"Blood, Sweat and Tears"

[Keanumoreira]

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.

 

Anytime. :happy:

 

The only real thing I can complain about is that from all of chapter 23 until to about the middle of chapter 24, is that I didn't really find a lot of depth into things. What I mean about that is that I didn't find a lot that could keep my interest above average, especially the depot itself. There really was no description here. A few cracks on the ceiling, delapidated framework, stairs, floor strewn about with christmas mags....but that's about it. I know as a Fallout player what the depot is like as I've been there before, but what about your other reades who may have never have heard of Fallout 3 before? Their image of what things look like here are strangled in limitation. Maybe it's just me.

 

Anyway, despite that, I loved the foreshadowment you added in 24 with the sudden gust of wind and the cliffhanger at the end too. These really, in a sense, had my hairs on my neck shoot up with a sudden interest. Fantastic job as always. Keep it up. :thumbsup:

Edited June 24, 2011 by Keanumoreira

[AliasTheory]

I chose to describe the Depot less on purpose. I wanted to focus even more on the characters here and less on the environment, so as I stated earlier, I reinterpreted the area as an ordinary, plain office building where a lot of things are destroyed. Less military stuff. In a way, the environment was meant to be boring. By now, I feel like I would be describing the same thing as I did in the past chapters. You bring up a great point, though the situation may have arisen due to what Edgar Allen Poe explains in his "Philosophy of Composition":

 

"If any literary work is too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity of impression- for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and everything like totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with anything that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it."

 

I will consider your opinion.

[Keanumoreira]

I chose to describe the Depot less on purpose. I wanted to focus even more on the characters here and less on the environment, so as I stated earlier, I reinterpreted the area as an ordinary, plain office building where a lot of things are destroyed. Less military stuff. In a way, the environment was meant to be boring. By now, I feel like I would be describing the same thing as I did in the past chapters. You bring up a great point, though the situation may have arisen due to what Edgar Allen Poe explains in his "Philosophy of Composition":

 

"If any literary work is too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity of impression- for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and everything like totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with anything that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it."

 

I will consider your opinion.

 

Okay, now that makes sense. I understand now what you mean, and all things considering, you succeeded here. If anything, you are defiently an expert at character feel and personality. The twists in personality you've added to Butch in 24 and Lyn ever since we've met her have further deepened this. I have felt that same concern for the group in this chapter so your purpose was brought to success. I need to rethink what authors may or may not intend in chapters based on what they have written in earlier ones. Please disregard.

Edited June 24, 2011 by Keanumoreira

[AliasTheory]

Okay, now that makes sense. I understand now what you mean, and all things considering, you succeeded here. If anything, you are defiently an expert at character feel and personality. The twists in personality you've added to Butch in 24 and Lyn ever since we've met her have further deepened this. I have felt that same concern for the group in this chapter so your purpose was brought to success. I need to rethink what authors may or may not intend in chapters based on what they have written in earlier ones. Please disregard.

No, your opinion is always valid to me. There is no truly correct way to write.

[AliasTheory]

<--- BACKWARD

 

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

Chapter 25: Ephemeral Memories

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

 

Death has always been a fascinating topic to ponder about. You know, according to centuries of the Vault’s miniscule state of understanding, written medical records say that some who have died saw a bright, blue light in the darkness before their passing was cut short. And yes; I shouldn’t have poked my nose in where it didn’t belong, but the past is the past. “It was the purest blue you could ever imagine,” is what one man supposedly said many generations before me. He was aging, but otherwise was a pretty normal guy: a tired cafeteria manager; a husband; a druggie. And obviously, nobody had ever even seen the light of day inside that box, so the “blue as the sky” metaphor that Wastelanders utter so much is out of question. There still remains no such thing as “clouds” or even “the sun” to the inhabitants we all left behind. From what I had read, the man was certainly happy to be alive after his frightening condition, heart stopping altogether, but even in wavering death he was the same.

 

“I was slipping towards that light,” the record continued. “The world began to brighten, and I wanted to reach closer. As I approached, the voices of children laughing and hollering cheerily eased into perception. There were also swirls of white light swimming about, and dancing holy orbs, brighter than any lamp or bulb you probably ever saw.”

 

The caring doctor left some reactions in the record about how amazing and magical the experience must have been. Sometimes, the doctors thought that what you saw in death was correlated with how you died, too. Imagine fatal head trauma because you slipped in a bathtub versus some a**hole slamming your head on a Vault door. Those are two different things. Perhaps even like drug usage versus shock.

 

“I guess I’ll have to see it again someday,” the drug-taking patient concluded. “Maybe others will too.”

 

To this day, I still don’t know who that man exactly was, but whatever he was having, I want it now. Because all I see is a white, empty void.

 

-------

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

 

Eyes now open, fighting through the immense throbbing in my head, I rise to my feet in order to survey my surroundings. There is major sharp pain in my chest and right arm. Thankfully, it’s bearable. Managing to feel around my waist area, I confirm I’m still in my Wasteland attire, though stripped of all my firearms and oddly without a stain of blood. More importantly, this is certainly not the Wasteland, and the ceiling is more than what’s empty; there is whiteness in every which direction. My shadow welcomes me.

 

“Hey!” I call out. I start weakly walking straight ahead into infinity, devoid of all sense of time or place. “Where am I!?” I yell. My only response is my own voice, yet no walls exist as far as the eye can see.

 

“Butch? Saya? Where are you guys?” I pause for a bit. No response. I take a few more steps in some direction. “Saori?” Still no response.

 

Suddenly, I hear a dog barking from behind me.

 

Turning around, I see four all-too-familiar figures where I was probably just standing. They all look at me without an ounce of emotion. Two of them are old and nameless, hair graying, each with a neck beard and in shoddy rags that dip to their toes. Another is one I considered I had seen the last of: Colonel Autumn. Just like when he met his fate, he’s in a sharp black trench coat and equally dark boots, silver buttons threaded to the very top. And finally is the good friend I never really got to know: Dogmeat. The canine looks the same: grey and black-spotted coat, the pointy ears and the hazel and azure eye coloration. But his tail remains limp and retired.

 

So am I really dead? ‘Cause they all are.

 

I give a shallow wave and a small smile to the crowd in acknowledgment. I’m sure one of them wouldn’t be too happy to see me, however.

 

“Hey, Colonel. So I see you’ve been holding up well. Have you been eating better or something? I really mean that.”

 

Nobody moves an inch.

 

I exhale. “Oh come on. This is so crazy. You’re all crazy,” I accuse. I get down into a squatting position and look at Dogmeat.

 

“Hi, Dogmeat! Come here boy!” I clap my hands. “I missed you. You did a brave thing back…up there. Seriously, don’t hang out next to Colonel. He was a bad man.”

 

Nothing.

 

“I know Lyn misses you too,” I say slowly.

 

In that moment, almost as quick as the figures appeared, they slip away through some imaginary breeze, first into fine grains of dull color, subsequently followed by absolute nothingness. I then witness the utterly supernatural. Amidst the whiteness, another world seems to phase into existence around me. The sound of a heartbeat booms like thunder, and it’s not my own. Images blink and flicker, struggling to focus, noises of the entire world’s people zipping by, their murmurs and hollers of their pains, their joys and everything in between. Although abstract and rather on the incomprehensible side, I discover order in chaos: it’s a Vault, now trying to ooze with what little life it clings on to. The nostalgic imitation pulses until it finally finds solace in balance.

 

Rolling my fingers across my leg, I straighten my belt buckle. The databases at Vault-Tec have made this less than a simply unhappy reunion for me.

 

I stand in the Vault’s atrium, the cool blue tints, metal walls and hatch-style doors situated around the area. Neon signs flickering above the doors designate where they all lead to, including the medical clinic, the Overseer’s office, and the second floor. A ceiling fan spins overhead gently, and the sounds of generators whirring in the very back of the box can be heard faintly. As I recall, the sound could be heard anywhere in my box as long as everyone was quiet, often when everyone was sleeping. Echoes of footsteps can be heard through the metal flooring, which like the generators, could be heard nearly everywhere in the box. Only one thing makes my box as I knew it complete though. Approaching a Vault door to my left, I glance to the corner in the upper-right, underneath the designating sign. A security camera, glimmers with crimson light.

 

The goddamn boxes, that’s what they are. I never thought I would actually have to see one again, let alone mine. From what I learned at Vault-Tec, the manufacturer of all boxes and bringer of lies, as Vaults are individual experiments, they must all look just the same. Except for one thing.

 

I remove my hand from the center of the metal door. Releasing a strong puff of air, the dust on the metal blasts outward in all directions. “Vault 101,” the paint reads in a dull red font.

 

I suppose it somewhat makes sense why I would be back here. I did say the “magic” name after all. Her name. I rub the door with my finger. It’s the same, cold and harshly bitter sensation I know of.

 

A voice. “Welcome home. Did you have a good day?”

 

The voice is muffled but frightening to me, hairs on my arms and back now standing straight and erect. Shaken up by what I think is sheer acknowledgment, I whip my body around, instinctively raising my fists in defensive posture. Nobody is there though.

 

“Yeah!” A female child’s voice, also muffled. “I did.”

 

The voices sound very close. I crawl along the wall left of the door to peer through a glass, rectangular window. It’s Jonas in a lab coat and Lyn in a Vault suit. This must be the medical clinic, complete with the yellow couch, central pink rug and wooden living table. I remember where the clinic was because it was near the atrium for a good reason: if someone was dying, you wanted to get him or her with medical attention fast. But this must have been at least a decade ago as Lyn looks so young. I think she might even be nine years old, about the time when the rest of us four used to play board games and role-play with her. My reasoning is mainly because her hair is short, calm and silky here, and it all changed when Saya finally turned 18: about half a year before we left the Vault. Then Lyn’s hair became long, unruly and one might say even a bit rebellious. I’m guessing me and the GOATS were to blame.

 

Jonas gives an intrigued expression. “Oh?” he blinks.

 

“Yup!” The young Lyn jumps in place. “All the other kids at school went back to their rooms early. But Drew said he’d be willing to play with me and let me use his action figures, and Saori stayed too!”

 

Jonas laughs. Wow. I still can’t get over how much she changed. I’m still confused though; are these supposed to be my memories, if I’m dead? Yet, how am I even seeing this stuff at all? Where’s the science in it?

 

In both of their merriment, the door on the far side of the room opens. There are two girls, one with a short ponytail and one with a much longer one that literally scrapes the ground. The latter girl is mildly concealed in the shadows.

 

“Excuse me, Dr. Palmer,” the girl with the shorter hair greets. “It’s me, Amata. I hope we aren’t disrupting anything important.”

 

Ah. The more outgoing and confident one.

 

Jonas turns in attention, and Lyn sits down cross-legged on the pink rug in curiousness. “Ah, the Overseer’s daughters. No, not at all,” Jonas says gladly. “I was just talking to Lyn here about her day, but please, make yourselves at home.”

 

“No, no,” Amata grins, “that’s quite alright. We won’t be long. My sister here just wanted to say something really quick.”

 

Amata struggles to pull her sister out from behind her. Even through the glass, I can hear what is likely supposed to be in a hushed tone.

 

“Come on, you don’t have to be so introverted!” she says through her teeth. “Just say it!”

 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who this is. Amata plops her sister down front and center.

 

“Umm…hi,” the girl peeps. “I just wanted to say that uhm…I’m really, really sorry. I…uh, I took this from the clinic yesterday. I liked it…like, a whole lot. But I know it’s not mine. So…sorry…you can take it back.”

 

I can hardly make out all the words in her softness, and the apparent breaking in her voice doesn’t help either. Shaking, she timidly extends in her hands a small stuffed animal on its side, whose figure is gray in color, stands on four legs and has two white tusks and a long, tubular nose. I’m not quite sure what the creature is supposed to be, and it is certainly not something I have seen in any text.

 

The doctor shakes his head in disagreement. “It’s not a problem,” Jonas says calmly. “The clinic has many toys for the rest of the Vault’s children. I can just pick out another one. So you can have it. Isn’t that right, Lyn?”

 

“Mmm hmm.” The younger Lyn responds by nodding her head. “It’s yours.”

 

“See? It’s all yours. You can have the cute thing, whatever it is.” Jonas confirms. He walks closer to her, kneels down and tilts his head. He strokes her cheek and gazes at her. “What’s your name? I don’t see you around very often.”

 

The hesitation is almost unbearable. “…Saya,” she breathes. It’s almost as if she doubted what her own name was. I have to wonder how I put up with it all.

 

“’Saya?’ That’s a beautiful name.” Jonas pulls a small pen from his side pocket. “Here; let us write your name on the tag so we don’t forget, yes?” Now brighter, the young Saya nods excitedly.

 

Amata shakes herself alert. “I apologize, Dr. Palmer. I know, she’s very shy.”

 

“I always have to consider how the Overseer taught you some wonderful manners.” He chuckles. “But you have nothing to be sorry for. I was once just as shy.” He caps the pen and returns it to his lab coat pocket. “But we learn eventually, don’t we? We eventually gain the knowledge that sometimes there isn’t anything to be afraid of. Other times it’s fine to be a little afraid, like being hit by a bully at school, or losing a loved one. Fear keeps us human, so we know when to run away, so we know how to be safe. And other times…we have to fight fear.”

 

“When do we do that?” Amata asks.

 

He pauses for a moment. “Simply for those we love,” he replies at last, reestablishing eye contact, mounting his chin in his palm. “The answer isn’t clear-cut. You’ll know what to do. Maybe at some point in your life, you’ll find a person you like so much, you care for him or her more than yourself. Even like me and Lyn here.” He jerks his head in her direction. “Right, kiddo?”

 

The young Lyn giggles.

 

“Say, how about you girls meet up with us at the cafeteria?” He rises. “Maybe we can talk some more. I’ll be just a minute. What do you think?”

 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Amata looks at a rather nervous Saya warmly. “We’d love to.”

 

“Then it’s settled! Lyn and I will see you two there in a bit.”

 

It was very rare I saw Amata around her sister. Most of the time, Amata was out doing things to help the Vault community, whether it was organizing medical equipment, helping to enforce Overseer policies or even just helping to clean up the cafeteria after hours. Saya was always lonely back at her room, so I was occasionally there, like a brother. Saori used to tinker with many of the Vault’s security systems and robots, sometimes causing some mischief just for the he** of it. And Butch? He was always hanging with his dude friends in the Tunnel Snake gang. I just sat around and read word after word, on paper or monitor.

 

Abruptly, the door I was at earlier slides open. Security camera focusing and cranking above, the two girls come strolling outside, marveling at the mysterious little toy. They talk in low voices, in wonderment of the plaything’s identity. Even though the area is quiet right now, for some reason, I find it near impossible to make out their precise words.

 

No matter. Now is my chance.

 

“Hey, Amata!” I call. “Saya! Turn around for a minute, will ya-”

 

I reach out to touch the young Saya’s shoulder, but to my surprise, my hand slips right through her body like thin air, akin to a ghost. I almost trip in my attempt, feeling so sure of contacting a solid surface, stumbling past them. Voices fading into the reaches of forevermore, they continue walking as if I never even existed. Two people literally stand before me who are so close to my feelings and very heart and soul, and yet, I cannot even touch them.

 

Not again! This terrible illusion; I don’t understand. Another logical façade in an already twisted mess of both familiarity and incoherence. I’m sure there’s a reason for all of this, no different than the Auprets and the Enclave’s evil schemes. Again, where’s the science in it all? A person is dead when his or her fragile shell of existence ceases to function, and life fades.

 

Maybe I’m on some crazy drug and I don’t know it. So I was wrong. Yeah, that’s it.

 

I kick the floor. Feeling frustrated again, I casually pass through the doorway and down the hallway into the clinic. Maybe seeing some familiar faces up close will make me happy again.

 

The steel blue, dark tunnels are lit by the periodic light bulb. Habitually, I flick one as I pass underneath it. Light swivels around the room in its mild oranges and the bulb emits a whimper of a creak. Just like old times. In the past, the chains on these would rattle loudly in their age as they dangled about. And I’m not talking about the inherent, comparative quality or stuff like that. The Capital Wasteland told me what primitive technology this really is.

 

I now stand where Amata and Saya just were. Jonas is now filing away some papers on the desk in the corner of the room, the nine-year-old Lyn still patiently sitting on the floor trying to pass time. She’s so short that when I’m standing, she’s barely up to my knee level.

 

Out of curiosity, knowing my presence will almost certainly be ignored, I pass through the young Lyn to check the papers Jonas is organizing. My foot ghosts through her body, just as planned. I peek over the doctor’s shoulder to take a closer look.

 

The papers are blank. Perplexedly, there isn’t a drop of ink on them.

 

“Is something the matter?” I hear Jonas speaking away from me, still next to me. I’m not surprised. I divert my attention once again to see little Lyn on the ground, but she strangely looks some good deal sadder than before. The doctor is ready to listen to her words.

 

“I was just thinking about today again,” she remarks.

 

“I thought you said you had a good day?”

 

She hesitates for a moment, as if she was unsure how to word her thoughts.

 

“When I was playing with Drew today, he said he doesn’t believe in magic.”

 

I do recall mentioning that once. I still believe my words. There’s logic in everything.

 

He sighs, mouth soon transforming into a smirk. “That’s what he said huh?”

 

Jonas drags a small metal bottle cap off the edge of his study desk where all the blank papers are. Slipping away from his task, he then walks closer to Lyn, and I tag along. To mimic Lyn, he sits down cross-legged in front of her, and I sit similarly between the two in order to form a triangle.

 

“So, you see this bottle cap?” He holds it out openly in his hand. “Now, I’m going to place it like this.” He then repositions the cap so it rests between his thumb knuckle and his index finger, with his palm facing him.

 

“Watch carefully. I’m going to make the cap disappear.”

 

Sweeping his other hand quickly over the cap in a grasping motion, the coin appears to vanish. Jonas brings his two hands together momentarily, and with a circle motion of his sweeping arm, the cap is no longer in his original hand.

 

“Wow!” the young Lyn exclaims, eyes wide. She begins to inspect Jonas’s body, hoping for answers. “How did you do that? I wanna do that!”

 

Hah. Thumb on my cheek, I stir the air with my index finger in pleased thought. Yeah, a little sleight of hand there, doctor. I saw an instructional video on basic illusions once. You can fool a nine year old, but not me.

 

He chuckles. “Ha. See, you only think it’s magic because you don’t know how it works. There is a trick to it.”

 

“But if you know how it works, then it’s not magic!” she retorts. “Still…could you tell me how to work the magic? Pretty please?”

 

Oh, the irony.

 

He wags his finger. “Let me finish. So you only think it’s magic because you don’t know how it works. It’s only magic to you. Now Drew – that kid – he probably thinks that there is a little trick for everything ‘magical.’ If you want to know how to do anything such as this, you need to know how to do the trick. But Lyn, do you think Drew knows every trick in the book?”

 

“…No,” she mumbles.

 

“There. The stunt would seem magical to him because he doesn’t know how to do it. And sometimes, it’s not always easy to figure out how. The answer isn’t automatic. You won’t always know where to find the solution.”

 

“But you know!” she pipes up. “So tell me!” Her voice could be described as half yelling.

 

“And that’s the other thing,” he continues. “So it’s true that I know how to make the cap ‘disappear.’ I can tell you that. However, when you are trying to find the answer to other questions, you need to be patient. You can’t get frustrated or angry because you don’t know how to do whatever you are trying to do; otherwise you won’t succeed.”

 

“Angry?” I find myself questioning.

 

Jonas clears his throat and proceeds. “Maybe someday, you’ll find how make something super helpful that no records or people in the entire Vault know of.”

 

“Like when I invent a story at playtime?” the child guesses.

 

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that. Nobody will know the answer, so you’ll just have to wait and keep trying. Don’t get angry and don’t jump to conclusions. And I promise you that it’ll come eventually.” He briefly coughs. “So, there is a secret. Magic tricks take time, persistence…”

 

Jonas reaches into her earlobe and out from it seems to emerge the bottle cap, Jonas grasping it between two fingers.

 

…And dedication.”

 

“Hmm,” the young Lyn hums, looking upward. All of a sudden, she perks up. “So, can you tell me now?”

 

“I will. Just one last thing.”

 

She groans.

 

“So I said that if we don’t know the answer to the situation, then we say the situation is magic. To us. But I still think magic exists, not like what your friend Drew believes. I think there are certain answers we can never, ever find out. No person can properly experience the related events and tell us about it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yup. Here are two things I say we can never know for sure. One is the size of the universe. It’s so big, I don’t think people can ever know how much space it really is. Even if we have a large number down on paper, it’s only a number. When you put it in the real world, people can’t imagine it. We are too small.”

 

“You’re silly,” she laughs. “The universe is only the Vault. It’s just from here to the school classrooms on the other side. That’s what Teacher told me.”

 

Could it be? If Jonas knows about the scale of the universe as modern science has retained, he must have lived outside the Vault before. There is no such thing as a light year or planet inside the box. The concept of the universe in the Vault is what the Lyn right here says: it’s only the Vault.

 

Jonas exhales in some humorous reflection. “Alright, fine,” he says, admitting defeat. “The other thing we can’t know for sure is because nobody has truly experienced it. You want to know what the second thing is?”

 

“What?”

 

“Well…”

 

A brief period of silence. The doctor soon takes off his glasses. Then, as if I finally exist in this dreadful imitation, Jonas twists his head to face me, brown matching with brown, seemingly staring directly into my eyes. Staring directly into my soul.

 

“…Death.”

 

FORWARD ---->

Edited July 16, 2011 by AliasTheory

[Keanumoreira]

Woah.... o_O

[CheeseyBall]

dis mah favourite :3

[AliasTheory]

<--- BACKWARD

 

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Chapter 26: Roll Call

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It all begins to make sense. The time of the more gregarious Lyn speaks to me like a rare, polished mirror: you see yourself, but it isn’t quite you. If you consider any pristine mirror and sink your eyes into the equally-immersive world behind it, unlike what another person would perceive the figure as, everything is actually flipped horizontally. Right becomes left, and left becomes right. Like so, I thought had exhausted everything in the Vault and figured every spanking thing out; everything seemed familiar and understood.

 

Jonas wasn’t. Not entirely.

 

Why am I here with the doctor and the child who isn’t his own? Is it because I’m supposed to now try understand death, defying the doctor’s words? Or is it to learn something greater? The truth – or at least what I understood it as – was always there for me. If there wasn’t something I knew, a database or a book had it. How do you fix a dead table lamp, or a broken down Mr. Handy? You consulted the magazine of Dean’s Electronics. What about the most basic of physics concepts? BB guns were a popular toy among most of my generation in the teenage years – why did it violently recoil whenever the trigger was pulled? The Big Book of Science had told the story of some amazing man named Newton, who lived long before any of us. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” And so it was this short game of hide-and-go-seek. I did say, “I always win.” For a while.

 

I guess we all took a lot of what happened in the past for granted. Or at least, I did. After all, when us four were exiled from the Vault, we were simply fortunate to get a permanent place to stay in Megaton because a certain girl’s skills happened to be enough for Sheriff Simms. Megaton itself was conveniently placed right near the exit of Vault 101, too. We were simply fortunate to get enough food to eat because the traders who stopped by had far more than their share, and felt sorry for us because we looked so young and untainted. We were simply fortunate that picking up a gun and firing that thing was no problem, and we were simply fortunate to leave every firefight we’ve ever had with just a few scratches, perhaps because those we encountered had less. Bear in mind that not everybody just picks up a rifle and starts hitting targets from a mile away instantaneously. We had something that most people in the Wasteland didn’t, and the other three up there probably still do.

 

Luck.

 

It’s because stuff just happens to you. It isn’t because you wholeheartedly earned your success necessarily, or because you were extremely smart. Maybe you also happened to have a little talent, too. Things just so happened to be that way. Opportunity was there, and when you seize it at the right time in the right places with the right people, great things happen.

 

But luck only gets you so far. What I said doesn’t at all mean to be dumb. You still have to be smart. You still have to learn and adjust, even if things aren’t what you want them to be. The Vault had all the knowledge I thought there was to learn, so readily available and easy to access, even if taking a quick peek at particular files wasn’t what the Overseer wanted. There was a mass web of interconnected information that was organized and navigable. Boy was it mighty powerful; it was searchable within a matter of seconds. However, the Wasteland is a different story. There is no library of information or any wealth of knowledge five or ten minutes away. The Wasteland is a scarred world full of anarchy, so screw the books; not everyone knows the answer, whatever the question may be. It’ll always be that way. So where do you get the good stuff?

 

Well, I had forgotten. I forgot to adjust and I forgot to be smart. It’s very easy to take things for granted. Magic tricks take time, patience, and dedication. Getting mad is bad. There is a time for feelings, but the Wasteland and all its dangers is certainly not a good time. Taking it out on friends isn’t the best thing either – play nice. The Auprets and the Enclave are both some terrible mysteries, though the solutions don’t grow on trees. I think I said this before: because nothing much does. And whenever you think you don’t have the solution, you just keep on trying and trying, yet patiently - and with hope.

 

A distant, sobbing but familiar and feminine voice echoes through the area.

 

“-Come on! You have to still be there…wake up! Wake up!”

 

For an odd and faithful reason, I have to make a small smile. Jonas said there were some things we could never understand. The universe of outer space might have been obvious enough; its scale to this day eludes mankind in the everlasting quest for dominance. But you know what? I consider the very words that I heard and think about what Jonas said about death again. Is death something we are supposed to understand? I still say there isn’t magic – in a way. That’s because nobody has truly experienced death and returned to tell the tale. The reasoning is that death is not something to be understood; the answer is that there is no answer at all. The afterlife might as well be crazy, illogical and nonsensical.

 

“I can’t leave you behind!” the voice cries again.

 

With Jonas having returned to organizing his empty papers, I step outside the clinic and into the hallway, staring at the light bulb I flicked in my first passing. The bulb is dead, possibly because of my interaction with it earlier. They were old, remember? They always tended to do that – flicker out and let you down when you had trust in them.

 

If you wanna know my truth, here it is: I still like knowing things, and there are definitely the haunting unknowns that I gotta figure out. This time though, I think I’ll take things a bit more gracefully. There will be less selfishness. Less hate. Less death. Death kinda sucks from what I gleaned, anyway.

 

“-Wake up! Please…! There’s no apologizing if you don’t…!”

 

Right becomes left, and left becomes right. “Right” becomes wrong, and “wrong” becomes right. I tap the bulb again, and as if it heard my call, it begins to shimmer ever so brightly, emanating with more power, will and optimism than ever before.

 

Knowledge was my drug.

 

--------

 

Boom.

 

Suddenly, the world of the Vault flashes away, and the rainy sky of the damp concrete world returns – the National Guard Depot. I’m lying back down on the brown earth, arms and legs extended loosely, face up. I feel a bit achy, but there’s no thunder and lightning. Big, fat drops of rain pour through the hole in the roof, and yet I don’t feel wet at all.

 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod he’s alive! He’s ALIVE!”

 

Saori is looming over me, Butch and Saya with comforted faces behind her. Sapphire eyes teary once again, Saori reaches around my body and lifts me a bit, hugging me tightly. Her hands are very slimy and muddy.

 

“Oww!” I croak.

 

“Stop it Saori!” Saya laughs somewhat worriedly. “You’ll hurt him!”

 

Butch just grins, the biggest I have ever seen.

 

Saori sets me back down, laughing joyfully. I study my surroundings. The front of my Vault suit is unzipped, as my chest area feels colder than the rest of my body. The bunker is located right behind me, the dastardly terminal not quite above me, though also behind me. The pools of radiation are distant and far away, and water drips from the ceiling into a circular, ring-shaped ditch around us. Their carved shape is likely due to the endless amounts of water hammering on the same spots. The channels are slightly overflowing.

 

I groan and rub my forehead with my left hand. My skin is unusually pale.

 

“Ugh…what happened?”

 

“You died,” Saori smiles, relieved, collapsing to her knees.

 

“You are so lucky dude,” Butch says. He glances at the ground beside me. “When that terminal zapped you, it…uh…”

 

“Fibrillated,” she adds.

 

“It fibrillated you. It upset your heart rate and put you into cardiac arrest. Fortunately, the Depot’s emergency medical supplies room is also in the basement. There were portable defibrillators inside, but even more fortunately for you, Saori got one working again and was able to use it. I’m surprised they still worked, even with her crazy knowhow.”

 

“And no brain damage!” Saori chimes back in, giggly. “I think. Just your right hand is burnt. Just a little. That’s all.”

 

Feeling more energetic, I sit up a bit to take a look at myself. Two pads are placed on my chest, colored wires running into the small box that sits half-buried in mud. My right hand is blackened and pretty burnt up, not entirely charred to a crisp, though it has adopted a fleshy and fatty tint. A sharp stinging sensation shoots through my right arm, maybe just because I took note of my condition, though I’m more than positive I’ll take this over being dead again.

 

“Just don’t do that again,” Saya says to me. “The stuff before the terminal. I have never seen you like that…it really scared me so much.” She wipes her nose.

 

The one thing that had caused me to momentarily leave this world ironically brought us all back together. Still very happy, Saori scoots closer and resumes hugging me.

 

I close my eyes, knowing this was always her at heart. “Oh come on, not again…”

 

“It’s just all that time, when you were gone…”

 

“Saori,” Butch chuckles heartily, “he’s only been gone for a little while. A couple minutes. Let’s be a little practical here…”

 

She pushes his head away. “Agh!” he exclaims. “Stop touching my face all the time!”

 

She laughs. “When you were…dead, I thought about you. You know when they say that life flashes before your eyes? My body can’t bear to live without you – and certainly not after what awful garbage I hurled your way. I thought about all of us when I was over your chest, charging that stupid, stupid device. I thought about the Vault and Megaton, the funny times under the starry night sky in the tent, and the times where we had just grazed a vastly different Underworld. Like when I took my first bullet in the shoulder. It hurt a lot. But you helped me recover. I still think you’re a pedant, but you were right about the other thing. Kind. Caring. Considerate. And more. No matter what, even the bad times, we were always together – all of us.”

 

She swallows deeply.

 

“So I get angry easily. I know I’m a lousy mechanic. And I know I’m no certified doctor or nurse, either. But we’ve all been through too much to lose each other. Even Lyn. It hasn’t even been a whole week, but we’re all friends from childhood, remember?” Her voice goes down to a whisper. “Childhood. It’s been a really long time,” she trembles. “Childhood, Drew! Friends. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. From four years old. All of that, seventeen times!”

 

“Sixteen, actually.”

 

“Pedant!” I don’t think she knows whether to laugh or be angry with me again.

 

I raise a finger weakly. “That’s only if you don’t count this year as such. Heh. Hater.”

 

“Then seventeen…! It doesn’t matter. I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you. We’ve learned too much, and it’s all the stuff the Vault could never teach. Don’t you see? The Wasteland is our teacher!” She manages to smile through her tears. “And Winthrop – he was right! We are all still children! No book will tell you if you should steal food for your family, your husband, your wife, your children, any of them to live. Books won’t tell you if I could disarm that bomb and save those people, to depart them of all that anguish of whether or not they would see a tomorrow, rain or shine. Books won’t even tell me if I love you.”

 

I stop for a moment. “…Do you? Again…?”

 

“Well…I-”

 

The world cuts her off, her words squandered. Spontaneous tremors radiate through the depot, startling us all, throwing everyone slightly off balance. Crumbs of cement begin to chip off the ceiling and fall like hail, puddles of water below rippling furiously. Red lights begin to flash everywhere, spinning around each sector of the room without control.

 

“Oh, good! Fantastic. You’re back.”

 

I shift my body around a little. Lyn, breathing heavily, is now standing at the bunker entrance, her hands on the entryway, the door open. Red lights are flashing deep within, too. She is smiling, also in relief of my recovery, but her expressed happiness is as quick to fade as it came.

 

“Uh, yeah. We have a slight problem.”

 

Saya and Butch help me rise to my shaking feet. “I was wondering where you went. Now what’s up?”

 

“So, it turns out innovators in military technology don’t like it when you mess with their stuff,” she pants. “The system must have somehow detected foreign traces in that code I put in, after the machine knocked you out. This place is going to come down, but from the looks of things back in there, probably not for eight minutes or so.”

 

“What!? How do you know?”

 

“System monitoring panels are everywhere. From what I gathered, the mud you are standing on was moved here by the natural elements. It wasn’t always here. Below this warehouse are some huge support beams, and there are explosives going off miles below us. It must be sulfur-based, because it smells rancid down there. Everything here was meant to be destroyed if somehow breached by a hostile outsider. Probably. The technology was meant to be buried, to be lost and forgotten forever.”

 

I try to stand on my own and hold my own ground.

 

“You okay man?” Butch asks.

 

“Yeah, I’m cool. I got it.” Impressed, he hands me my assault rifle and I sling it over my back.

 

“Also, one more thing,” Lyn adds.

 

On cue, I hear the repeated banging of metal from all directions. “INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.”

 

“Yep,” she huffs again. “Robots and laser turrets. The lame kind though. Protectrons! Probably hundreds are crawling around here as we speak.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Saori gawks.

 

Lyn forms a smirk and raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be kidding?”

 

I clear my throat. “Lyn. The plan. What is it.”

 

“Well, eight minutes is plenty of time. How about we sneak past these guys to avoid getting fried by everything? We are heavily outnumbered, even if they are stupid. It is true that Protectrons aren’t the brightest of the bunch.”

 

Everyone nods in approval. The idea makes sense, because as an early security model, the Protectron unit was also basic, designed to walk in single-file, quad-directional and more importantly, predictable lines. Bipedal and lethal, what sets the robot apart are the distinct claw arms and sector of light on its forehead. It is without a neck, a humorous caricature of a human being. Additionally, attacking one, like a colony of insects, automatically alert the rest through electromagnetic signals. Sneaking past should be pretty easy if we keep quiet and stick to the right hallways. Being pressured for time, I think everyone simply wants to agree as well.

 

“Also, Drew. Catch.” With an underhand, she tosses me a spherical, miniature computer and I snag it out of the air. The device fits snuggly in the palm of my glove. “That’s one of the prototype Stealth Boys. I pocketed the remaining two that were down there. You didn’t think I would just take one, did you-”

 

“Hey, wait a minute,” Saori interjects. “Isn’t this cloaking tech? Why can’t we just-”

 

“It’s complicated crap. Made by super geniuses. So no; it’s not easy to figure out to make the parts work together. Figure it out later. The answer will come eventually.”

 

Everyone else turns to the stairs we used to get down to the bunker floor by the offices. As they leave, I have to wait and reminisce about the past some more. Lyn’s last sentence makes me perk up a bit. Outgoing to envious to plain reasonable – that little girl went through so many transformations.

 

Lyn turns around and raises an eyebrow again in puzzlement.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

 

-------

 

Failure and hardships now abandoned, I get up to speed. The red color of the sirens that paints the room wanes in and out, a constant reminder of our plight. Sliding across the fractured floor and into position, we all hug the nearest office barricade and hunch over to stay concealed. Drawing my large, engraved handgun out of its leather carry-case, I rip back the hammer in preparation.

 

“This way,” I whisper.

 

I can hear the robots moving around behind this very wall. The thumping and scraping of metal parts might as well be insignificant – alone, that is. In the context of a robot army, it’s a sound to be reckoned with. When the floor isn’t vibrating because of the tremors, it’s because of these guys.

 

Nudging our way across the hall, we come across our first three way intersection. I tap Saori for her glass mirror and pinching it between her fingers, she hands it to me like a playing card. I angle the mirror around the corner, squinting at the tiny image produced. The coast is clear, the machines stomping back to where we were.

 

I slip past the funny metal caricatures and give the signal to regroup. Progressing farther down the hall, I notice the jutting convex mirror I had seen earlier during our visit. Another office hallway over is the already mangled corpse of the old man who had so unfortunately passed, and an army of Protectrons march straight over his legs, crushing them paper-thin.

 

Butch jerks his head away, not wanting to see a thing. I’m sorry – for the both of them. Though I think all of us here know what happens now, Butch especially: it ain’t gonna stop us. Not now. Summing up his reserves of courage, he looks at me reassuringly.

 

“INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.” The robotic voices are synchronous and monotone. The bright lights of the Protectrons’ foreheads scour the dusty ceiling, illumining the fractured fluorescents from earlier.

 

Fast-forward a few passageways, and our evasion rewards me a beautiful sight: a food storage area, likely emergency military reserves. Did you get that? Food. It’s not too often you just find nourishment lying around. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing this much in one spot since that old supermarket near Megaton two years ago. The Super Duper Mart, I think. I can bet for now that this is where the old man was getting all his food, and perhaps why he was so fat, too.

 

“Five minutes,” Lyn announces, just loud enough for us to hear. She taps her wristwatch, whose face is directed inward. Everyone nods in confirmation.

 

I peek through the wooden shelves of cans, eyes jumping from label to label. Pork and beans. Sausages in soup broth. InstaMash. Even some small boxes of macaroni and cheese are lying about. However, nothing steals my attention like the giant freezer in the corner, partly open, a calm mist breathing out of it. Through the frost-covered window I can see several “Meal, Ready-to-Eat” packages thrown about sporadically. A full meal and utensils, ready to be used! I read about these MREs; they also have chemicals that with a physical force as a catalyst, can create heat for cooking. Sure I have no idea how long those things have been sitting in there, preserved in all their delicious flavors, but they could still be edible. The fantasy is enough to forget how bad things were, if only for a moment.

 

Lines of at least a dozen robots weave in and out of sight in the aisles of food. In my peripheral vision, I can see Butch eyeing some of the food as well. He plucks a can from the shelf, inspects the label, and then puts it back.

 

My stomach moans loudly. I turn my focus away from the freezer and to Saori.

 

“No,” she anticipates.

 

“Yes!” Butch answers.

 

“No!”

 

“But everything is free,” I add.

 

Saya makes a small, sad whimper. “That’s not funny…”

 

A frustrated groan. “We need to LEAVE,” Lyn asserts. “This place is SINKING! Five minutes! What the he** did the afterlife do to you? Drew…you’re smarter than this.”

 

I shoo away her warning. “The room exit is right there, you know. By the freezer.”

 

Saori’s and Lyn’s eyes thin, mouths frowning. Saya is just a bit fearful.

 

“Well, you better hurry the fu** up,” Saori lashes, her hairdo jolted upward in her short temper. In one instant she’s joyful, another furious. “I’m not saving you again.”

 

Grinning, I lightly pound fists with Butch.

 

Handgun still up and ready, Butch and I make the first move, dashing past the Protectrons, the girls retracted around the backside of the cellar. As the robots make their next, predictable loop around the sector of the depot, Butch tips open the giant frozen slab, shards of ice ringing as they hit the floor, the ground still rumbling due to the tremors. Cold air seeps between my toes. Small brown packages - each indistinguishable from the next aside from labels - sit on the sides and on the layer of ice below. Sifting through my backpack, I make some extra space to store the rations. Fingers numb, I squeeze two packages in, and Butch is able to pack two more into his bag with room to spare. When I turn back to face the rest of the cellar, the girls have made their way across.

 

“Oi, Saori!” Butch calls softly, holding up his backpack at the freezer entrance. “Which one do you want?”

 

“Give me that!”

 

Angrily, Saori snatches his bag away from him. She whips it around her body, but not without knocking over several cans on the wooden shelves. She cusses. The food containers clatter loudly as they hit the floor, rolling in all directions.

 

Bright beams of light shine on the pile of food cans. Saori and Butch stand in the dead center, the two turning just in time to see the Protectrons.

 

“INTRUDER DETECTED. INTRUDER DETECTED.”

 

“Move, move! Run for it!” I yell.

 

Whirring sounds. Butch’s bag still in hand, everyone darts towards the room exit, a flurry of red lasers burning through the steel walls of the freezer. Shards of metal fly in all directions. The Protectrons march after us, but they are far too slow with their terrible stature. Even if they may have awful movement capabilities, if those suckers find you, they can and will kill you.

 

No mechanic is needed to get that through any brain.

 

Snatching my pistol in a firm, rock-hard grip, I kick through the fragile wooden door that brought us here, smashing it to the tiled floor.

 

A four way intersection.

 

“Nine and twelve!” Lyn shouts.

 

More robots. With only one option, we are forced to flee down the right hallway, sprinting for dear life. Our gunshots go flying in the other direction. Another flurry of lasers zips past us as we scurry to the next corner, heat radiating from each laser’s concentrated form. More fluorescents are destroyed above, melted, transparent glass drooping from above like acid. Dust and traces of smoke make the world difficult to see.

 

This hallway is long and gapless, free of all interruptions and hostiles. We just keep on running, reaching for our rifles along the way.

 

“Good going,” Lyn coughs scornfully at Saori. “Three and a half minutes.”

 

“I didn’t touch a goddamn thing!”

 

Butch mocks her. “You’re right. My bag did. I’ll take that back now, thank you.” He takes it back.

 

“See, Saori?” I say. “You got us caught. At least we have more food.”

 

“I hate you so much, Drew!”

 

Does she really mean it? I’m not sure. At this point, even with our terrible predicament and lives at stake, for some reason, I have to laugh manically.

 

We reach the end of the hallway.

 

“Get ready!” I shout.

 

Lurching forward with assault rifle in hand, I fire down this corridor at the hip. A violent medley of red and bright orange flashes about, the cacophony sublime, unabashedly music to my ears. Everyone firing side by side, our agility and power is unrivaled for these goons; the tin men fall over one by one, ligaments popping off in small explosions, all ensuing each robot’s untimely demise. There is only a distinct problem: just as Lyn said, these elementary pieces of technology roam the facility like an army. For each one that falls, another one pops around the corner to replace its fallen brother.

 

We keep drilling through, burning through all remaining morsels of ammo, scrap metal piling up in the corner. The exit and the not-so-mysterious knot contraption lie to our very right. Free at last.

 

“Uhm, hey!” Saya hollers for attention. “What about the-”

 

“Grenades?” Butch asks.

 

Ah. The elegant bouquet.

 

“I know!” Retracting my shoulder in preparation, I bash through the final door whose contrivance is now of less delicate consideration. “Grenades!”

 

The dozen or so grenades fall from above.

 

“Go, go, go!”

 

Just try to follow us now, metal-heads.

 

Hands over our heads, we slip under the shower of explosives, lethal energies still dormant for a matter of seconds. The parking lot shines into view under a bright, waning moon, asphalt radiating with the whiteness of beautiful pearls. We whiz past the nuclear cars, rugged and pale in color, and we whiz past the barbed wire fence that had initially greeted us. The Wasteland is willing to take us back into its wide, gaping arms, and with that, what was once our former evil now seals a much darker past for us all.

 

Bang.

 

FORWARD ---->

Edited August 9, 2011 by AliasTheory

[AliasTheory]

Isn't that amazing? I got this one in on time! Basically a week from the last chapter post!

 

Also, I like comments. I only wrote this in two days. I was also kinda tired when I wrote the first and last parts, so there are probably mistakes there. Point them out!

[CheeseyBall]

Instead of saying 'take it out on friends' you said 'take it out friends'.

I liek the story :3