other side. So we actually need to open this door and keep it taut until we’re all through, then do the retie.”

 

“Then it’s just like the Statesman Hotel again,” Saori considers. “Saya! I need your hair band…again!”

 

I never mentioned the story behind this, so I’ll tell it now. Several months ago, before all of this mess started, we went looting one evening in the Statesman Hotel since we had next to nothing to live on. The Super Mutants were smart enough to lock many doors, but that night we were able to stealthily enter many rooms using a simple hair band. With only a door chain on, it’s possible to use some sort of retracting spring force - like that of a hair band - to bring the security slide and handle together when the door is returned to the closing position, when the chain itself has some more slack.

 

Long story short, we got some nice loot. And the big guys are heavy sleepers. With a ballroom in the vicinity, we were practically dancing with Death.

 

“I’ve got it tied back there,” Saori calls. “Get ready everyone. Handle and chain.” She begins to go through the motions as she speaks. “So if I close this door, gently now, then when I push back in…”

 

The chain can be heard sliding on the metal sleeve to an unlocked position.

 

“…Open sesame.”

 

FORWARD ----->

Edited June 28, 2011 by AliasTheory

[AliasTheory]

<----- BACKWARD

 

============================

Chapter 24: Uphill, Both Ways

============================

 

With the knot retied just as I had planned, I close the door. Given our surroundings, I was right about the entire trap. And Lyn’s words are true; the environment truly is one of a generic office or working facility. There’s no electricity. Given the magazines about Christmas scattered around the desks and floor, I assume that was the season when time stopped marching on.

 

I pull out my canteen of water from my backpack and begin to sip it as Saya, Lyn and Butch begin to secure the immediate area, gun lights scurrying deeper within. They’ll holler if we two remaining in the stretches of sunlight are needed.

 

Saori puts her hands on her hips and squints at me. “Giving the lady the job? For a guy who knows a lot about knots, you sure don’t know how to tie them.” She rolls her eyes.

 

“Hey, shush you. I just read Vault books all the time. The theory.” Gulping down some water, I point to myself. “I’m a thinker, not a doer.”

 

She violently blows the bangs of her hair. “Fine. And what were you doing back there with Lyn? Talking about brains and computers and crap.”

 

I begin to flick the canteen bottle cap repeatedly. “What are you talking about? I was making conversation. You were too. Interesting topic, no?”

 

“Nice try,” she devilishly smirks. Saori is quick to turn more serious, however. “I know what you’re doing. I thought we had a promise that you weren’t going to talk about it?” She crosses her arms. “We had a deal.”

 

I suppose it’s no use trying to hide my intentions. “I just needed a little more information. Just a little more. That’s all. I got what I wanted. We cool?”

 

Did I really? A twisted and disappointed expression, an eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” I pull out the canteen again. “Here, you want some water? My germs won’t kill you. Probably. Dehydration will.”

 

Mouth forming a warm smile, albeit somewhat forced, she nods in difference, negativity fading. “No thanks. I’m good.”

 

I sigh and cap the flask. “You’re not ‘good,’” I correct, putting the water bottle back in my bag’s side pocket. “You’re ‘fine.’ Your moral condition isn’t in question.”

 

The hands go back on her hips, and she arcs closer to my face. She then jabs her pointer finger into my chest, and I discover myself stepping backward in retreat. “Hmph. Well, I think you’re a pedant. Presumably you’re pedantic in your pedantry as well.”

 

Hands like tweezers, I pluck her finger off and place my own gentle open hand there instead. “I’m also considerate.”

 

Saori replaces her finger over my hand in the same fashion. “Well I’m also-”

 

In that moment, we are illuminated by flashlights and all of their rainbow bands. Frozen, Saori and I turn to see the rest of the gang with happy expressions. Saya gives us a “thumbs up” with a small smile.

 

“It’s all clear here,” Lyn says, cheerfully. She drops her gun’s light slightly. “Everything is pretty clean. A few traps, but nothing special. Some terribly placed tripwires, a small mine here and there and a single bear trap. Nothing your ordinary Wastelander couldn’t sniff out. What’s important is that the bunker is in the next area, so that’s where the fun starts. We’ll find our magician, too.”

 

When considering your average lonely Wastelander, who might as well be blind, I have to remember a particular “law”: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Nevertheless, even in the darkness, for some reason, everything seems a whole lot brighter. And I’m not talking about the flashlights.

 

“What are you guys grinning about?” I find Saori echoing my words exactly.

 

The other three turn around. “Oh, nothin’,” Butch dismisses. “Detected traps aside, we were all just thinking how you two make a cute couple.”

 

--------

 

Evading the traps, we quietly walk into the next room. The door in back of the office was more of a teleporter or a gateway to another he**ish dimension, because the world behind it is completely different. Small fire barrels light the area. An office is still present, but only a skeleton of one. Giant chunks of cement are taken out of the ground and ceiling, a crimson evening sky visible; staircases are visible on the far side through building framework, where neither should be seen at all. Of most disturbance are the oozing pools of green goo, strange fungi marinating in the concoction.

 

“Alright. Butch, what are you doing?” Saori says, sickened. She catches up to look at him, but he keeps walking without giving attention. “What are you all doing? Whose side are you on?”

 

“You mean there were sides?” I ask.

 

“You guys fight like a real couple,” Butch lightly chuckles. “And for the record, I’m on my own side. Butch’s side.”

 

Saori gets angry. “And not a f*** was given that day. Listen, you, I was only trying to-“

 

“No you weren’t,” I say instinctively. I don’t know what she’s going to say exactly, but I know that tone; she doesn’t need to get mad at him, too.

 

Lyn steps in. “That’s it, you guys need to stop fighting-”

 

Saori crescendos to a yell. “-Only trying to get Drew to tell me what the fu-”

 

As she speaks, I begin to hear another voice faintly in the background. And it’s none of ours at all. It’s a male one.

 

“Honey…is that you?” the voice echoes drunkenly. Even amidst the fighting, I can tell the voice is getting louder, at some intoxicated pace. The sound of a gun revolver spinning can also be heard.

 

Saya must have taken notice. “Everyone, stop fighting! Please!”

 

“…Because he was just too stupid to admit it earlier. TOO. STUBBORN. Why, maybe you could help-”

 

Where is my voice?

 

“Stop-”

 

I shake my head. “Ikeda girl, you win. Listen: we found our magician here. There’s this voice coming from over there, and you need to-”

 

“STOP!” Saya screams.

 

A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the room from select few windows and the ceiling, taking every morsel of warm light with it. The Christmas-themed papers crackle and scatter chaotically. A few doors slam shut in quick succession, tin cans clatter across the floor, and the footsteps begin to clack closer. Whirlwinds of dust fills the air. Coldness. Darkness.

 

Silence.

 

Saya’s emerald eyes seem to radiate in the dark. Radiate with fear.

 

“Remember why we’re here.”

 

We hastily make our way to the nearest corner to our immediate left. I take a deep breath and attempt to resume control over the situation. “Let’s concentrate. It’s life or death here. Lyn, take the bottom floor. You know the radiation pool locations better than anyone. Saori goes with you. Butch, stay here and hold your position if he approaches. Saya and I will go around and try pounce ‘em. We want this guy alive. Keep the lights out of the air. Capeesh?”

 

Everyone nods, one with less enthusiasm than the others. Our rifles now up, we all rise and begin going separate ways.

 

I put my hand on Saori’s shoulder in sincerity. “Hey, Mechanic – take it easy.”

 

She partly turns, and then resumes following orders.

 

“I hate you.”

 

--------

 

I tag Saya along and make my way around. I don’t say a word. Did this guy here in the Depot really know of our arrival? Even not, why is he here – in an experimental technology facility – in the first place?

 

Continually being as quiet as possible, we make our way around the office cells and the giant hole in the middle of the room. Without any real shadows, it’ll be difficult to locate my target. Popping in and out of the maze of boxes, I attempt to find the presumed magician, occasionally peaking over the barricades to get a better view. But all I see are rows of Robco terminals for what were likely for word processing purposes.

 

Saya pokes my shoulder. She then points to a convex mirror to my right side. A purpose fulfilled is a purpose that is greatly needed; I can see a man, perhaps in his forties, wandering the other, symmetrical corner hall with a loaded revolver at the ready. He’s bulky and wears a stained tank top. Yet, if I can see him, doesn’t that mean he can see me?

 

He’s too oblivious. I want to approach him from behind. Moving closer, I grow ambitious, but a large gap in this floor halts my attempts. Sure, it’s jumpable and definitely makeable. The other thing it’ll do is invite some unwanted attention.

 

I look at the mirror again. A barricade now serves as a tall, dividing aisle, though in moments, the man will cross with me on the other side. I can’t let him out of my sight, and everyone else is back at the other end of the room.

 

I cue Saya to move. “Go the other way,” I murmur. “Intercept his path in case I don’t get him.”

 

She heeds my orders. Good. Looking purely at the mirror, I take aim at leg height, towards the barricade straight ahead. I wait patiently.

 

If going around takes too long, I’ll just plow right through.

 

He’s moving as planned. In three, two, one…squeeze.

 

“AGH!”

 

Three shots. With sudden adrenaline, I jump the barricade, leaving my rifle behind. I draw my handgun, and grip it tight. The man is stunned, revolver still in his hand, still able to stand on his legs. Revolver shots ricochet off the ceiling in all directions, shattering light bulbs above, glass falling. A swift kick to the face on the way down to the chin. A right hook; a facial fracture, I think. But he’s resilient. A knee blow to my stomach; a punch across the face so strong, it’s enough to flip me the other way to retain my balance. His bulky, hairy arm traps me and wraps around my neck, suffocating me.

 

“You…!”

 

“We’re coming in!” I hear Butch call out.

 

I notice the man’s gun, lowering to my head. It’s just like before, isn’t it? Those Talon mercenaries. What about my friends? They’re going to help me. Not in time.

 

“Why are you here?” He grunts.

 

Not this time. And I don’t give up.

 

With lightning speed, I reach behind him and redirect his armed hand to his foot. He fires instinctively when I bat his hand.

 

He yells out in great pain, being shot in the same spot as before. A swift elbow jab to his chest will do the trick. A possibly broken rib cage. When his gun falls to the floor due to his own weakness, I kick it to the end of the hallway. It stops at Saya’s feet. She seems to be too paralyzed to do anything.

 

When it comes to this stuff, I’ve always expected that much.

 

“Hold on to that for me, will you?”

 

Now, my hand around his sweaty neck, I hold the man at gunpoint. A closer look reveals more. Unshaven. Scarred. Ungroomed. Something all too familiar: old.

 

He speaks. “You aren’t one of them…”

 

“Did you set those traps?” I demand. I lick some blood from my bottom lip, warm and salty. “Who sent you? Did you know we were coming?”

 

“Yes, I did,” he croaks. “Everything else, no. Forgive me.” He coughs blood onto my right arm, his teeth as yellow as can be, but I don’t care. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know where you came from! My wife comes home every day from Dukov’s place.” He coughs again. “No kids. This is the only place safe from the Raiders and the Mutants. We’re just trying to survive. I’m no use…to some other man. A man with money. I can make no sexual favors. I am without…purpose!”

 

I loosen my grip. He’s human, just as human as any of us, not like those monsters. I feel the same sensation as when I talk to Saya, the sensation that I can take anything she says to heart. The man stumbles into the far wall, where Lyn and Saori stand. Saya approaches from the other end and holds my shoulder, handing me the man’s revolver.

 

I think of the Ghoul I kept under my same, tight grip back at Underworld. He said I was like him: a knowledge seeker. I could have been him, and in his situation. The skin doesn’t mean anything. At the same time, I could have been this man, too. Someone with less than nothing.

 

Flipping the revolver in my hand, I attempt to return it, handle protruding.

 

“I never intended to kill you. I’ll help you. Tell me, what’s your name?” I say.

 

“A boy who hasn’t lost himself.” A pause. “A rare breed.” He chuckles. “I have faith in the Wasteland when I see you, stranger. And my name? Well, my name…is-”

 

Boom. A deafening roar of a shotgun; a brutal “solution” from an already thoughtless one, where elegance is far too rare. Blood sprays everywhere. Everyone gasps as we cover our eyes. My lips begin move without a voice to guide them. “Why…?” A horribly mutilated corpse is all that remains.

 

“Ah ha! I knew I would get him!” Butch cries, fist pumping. “I’ll always have you covered, Drew. I can’t believe he didn’t even…”

 

He turns to catch sight of a traumatized, blood-splattered Saya. I am aghast, and even Lyn is speechless. I would have to say that Saori had become a bit more humanized as well. The atmosphere is heavy and penetrating.

 

His shotgun clatters to the ground in emptiness. The sunglasses, in their pristine quality, fall of his forehead and shatter into black fragments that knew happier days.

 

Butch falls to his knees, hard and fast, possessed by the results of his own actions. His voice becomes weak. “What am I doing? Is this really who I am? No…” He pulls at his slick, carefree hair in frustration. Despite all that arrogance and manhood, he looks like he might crack. “The Wasteland is turning me into something I’m not.”

 

I can’t let this happen! We are here for the Stealth Boys and nothing more.

 

I extend my hand. “Get up,” I command.

 

“How can I?!” he exclaims. Butch faces me, face the saddest I’ve ever seen. “How can I? I’m not a murderer. I can’t be. His past, his present; his future. If it weren’t so easy…”

 

“So I can’t lie to you.” I glance back at the man’s body, and raise my hand to obscure it, making a fist. “But before that man…passed, he told me that I hadn’t lost myself.”

 

I have to gasp for air to resume control over myself.

 

“I might not have lost myself, but you can’t either! You need to fight back! Cast it away! We need to go on!”

 

“I can’t fight back,” he mumbles, dripping with regret.

 

Lyn steps forward. “You still have to,” she says. “How can we move on? You’re strong too. I made the same…mistake, but it doesn’t control me…or leave me.” I can tell she struggles to make out the words. “I still have no idea who that man those days ago is, though I feel like I’ve known him for a long time. Regret still haunts me. So does the desire to move on and improve. The Wasteland will always be full of bloodshed, and that’s why the conscious choice is important. You have to do it for us. Do it for the betterment of the Wasteland itself.”

 

For a moment, all that can be heard is Butch’s heavy breathing.

 

“Do it for her,” Saori utters, facing the floor. She points to Saya, still petrified.

 

“Come on, Butch.” I extend my hand again. “So I talked to that man. Time is only a one way trip, so you need redeem yourself! If you don’t, his death will be in vain! He wouldn’t want this. None of us do.”

 

“And I always said that do-gooder crap was for the birds.” I see. Grown men don’t cry.

 

This isn’t going fast enough. Evening is already here. “We came here to get those Stealth Boys. So Lyn, Saori, get him down to the bunker, wherever it is. Let’s get what we came for and get out of here. I’ll meet up with you.”

 

As the girls leave, serving as an escort, I suddenly hear Lyn’s voice.

 

“Very carefully.”

 

A strange sense of comfort comes over me in that moment. Feeling resolve, I turn to Saya and place my hands on her shoulders, just as before. I’ll get my assault rifle in a bit, but everything about her feels empty now. It’s like she has forgotten how to feel emotion. I take a small cloth from my backpack and clean her face from all that repulsive red using some drinking water. There is nothing I can do about her suit, though.

 

“I’m sorry…again. But Lyn is right, you know. There will always be bloodshed in the Wasteland.” I close my eyes in feeling. “It’s been more than a year in the outside world – two, in fact. Butch wasn’t right, and you have to face the facts. You can’t stay scared forever.” Gazing, I tilt my head and lightly knock on her shoulder with a right fist. “Is a part of your sister Amata in there? Yes? Hello? The brave and daring? And not the least bit squeamish? You must be dying to come out of there.”

 

--------

 

Damn. Now I can hear myself.

 

I can’t take another emotional rollercoaster. Too much has happened already. Yet what I can’t stand to think about are Lyn’s words from this morning. There was no joke; the theory wasn’t enough. She was right: I did know the answer all along. I’m so stupid; if I was just a little smarter, maybe things could have swung in our favor. I could have told Butch, like a warning. Damn it. Maybe it wouldn’t have cost a life. And h***, Saori is a wreck, too. And you know what? That stupid thing in my head. I bet it’s s***ing with me a f***load. Why don’t I know enough about that either? I never really got my answer earlier; in fact, I never truly got it. Only an idea. I just don’t actually understand anything.

 

How can we know what we are controlling? How can we know everything?

 

We really do need to get out of here.

 

--------

 

Saya and I meet up at the bunker, following the stairs the same way Lyn had gone. The bunker itself is in pretty plain sight, and the pools of radiation are pretty far from where we needed to be. A large metal door and a terminal taunt me at what is undoubtedly the entrance. It probably goes without saying that the terminal is securing the door with some sort of computer code.

 

I take my hand off of Saya’s back and approach the terminal. She groups with Butch and Saori. Apathetic, they all sit quietly in a corner, isolated, tired and exhausted. If one didn’t know they were alive, one could say they were lifeless.

 

“The bunker isn’t too hard to find when everything is obliterated,” Lyn comments.

 

I ignore her.

 

“Well, have we had our moments? Perhaps calmed down a bit?” The terminal light illuminates her rather caring expression.

 

“Yeah, we did. And you don’t need to tell me: there’s some terminal here that has some stupid code that requires some stupid hacker to get in that stupid door. After all, I can’t have some girls complaining about how they had to do all the work.” The terminal login screen appears. Saori glances at me, and then huddles closer to Butch.

 

Lyn steps closer with concern. She places her arm on my own, like a mother would. Actually I take that back – how can I know that? Maybe if I had one to remember.

 

“What are you doing? What’s wrong? Haven’t we all had enough? You’ve definitely had enough. You’re only here to help and nothing more. You’ve done your part. Let me handle this.”

 

“Nope. F*** you. I’m going to do it.”

 

In shock, she withdraws her hand from my arm timidly.

 

“ENTER PASSCODE,” the monitor reads. Without a thought, I hold down three keys and click the tracking ball to bring up a text command prompt. I type in, “execute: robco/generalatomics/recalladmin.xle.” I remember back in several other buildings, including the actual Robco factory itself, Saori discovered how to generate a small list of numbers. We thought there might have been useful factory junk for us to use in our travels. And Saori always loves computers and technology. The factory, although full of junk, was also lovely in all of its clutter. Those numbers would actually represent correct cycles of numbers that contained an infinite amount of others.

 

But of course, I never knew that. I never figured that out. Duh.

 

“You don’t need to do this,” Lyn repeats softly, sounding worried. “The National Guard Depot is an experimental technology facility of the highest priority in the area. You can’t expect to get in yourself, or at very easily. There are consequences for messing with the government!”

 

“What government?” I spit. I continue looking at the screen. “The Wasteland has no government.”

 

“But there was a government at one time. Listen to me! It wasn’t always free reign. The government that ruled the thirteen commonwealths that followed the original fifty states. All before the Great War.”

 

Moduli of numbers appear. An operator of twenty six. Rows and columns load each way from left to right, top to bottom. Another but different, smaller table of numbers appears in the upper right hand corner. Saori said the first column in that table lists two dimensional coordinates, all linking to somewhere in that mess of cyberspace. The second are large numbers of astronomical proportions. They could count the stars. The amount of coordinates pairings? Thirty.

 

Did I alone ever know that? Not really.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” I dismiss. “Nothing ever stopped us before you came along, and certainly nothing will stop us now. I just need to get this s*** to work.”

 

First coordinate; first modulus. Match the numbers. Take a guess, the number being from one to twenty six. Just thirty times.

 

“…You won’t be able to do it! There are only three attempts!”

 

“Try me.”

 

Another table of numbers. Ten choices this time. I just need to pick the right one. But a sharp buzz goes off; my choice wasn’t the right one.

 

“You aren’t listening!”

 

“I am listening. Speak your goddamn mind.”

 

Lyn snatches my head away from the monitor by the cheeks with her right hand, and our eyes lock, merely an inch apart.

 

“I’m going to…try. I am going to try to tell you. It’s…hard.”She grasps her abdominal area in what appears to be in spontaneous pain. “Listen…there is something you should know about…me.”

 

I don’t care. I said what I meant: I need that code, I need those Stealth Boys and I need for us to leave.

 

“What?” I laugh. “That you have some deep dark secret you want to tell me? I know all about it.” I rip her hand off my face and resume looking at the monitor. “That night, you told me enough. I’m going to do this. So screw off.”

 

A second buzz.

 

“The executable will only give you one more try! There’s more than what you think; you’re supposed to be here to help! Let me do it!” She clasps my left hand, takes a deep breath, and utters the last part slowly.

 

“The system. Will find. A way. To kill you.”

 

The final phrase is a whisper. My hands freeze. I make a fist, and it begins to shake. Shake in rage.

 

“Drew,” Lyn says, flustered, “I won’t lie either. I know the code to enter the bunker. Please, just let me put it in.”

 

Stillness.

 

“…I’m going to do it. I’m still going to do it…!”

 

I push the confirm key once again. There is no third buzz – not like the last two. A crackle of energy and sudden light are all that could ever be remembered. In that moment, I can swear in my slipping grasp that thunder roars across the sky, angry and upset. Big droplets of rain begin to fall through the hole in the fractured roof.

 

A thud resonates. Four cries, none of them my own.

 

“NO!”

 

FORWARD ----->

Edited July 10, 2011 by AliasTheory

[AliasTheory]

No pictures/screenshots. Sorries. I would rather write and finish things first at this point.

 

Also, I'm not dead. Not in reference to the story.

 

Comments are cool, too.

Edited June 22, 2011 by AliasTheory

[Keanumoreira]

Very nice and quite a consuming read. Out of Underworld and to the depot. I've only read one of the chapters though, will read the other one when I can muster my patience. Anyway, glad to have you back and as always, a great chapter.

[Keanumoreira]

Oh....big cliff hanger at the end of the last chapter...

 

Can't wait for more. :D

[AliasTheory]

The last chapter was pretty fun to write, since I got to write in an angry tone. I tend to be the same way as the protagonist when I'm angry and frustrated, too. Also that one particular character is a far different character than what she started as.

 

Thanks for the comments, Keanu. Always appreciated.

 

So there are no pictures, but in the end I'd like to recompile all the chapters, rewrite some parts and then have some manga style illustrations instead.

 

Since a huge part of the story is coming up (maybe in two or three chapters,) I'm going to write some questions to possibly consider as a reader. I would like to see if people who read this see the same level of depth in the story as I do (or care about it.)

 

1) So far, I've killed off two named characters in the story and two unnamed characters in the story. What are the similarities in all of them? Why have they died?

2) Why make the protagonist act the way he did at the end of chapter 24?

3) The symbolism of "grey," and having too much of it?

4) The repeating of the line, "How can we know what we are controlling? How can we know everything?"

5) “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Why say, "...who might as well be blind?"

 

Again, all of this writing is merely one big first draft and is not critically revised. So critique! After all, I wrote those chapters in two days.

Edited June 24, 2011 by AliasTheory