Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

--ROSE--

Ever since she was a small girl, luck always had Rose’s back for the most part of her life, from the random toasters exploding in the faces of bullies to getting the last sweet roll after the rest got ruined in a birthday cake gone wrong.

A poster child of Vault Tech values, Rose aspired to make her people proud with her assigned role as a vault teacher.

Life was good in the Vault for Rose that she thought she had it all and for a while that was true.

While her luck remained strong, Rose’s life took an unexpected turn from her Overseer father at the shy age of twenty.

He pulled her aside before she went to the mess hall for dinner and asked an unusual favor from her.

Under his arm, he had a tightly bound box.

“Rose, I need your help,” Johnson asks Rose in a hushed tone.

Bright eyed as her mother before her, Rose inquires, “What’s wrong?”

Waving his hand, Johnson assures her that nothing was wrong, he only needed her help with something.

Showing the box, Johnson explains how it was a parcel that needed to be delivered to a specific person.

And only that person.

No one else.

No one else must open the parcel except them.

Rose’s father remained dodgy about answering her questions and he insists that if there was anyone who could deliver the parcel to the intended recipient, it was Rose.

“Why me?” Rose grew curious about her assignment.

Sighing, Johnson frowns as he tells her, “There’s nobody else in the Vault I trust except you, honey.”

Something he never took lightly.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell her more, he insisted that she trusted him, and Rose swore that she trusted him wholeheartedly.

“His name is Mercurio Benton. You know it’s him because of his eyes. He has an eye condition known as heterochromia. One eye is bright blue, and the other is dark brown. I believe he has a scar over his mouth,” Johnson described the recipient of the parcel.

Listening to his description, Rose sheepishly asks where Mercurio was located, and almost jumped when Johnson told her that he was outside the Vault.

The last known location was Memphis.

Trying to say the word, Rose found it foreign before her father explained it was a city.

“He’s still there last I heard,” Johnson gestures as he recalled the last communication he had.

Following along, Rose then asked her father, “Why does he need this parcel?”

Johnson was hesitant telling his daughter anything about the parcel and instructs her that nobody can have the parcel except Mercurio.

“Trust me, honey,” he only said before prodding Rose to collect her things from her room.

She couldn’t say goodbye to her friends or her students, her father insisted that she get a hurry on, and not to say a word about where she was going.

When asked what he would say if someone asked, Johnson answers that Rose transferred to a different Vault.

The details muddled enough no one would go looking deeper and with him as the overseer, no one would think twice to go behind his back.

Whisked around the Vault with her knapsack filled with whatever she thought best brought with her to the surface, Rose met her father at the entrance of the Vault.

Holding the box in one hand and a BB gun in the other, Johnson sighs as he presented his daughter with her task and her weapon.

Shocked at the sight of the BB gun, Rose was initially hesitant at taking it before Johnson insisted that she take it, citing the dangers of the surface.

“I loaded the map on your Pip-Boy, you shouldn’t have problems getting around, so long as you keep to the main road, you ought to be fine,” Johnson hesitated at the end of the sentence.

Seeing uncertainty in his eyes, Rose begged her father for more information regarding her task, but he wouldn’t give her anything more than a quick kiss on the forehead.

He opened that Vault door and ushered her out of her only home to the bright surface where she felt her presence greatly reducing into an insignificant part of the new world.

The bright sun illuminated her hazel eyes as the wind whipped her auburn hair tightly bound in a ponytail.

With her task in hand, Rose set out to achieve it, and quickly learnt that the surface wasn’t like anything she had ever seen before.

A far cry from the Vault, it was like something out of a nightmare.

The uneven roads with debris that remained since ever and the Pip-Boy warning her of the hidden dangers of radioactive areas, it was hard to believe that this existed topside.

It was unlike anything Rose could have imagined and she wanted nothing more than to return to her sanctuary in the Vault, but her father tasked her with delivering the parcel, and so she pushed on despite her uncertainty.

In the back of her mind, she wondered about her friends and how they took the news that her father concocted to explain her absence, what they would say.

It dawned on her that she wouldn’t know what to say to them when she got back after delivering the parcel to them.

Her father was hesitant her talking to her friends when he sent her to collect her things, so she wondered if he would even let her talk to them about this adventure of hers.

Checking her Pip-Boy every now again, Rose saw herself making progress, before she stopped for a time.

Drinking her filtered water and eating snacks her father insisted she pack, Rose sat in a little area that was hidden, and as she rested, she read a packed book given to her by her father to aid her.

In detail, the book told her about some of the people she was likely to encounter on her journey.

Some nice.

Some that the book warned as dangerous.

The types of weapons that she might encounter and their effectiveness as well as limitations.

Her BB gun was effective against the minor mutant insects and rodents, but useless against the likes of armored raiders.

Raiders.

The book warned with red bold letters that they were dangerous, and Rose was not to underestimate them.

With cartoony graphics, it showed how dangerous a group of raiders were to someone like her, and in graphic details it wasn’t pleasant.

So, the book advised Rose to stay away from them.

Unless she acquires better weapons and armor, then she would be in the position of giving them a run for their caps!

Until then, she should avoid combat with them.

And the book stressed that while Rose might not like the idea, at times, combat would be the only way forward in some instances.

Others, if she can convince individuals and broker favorable conditions, she should, but the book warns that sometimes she needed to do better to convince others.

If it fails, she should expect a negative reaction.

Whether it results in violence depends, but to be on her guard regardless.

“Mercurio. Benton,” Rose murmurs as she etched the name in her mind.

Whoever he was, her father insisted that the parcel in her knapsack go to him.

Never heard of the man until today and with her father being cagey with the details, all she knew was his name and his physical appearance.

“Mercurio. Benton.”

Once he got the parcel, Rose could return home to her Vault, and all would be well.

Already she hated being on the surface, the unusual sensations she felt were confounding to her, and she didn’t care for the openness presented by what her father called the Wasteland.

On her own for the first time in 20 years, Rose was beside herself as she didn’t know where to begin her newfound journey, only that she was given a task.

Using her Pip-Boy, Rose followed a path that led her on a stretch of road with lines of abandoned vehicles.

Rotted away, stripped of parts, these abandoned vehicles became known quantities in the Wasteland.

Rose would get used to seeing them and not to spend long since they were likely picked clean by scavengers.

It was getting dark when Rose made her way to a spot and set up a camp with a fire.

Drinking her filtered water and opening a can of sausages, Rose returned to reading the book.

Munching on the processed sausages that were heavily salted, Rose checks her Pip-Boy.

It's still a while away until she arrives in Memphis.

Frowning, Rose went back to reading her book while the fire crackled.

She soon stopped when there was a noise she had never heard before.

Dropping her book, Rose picks up and grasps her BB gun as she stands up with her eyes darting across the dark Wasteland.

It came out of the darkness with yellow teeth shining brightly in the crackling fire and attempts to take a bite out of Rose, but her Pip-Boy got in the way.

Crunching her Pip-Boy with its teeth, Rose spots black beady eyes looking up at her.

Forcing herself, Rose used the butt of her BB gun to knock the creature away from her.

A mutant prairie rat.

Long thin tail that acts like a whip.

Elongated teeth.

No longer skittish around humans, this rat wanted to take a bite out of her.

While it was dazed, instead of using the BB gun for its intended purpose, Rose used it as a blunt object.

Taking blows to the head, the mutant rat squeals, but Rose wasn’t deterred as she continued beating it, until blood oozed from both eyes, and it went limp.

Once she made sure it was dead, Rose was left with a broken Pip-Boy and no means to fix it.

“No!” Rose frowns as she touched the broken Pip-Boy with the screen completely cracked and teeth marks gouging it.

Frustrated, Rose took it out on the mangled corpse of the mutant rat but turning it into mush wasn’t going to help her, and Rose sat quietly as the fire crackled.

--M.A. L--

With the sun shining brightly over the Wasteland, it was a good time to start scavenging, since dusk was when the worst the Wasteland had to offer started coming out in droves, and anyone with two brain cells knew better to take their chances at night.

Going around different areas of an abandoned car lot with sharp amber eyes, a woman in her early thirties checked every vehicle on the lot.

Not much to be had with them damaged and left to rot in the Wasteland, but to the woman, anything can be used with some know-how.

Floating effortlessly with different arms moving, a Mr. Handy with the etched letterings H.A.L on its chassis checked the opposite side of the lot.

“Find anything, yet?” Mal asks the Mr. Handy robot.

In its automated voice, the Mr. Handy robot responds, “No, madam. Nothing.”

Sighing, the woman frowns as she regrouped with the Mr. Handy with annoyance in her amber eyes.

“Do we have to raze another raider camp?” Mal sighs in annoyance with their luck.

Despite its limitations, Hal sighs as it says, “It’s looking to be that way, madam, but we would be doing a public service.”

No one in the Wastelands likes raiders and no one hated them more than other raiders.

Self-explanatory reasons why no one liked or trusted raiders, but they were always getting their hands on anything they thought was worth money.

Of course, Mal had no intentions attempting to trade with them, and it was wise since raiders were prone to attacking.

Scum of the earth, no one cared if Mal and Hal razed their camps for supplies.

Effective, they made sure the raiders didn’t know it was their doing, since there were never survivors, and it was a wise thing to do, as evident with raiders going scorched earth on perceived enemies.

Sure, it sparked a mortality discussion here and there, but there was nothing to discuss when it came to raiders continuing their terror on the terrified inhabitants of the Wasteland.

“Ah, hell, okay Sherman set course—” Mal was about to tell Hal to find them the nearest raider camp when they were alerted by someone calling out to them.

Alarmed, Mal followed the voice until her amber eyes dropped to a woman wearing a blue and yellow jumpsuit with a knapsack on her back.

“Excuse me!” Mal hears the woman calling out to her.

Her brow raised with her mouth open, Mal blinked when Hal shouts, “Madam! Behind me!”

Its multiple arms raised with weapons in hand, Hal planned on obliterating a perceived threat to its owner when the woman waved her hands as she shouts, “Wait! Wait! I’m not a raider!”

She pleaded with the Mr. Handy robot not to open fire on her and it made it turn towards its owner with confusion in its optical eyes.

“It could be a trap, madam,” Hal warns Mal.

Seeing the woman coming closer, Mal recognized that she wasn’t like any person that they have dealt with since making this area their home some time ago.

“Hold on there, Hal. How many raiders have we gotten rid of that had perfect teeth?” Mal raised her hand to stop Hal from going through with its intuitive. 

Lowering its weapons, Hal responds in a monotonous, “0.00%!”

Slowly nodding, Mal watches as the woman hurried over to them with her weapon in tow.

Instantly, Mal recognized that the woman wasn’t proficient with weaponry, the way she held the BB gun said it all.

She was prevented from coming too close to Mal by Hal as it guards its owner from her.

“Talk. Now,” Mal raised her voice as she wanted to know the woman’s intentions.

Pointing to herself, the woman introduced herself, “My name is Rose.”

Confused by the seemingly friendly Rose, Hal remained cautious as Mal crossed her arms.

“Okay Rose, you have two seconds to tell us why you’re out here making noise before my friend here zaps you out of existence. Go,” Mal didn’t hesitate to show displeasure towards Rose.

Quickly, Rose tells them, “I have to get a parcel to someone.”

Raising her brow, Mal echoes, “Parcel?”

Hal also echoes, “Parcel?”

Nodding, Rose explained that she was given an important task in delivering it.

Seeing their disbelief, Rose gestures, “It’s a long story.”

Raising her finger, Mal retorts, “Do you have to announce you have a parcel to everyone you meet?”

Meekly, Rose justifies it, “Well, it’s the truth.”

Shaking her head in displeasure, Mal remarked, “It’s a miracle a raider hadn’t made you their target practice!”

Hal was quick to add a sharp, “It’s a miracle you’re even still alive!”

Seeing the confusion on Rose’s face, Mal made it clear how raiders loved stealing perceived valuables from people.

Often with extreme prejudice.

“I’m just being honest!” Rose protests.

Rubbing her amber eyes, Mal goes, “Honesty gets you an early grave around here.”

Hal interjects a quick, “If something doesn’t eat you first!”

Nodding, Mal agrees with Hal.

Meekly smiling, Rose timidly asks, “Um, can you help me?”

Skeptical, Mal asks her, “Why?”

Gesturing, Rose explains how she was lost.

She’s disheartened when Mal flatly told her how she wouldn’t help.

When asked, Mal gave a pragmatic reason, “I don’t know you.”

Hal adds, “You can’t be too trusting in the Wasteland, these days!”

If it’s not raiders, it’s raiders disguising themselves!

Raising her hands in self-defense, Rose frets, “I just need to find a place, is all!”

She heard back, “You have a Pip-Boy on you.”

Frowning, Rose shows the broken screen on the non-functioning Pip-Boy before telling Hal and Mal, “It broke.”

She saw immediate confusion on Mal’s face before Mal blurts, “How the hell do you break a Pip-Boy?!”

When Rose told her how she was attacked by something trying to bite her and it bit her Pip-Boy instead.

Giving an understanding nod, Mal sighs, “Doesn’t everything around here?”

Pleading with her, Rose begs, “Please, can’t you help me?”

Feigning disinterest, Mal questions her with, “What do I get from helping you?”

Shifting in her spot, Rose gestures as she struggles with an answer, “Um, you did a good deed?”

Shaking her head as her matted hair stiffly moved under the hard hat, Mal declined to help Rose.

“Look, I sympathize with ya, but I’m kinda busy at the moment with something,” she attempts to wave Rose away from them, but the Vault Dweller remains stubborn.

Remaining where she stood, Rose asks, “What are you busy with?”

Mal gave a dry response, “Currently: You. Before you: Supplies.”

She hoped it would be the end of it, but Rose wasn’t deterred despite Mal being intentionally unhelpful.

Asking for more details, Rose learnt from Hal that Mal was looking for a part needed for some upgrades.

“Can I help?” Rose offered to help with the scavenging.

Dryly, Mal points out, “Goldilocks, these bears will eat you alive.”

Provided Rose was lucky when the raiders inevitably captured her.

Hal further solidified with doubt.

Clasping her hands haphazardly with the BB gun, Rose begged them, “Please! I need to get this parcel delivered.”

There’s silence between Hal and Mal before Mal finally spoke up.

Raising her finger, Mal stresses, “Before I can remotely think about it, what are you exactly delivering that’s so damn important?”

Harkening back to her father’s urging and warnings, Rose became hesitant about telling Mal what her father wanted delivered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s against Vault Tech rules.”

Shrugging, Mal showed disinterest as she prepared to leave with Hal, “Then get going. You don’t want to be around at night.”

And believe Mal when she said it.

Holding her hand outstretched, Rose begged, “Wait! It’s important enough I had to leave the only home I have!”

She recoils as Mal bitterly remarks, “That’s assuming they let you back in after you deliver it!”

Take aback, Rose blinks as she sheepishly asks, “I’m sorry?”

Waving her hand, Mal didn’t answer the question and instead suggested, “Look, if it’s that damn important, then suppose we can work out some sort of deal.”

Recoiling, Hal sputters, “Madam?”

It was taken aback by Mal suddenly showing interest before Mal gestures, “Work with me Hal.”

Curious, Rose asks, “What would I have to do?”

Seeing an opportunity, Mal went and explained, “Well, I need a part and I have a sinking suspicion that a raider camp has it. Of course, raiders aren’t known for being reasonable.”

As with everything else in the Wastelands, that’s beside the point.

“If I get the part, can you fix my Pip-Boy?” Rose pointed at her wrist.

Slowly nodding, Mal said, “Assuming you survive long enough, we’ll discuss the details.”

Hal quickly spoke up, “Are you sure you want to do this, madam?”

It sounded alarming to Hal that its owner was willing to work with an unknown individual, but Mal calms the Mr. Handy robot.

She gave her pragmatic response, “Sure, what the hell. No skin off my teeth if she can’t hack it.”

It’s a cruel thing to say, sure, but the Wastelands wasn’t forgiving.

Rose touches her chest as she asserts, “I promise to get you that part, ma’am!”

Showing doubt, Mal responds, “We’ll see. Hal, go with her.”

Aghast, the Mr. Handy turned its floating body to face Mal with it sputtering, “But madam, what about you?”

It fretted about leaving her alone while it went with Rose.

Rubbing her eyes, Mal insists, “I’ll be fine. Besides, you can still get the part while they’re distracted with Miss Sunshine over here.”

Part of the Wastelands, pragmatically solving problems.

Relenting, Hal exhaled, “I shall do it, madam.”

Excited, Rose proclaimed she would get the part for Mal before Mal brought back to reality by saying, “If you live long enough.”

It wasn’t her first time in the Wastelands to immediately trust that this Vault Dweller would succeed the task given, but the woman had a surprising moxie about her.

Oh, how quickly she will shed it as she sees how the Wastelands wasn’t a bowl of cherries!

“Come along, we have much to do!” Hal insists that Rose follows it towards the raider camp that it picked up on its scanners.

Following closely with the Mr. Handy robot, Rose asks it a question, “So, what part are we looking for, exactly?”

She heard back a monotonous, “A nuclear combustor!”

Drawing a blank on what the part was, Rose sheepishly asks, “What does it do?”

Eloquently, Hal answers with a detailed response that went over Rose’s head, so she nods along as Hal led her over the ridge.

As it moved, Hal assures Rose that the combustor was small enough for her to carry it.

Nodding along, Rose then asks what the part looked like, and Hal gave a detailed description, “It looks like a silver cylinder with pipes sticking out of it.”

Slowly nodding as her head, Rose gestures as she inquires, “And the raider camp, has it?”

Affirming, Hal responds with an annoyed, “Like rats with fleas!”

Disgusting things, rats, and raiders.

Having limited experience with raiders, Rose then asked why the raiders wanted the part, and Hal groans as it explains, “Oh, who knows with raiders. They collect more than just the random shiny objects they find on the ground, if you know what I mean.”

It laments when Rose proceeded to tell it that she did know what it meant by the comment about raiders.

Immediately, she became sickened when Hal went into explicit details about the kind of diseases that Rose can expect from raiders given their unrepentant nature.

It was advised by Hal that Rose have a plan if she was ever captured by them, warning how they were merciless, and if she valued her sanity, as eloquently said by Hal, “Pop a little white pill and smile as you have the last laugh.”

It’s better than what the raiders had in store for Rose.

“Are they always a problem?” Rose asks as she went over a steep trench.

Groaning, Hal gave a biting response, “Since the first idiot picked up a broomstick!”

They were coming close to the raider camp and Hal noted that the part they needed was somewhere inside.

Seeing leather armored men on the outposts with their respected firearms, Rose stepped back as she realized the gravity of the situation, but Hal was quick to remind her that she wanted her Pip-Boy fixed, this was the only way.

Assuming she survived long enough, that is.

“What do I… do?” Rose asks for advice on how to best handle the situation.

Thinking it over, Hal suggests, “Could go in guns blazing!”

Seeing the doubt and fear on Rose’s face, Hal then warns, “I wouldn’t try and talk to them, they’re not known for their intelligence, much!”

Rose would have better luck talking down a radroach than a raider.

Not very good with her BB gun, Rose worrying about the possibility of a fate worse than death, she grits her teeth before broaching an idea with Hal.

“Can you help me?”

“The madam gave explicit instructions?”

“What if the part gets destroyed?”

“Unlikely. It can handle quite a beating!”

“But what if a raider shoots it by mistake or uses it as a blunt force object?”

“Hm, you do have a point. Fine.”

Using the raiders alleged lack of intelligence, Rose convinced Hal that it needed to help her with the retrieval, since if anything happened to the part, there was a chance no other raider camp around had it.

Hoisting itself, Hal raised its arms as it screams a phrase in French before attacking the raiders as they became alarmed at the presence of a Mr. Handy robot suddenly coming towards them, shooting them with several lasers produced from its arms.

Shouting, the raiders desperately tried to fight back, but the always-upgraded Mr. Handy robot made quick work of their attempts, until it ensured the last and final raider was burnt to a black crisp.

Seeing the carnage, Rose was shocked, before Hal reminded her that it was life in the Wastelands, that even if she didn’t agree with it, it wasn’t going to change overnight.

“Now hurry up, madam requires that part!” Hal grew testy for Rose to collect herself and help locate what they need.

Forcing herself to go through the singed raider camp, Rose saw the deceased raiders in different stages of burning, with some completely charred.

Humming, Hal scours the camp until it alerts Rose to the part they needed.

“Okay-dokey,” Rose went to retrieve the part and found it was heavier than she expected.

Hal swore that she could pick it up, but Rose struggled to lift the heavy part from the ground.

“Hm, not good with heavy lifting, that’s going to be a difficult thing around here,” Hal comments as it watches Rose struggling.

Lifting with her knees and not her back, Rose managed to slowly move the part away from its resting spot but picking it up was impossible.

“If I may, miss, when in doubt, my madam would always make something out of nothing to help her with a task!” Hal gave a suggestion.

Resting the part on the ground, Rose glances around the raider camp as she tries to come up with an idea.

She stopped when she noticed something leaning against the wooden support beams.

“Will that work?” Rose points at it.

Eying it, Hal answers, “It’s been fundamentally unchanged for centuries for a reason, miss. They must have used it, too.”

With that said, Rose retrieves it and brings it over to the part lying on the ground.

It took some doing, but Rose manages to load the part into a wheelbarrow.

Hal stopped her to remind her to check the camp for anything useful, since well, the raiders won’t be needing it anymore, and it’ll just be picked up by someone else.

Going around the camp while Hal waited by the part, Rose found some food, some bottle caps which Hal instructs her to take with her as she will need them, and two stimpaks which Hal urged her to take with her.

Never know when she will need them.

Wheeling it out of the raider camp, Rose proceeds to follow Hal back to Mal who waited for them back at the car lot.

Showing genuine shock, Mal exhaled, “And here I thought you were just another mist in the breeze! How’d you do?”

Lifting the wheelbarrow, Rose shows Mal the part she collected, before Mal astutely said, “Hal did the dirty work, huh?”

Frowning, Rose admitted that she didn’t have confidence in her abilities with the raiders just yet before Mal warns, “You’re gonna need it quick. Okay, deal’s a deal, come with me.”

Keeping her word, Mal had Rose push the wheelbarrow with Hal next to her as they led Rose to a hideaway that Mal built with her two hands.

With scrap metal left lying around and not much else, Mal did what anyone would and used ingenuity and a wrench to create her own paradise away from the Wasteland outside.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t catch your name,” Rose remembered never asking.

As she walked to the beat of her drum, Mal yawns, “Maverick. Astute. Loner.”

Mal.

It baffled Rose, but she didn’t want to press her luck with Mal agreeing to fix her broken Pip-Boy.

“And I am Hal! Handy. Annihilator. Legionnaire!”  Hal gave its name to Rose while slipping into a French accent towards the end.

Arriving at the reinforced steel slide door, Mal had hers and Hal’s identities scanned before it opened.

Wheeling inside, Rose saw walls filled with whatever Mal and Hal found during their daily scavenging around the Wasteland.

Once the slide door locked closed, Mal instructs Rose where to place the wheelbarrow.

Doing as she’s told; Rose hears Mal behind her placing the other items collected earlier in their respected bins.

“All right. Hand it over,” Mal held her hand outstretched as Rose took off her Pip-Boy.

Giving it to Mal, she sat on her workbench stool where she began working on the Pip-Boy.

Hal guarded areas of the hidden bunker while limiting where Rose was allowed to explore.

With the limitations, Rose was able to see the work put into making the bunker livable, it was almost like being back in the Vault.

“How long have you been here?” Rose struck up a conversation with Mal.

While dissembling the Pip-Boy, Mal answers as she pulled away the broken screen, “Few years.”

The area was different back than before Mal and Hal made work of the raiders that used to camp around it, built their home with the scraps left behind, and that’s all she wrote.

After the umpteenth camp razed, raiders started coming up with rumors about something blitzing raider camps and killing everyone, so that cutdown foot traffic from the lambasted group.

While that was great for the area, it made scavenging harder since it pushed the two further out finding camps to raze for supplies.

Still, they managed.

“So, you’re alone?”

“What? Nah, I got Hal.”

“No, I mean like, you’re alone?”

“Still alive, ain’t I?”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“Compared to being stewed alive by a raider, I can manage.”

Curt and to the point, Mal didn’t mince words as she showed little interest in having company, only working on the Pip-Boy as it was agreed upon, but other than that, Rose was the only human she interacted with that wasn’t being burnt alive to a crisp.

“Good news, the damages’ are only minor, I can fix everything up,” Mal revealed as she pulled away the punctured screen.

Collecting parts since she came out here with Hal, Mal had enough Pip-Boy parts to fix Rose’s without issue.

It’ll take some time, but when Mal’s done the Pip-Boy will be good as new.

“Just need to flash the memory,” Mal grabbed something from a workbench drawer.

Curious, Rose asks why Mal would need to do it, and Mal plainly told her that by replacing the parts, the Pip-Boy risks wiping the memory when everything is connected and powered on.

A quirk, but manageable.

Quietly, Rose watches Mal stick something into a port on the Pip-Boy, with some prodding, everything was flashed to the device.

Making sure everything was backed up, Mal went to work fixing the Pip-Boy.

Hal made her a drink and she thanked the Mr. Handy robot as it rested the tray beside her.

“Of course, madam!” Hal cheerfully said.

Seeing Rose fidgeting in the reflective surfaces of the wall, Mal asks Hal to get her something, too.

“Only if you’re sure, madam!”

Hal disappeared down the hallway.

“So, you have a Mr. Handy, that’s kind of… handy,” Rose awkwardly smiles.

Disconnecting and reconnecting wires, Mal tells Rose about Hal, “It used to be in a rough shape, but I managed.”

When Hal inevitably went into low-powered mode after being offline for so long and the damage it endured, Mal was able to work on it without fear of it turning on her.

Turning Hal back on at full capacity was the real test on whether she succeeded or not, but thankfully her changes in the programming stuck despite the risk of it not, and she further worked on Hal to the point where it was her lighting bruiser.

“Okay, sunshine, now for the fun part!” Mal then began the process of putting the Pip-Boy back together with the replacement parts.

Slow and steady, Mal worked on the Pip-Boy until finally turning it on with Rose behind her.

The screen illuminates and expectedly goes to a different screen.

Mal worked to recalibrate the Pip-Boy by utilizing the admin menus and using some know-how to bypass the security measures put in place.

As expected, recalibrating the Pip-Boy with the new parts caused a failsafe where the memory was cleared, but Mal reinstalled the backed-up flash memory.

Once the Pip-Boy rebooted, Mal gave it the clean bill of health, and presents the fixed Pip-Boy to the ecstatic Rose.

“Oh! Thank you!” Rose profusely thanks Mal for keeping her word and fixing the broken Pip-Boy.

Waving her hand, Mal casually informs Rose that it was a simple job for her, and that said, her job was done.

“Okay, sunshine, it’s fixed, now you can find your way to… wherever you’re going,” Mal waved her hand.

She lowers her hand as she heard Rose say, “Memphis.”

There’s silence and then Mal echoes, “Memphis?”

Nodding, her ponytail stiffly bouncing, Rose confirmed she was going to Memphis.

“Well, it’s not the worst place one can go to, madam,” Hal stiffly shrugged.

Baffled, Rose asks what was wrong with Memphis, to which Mal explained, “It’s full of Elvis impersonators who listen to their King, that should give you some idea.”

There’s a quizzical look on Rose’s face as she struggled to understand what Mal said before Mal waved it away as, “Before our time.”

Still, Mal held up her end of the bargain so henceforth Rose was to vacate the premises and continue her journey to Memphis.

Which Mal lambasts Rose for telling her where she intended on going.

“You are new to this ain’t you?” Mal eyes her.

Meekly, Rose admits, “Well, you were struggling, and I thought…”

Waving her hand, Mal stresses, “Look, you don’t want to go running your mouth to every Dick and Jane. I may be willing to help ya with your Pip-Boy, sunshine, but that’s me.”

Seeing how Rose was doe-eyed, Mal stressed the dangers and Rose affirms she was aware, showing Mal the book packed into her knapsack.

“If you’re going to Memphis, you better be careful,” Mal stresses the dangers that lie in the Wasteland.

Don’t trust every Dick and Jane that talks to her.

Don’t go around telling everyone her intentions.

Most of all, Mal pointed at the BB gun as she emphasized that Rose needed to learn how to use weapons.

“You’re going down a lonely stretch of road, sunshine, and believe me, it’s not easy,” Mal points at her.

Chapter Text

Back on the lonely road to Memphis, Rose took breaks here and there, getting a sense of where she was on her repaired Pip-Boy, reading the book as it told her what else she needed to know on how to survive the situations that were aplenty in the Wasteland.

Attempting to practice her aim, Rose uses her BB on bottles that she found lying in the dirt, and found that she was great at shooting, 8 out of 10 tens, but practice was practice.

Alas, she couldn’t practice much on account of the limited ammo her father gave her, and she tries finding more during her scavenging around areas as she made progress.

Expectedly, what she did manage to find was limited, but Rose found bobby pins, which the book told her she would need, some Nuka Cola which weren’t great warm, but the caps she kept as she stockpiled at least a hundred.

As Mal and the book warned, not everyone in the Wasteland was friendly, will try to take advantage her at the first chance, and Rose needed to be prepared to flee at the first sign of trouble if things don’t go the way she wanted, especially if she didn’t feel comfortable fighting.

Having been a teacher since the age of ten, Rose felt like she could handle the situations that would arise in the Wasteland.

She has managed so far.

Though, things can change on the whim as the book said.

“Okay-Dokey,” Rose puts on a brave smile as she prepared talking to other people in the Wasteland.

It didn’t take long for that to come to pass as she discovered the remains of a caravan having been pillaged by bandits, with one lone survivor.

A man in his late thirties to early forties.

Wore remains of a collared shirt stained with blood and torn slacks.

Blue eyes that were hidden by the sheen of his broken glasses.

He was struggling to move around with blood trickling down his legs when Rose came upon him, having patched his injuries the best he could do with what he had, but it was evident that it wasn’t enough.

“Sir!” Rose raised her hands as she tried to show she was no threat to the startled man.

His blue eyes focused on her, he sputtered, “No, not again!”

Afraid Rose was another raider, he tried to ward her off with a broken pipe, before Rose calmed him down long enough to explain that she wasn’t a raider.

Lowering the pipe, the man eyed her with suspicion.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Rose stresses as she walked closer to the frightened man.

She could see his blood-soaked bandaged abdomen clearly and his face covered in scars.

“Who are you, what do you want from me?” the man panicky asks.

Touching her chest, Rose calmly told him, “My name is Rose, I just wanted to know if you’re okay.”

Still eying her with suspicion, the man goes, “You’re from the vaults, aren’t you?”

Her doe eyes illuminated, Rose affirms she was, and the man remarks, “You picked the wrong day to leave your vault!”

It’s been war after war with raiders and whatever semblance of the law was around, that if Rose wasn’t lucky, she’ll get caught in the crosshair like he did.

“What happened here?” Rose wanted to know.

Sighing, the man explains how he was part of a caravan making its way to West Tennessee, but things didn’t turn out, as Rose can plainly see.

Raiders came upon the caravan and killed all but him, he only survived because he hid under the bodies of dead Wastelanders.

Remembering the stimpaks she found, Rose offered them to the man, and he thanked her profusely, before lamenting that they weren’t as effective as he hoped causing Rose to ask if there was a nearby settlement, she could help him reach.

Shaking his head, the man answers how there wasn’t a settlement within miles.

Seeing how the caravan was picked clean by the raiders and whatever the man found he evidently used, Rose broached an idea.

“Do you think you can handle coming with me?” Rose inquiries.

Looking down at his bandages, the man painfully coughed, “Where are we going?”

Getting another idea of using an abandoned wheelbarrow, Rose began pushing the man back the way she came.

Still weak, the man couldn’t fight against whatever she planned, but Rose insists that this was the best chance at his survival.

Miffed, the man worryingly asks, “What do you get out of this?”

Rose didn’t know him and obviously, he didn’t know her.

Nobody does anything like this without wanting something in return.

Going through the rules of Vault-Tec, Rose saw the confusion on his face.

“You can’t save everyone you meet; you know!” The man bitterly told her that Rose was setting herself up for failure trying to help everyone she met, but Rose bluntly said she was willing to try.

Seeing the determination in her eyes, the man recoils in the wheelbarrow before he was asked his name.

“Harold,” he meekly said.

Nodding, her tightly bound ponytail stiffly bobbed, Rose exhaled as she pushed the wheelbarrow, “Okay, Harold, I’m getting you somewhere safe!”

Time was of the essence and Rose pushed Harold through the dusty landscape back to the only person she knew that could help.

By the time they arrived, the ponytail had come apart and her auburn hair turned into a frizzled mess.

Her face was latent with sweat and reddened from the sun above.

With her fists, she pounded on the slide door until it finally opened with Mal pointing a shotgun at her face.

In her deep breaths, Rose begged Mal not to shoot them.

Recognizing her voice, Mal barely lowered the shotgun as she angrily asks, “Woah, what the hell’s this? What the hell are you doing back here?”

Pushing the wheelbarrow with Harold passed her, Rose informs Mal of what happened, and ended with, “He needs our help!”

Closing the sliding door behind them, Mal echoes with a disdainful, “Our help?”

Rose begged, “He won’t make it, please!”

Eying Harold as he weakly eyed back with sharp her amber eyes, Mal asks, “Who the hell is he?”

Rose answers, “Harold.”

Doubting that Rose personally knew him, Mal questioned her, “You’re helping someone you don’t even know?”

Weakly shrugging, Rose answers, “Yeah?”

Sharply, Mal stresses, “Hey, Girl Scout, the Wastelands isn’t exactly known for its charity, okay?”

For all intents and purposes, Harold’s just a plant for the raiders or worse, he could be a convict for all they care, it’s the Wasteland, everyone is out for themselves at the end of the day!

“Please,” Rose clasped her hands together as she saw Harold struggling in the wheelbarrow.

Chewing her lips as she tries to think to herself, Mal growls before shaking her head.

“For fuc-Hal!” Mal raised her voice loud enough that it echoed throughout the hallway.

Speedily, the Mr. Handy zoomed in with a curious, “Madam?”

Pointing to Harold, Mal instructs the Mr. Handy, “Prep the medical table.”

Unconditionally, Hal obeyed as he went to do just that as Rose pushed the wheelbarrow while following Mal to a cordoned off room with a viewing window.

Hal worked on sterilizing the medical table and the instruments and as it does, Rose and Mal talked.

“Thank you,” Rose thanks Mal for reconsidering helping Harold.

Pointing at her, Mal states, “You owe me.”

Checking Harold, Rose could see him growing weaker, before Hal came through the door as it proclaimed, “The medical table is ready, madam. The surgeon is prepared!”

It retrieves the wheelbarrow from Rose and pushes it into the medical room while the door seals off.

With its multiple arms it lifts Harold effortlessly off the wheelbarrow and onto the cold slab where it promptly drugged him.

“If he makes it, we’ll interrogate him,” Mal decided.

Taken aback, Rose sputters, “What?”

Pointing at Harold through the viewing glass, Mal points out, “Raiders are thorough. He’d be the first one dead in a raid.”

Having experienced raiders since coming into the area, Mal felt she had a point.

“Automated medical protocol commencing! In 3… 2… 1…!” Hal happily says as it proceeded to perform the necessary medical procedures.

Shaking her head, Rose then pointed out, “I don’t think he’s a raider, ma’am. Even if he is, wouldn’t they have killed him, anyway?”

No loyalty among raiders, all that.

Sighing as she rubbed her eyes, Mal goes, “Fine. Fine. You better be right.”

Effortlessly, Hal was able to finish the medical procedures within a timely, but effective, matter as it transports Harold to a medical bed via a gurney.

Mal instructs Rose to take the wheelbarrow away and so she did.

“Now, we wait!” Hal cheerfully says.

With Harold in recovery, there wasn’t much else to do but wait.

“Well, any luck?” Mal asks if Rose made progress getting to Memphis.

Shaking her head, Rose admits, “No, I got turned around, plus Harold needed my help so, here I am, again.”

Sighing, Mal goes, “Such is life.”

Rose remained optimistic as she stated, “But I’m making progress.”

Doubt in her amber eyes, Mal says, “Remains to be seen.”

Determined, Rose proclaimed that she can it delivered before Mal sarcastically says, “And I’m Queen Elizabeth!”

Sheepishly smiling, Rose gestures, “So… how much do I owe you?”

Her face drops when Mal casually answers, “1200 caps.”

Seeing the dumbfounded look on Rose’s face, Mal raises her brow as she says, “You think I’m joking?”

Meekly, Rose admits, “I… can’t afford that, ma’am.”

Bluntly, Mal states, “And I told you.”

Gesturing, Rose asks, “Can we work it out?”

Thinking it over, Mal then responds a sharp, “Fine. But your parcel stays here with me.”

Raising her hands, Rose sputters, “But!”

Raising a finger, Mal elaborates, “If you do the job and make it back, you’ll get your parcel back.”

Seeing Rose’s face, Mal points out, “Shoulda thought about it before you brought him here. Now, listen up Girl Scout. Here’s your job: there’s a cave in the southeast from here. Can’t miss it, it has some shiny minerals in the rocks that haven’t been mined. Hal has the good presence, that there’s something useful inside. Don’t know what, though, so you better be prepared. Whatever it is, bring it back here. Got it?”

Muttering to herself, Rose affirms, “Cave in the southeast, got it.”

And before she asks, Hal can’t come with her, since it was needed to tend to Harold, so Rose better has a good aim.

“Good luck,” Mal simply said as she held the parcel in her hands.

Chapter Text

Given another task by Mal, Rose set out to complete it for the return of her parcel.

Pushing the wheelbarrow, she took with her, Rose was prepared to use it.

Following the map on her Pip-Boy, Rose looked for the cave Mal mentioned.

The sun shining brightly over her, Rose wasted no time as she found shortcuts that drew her closer to the hidden cave.

Unsure of the underlying dangers, Rose kept her BB gun close, and made her way towards a rock formation with obsidian dotting it.

Checking her map, Rose sees she was indeed where she was supposed to be, but now she must bravely enter an unknown cave and find whatever Mal wanted.

“Okay-Dokey,” Rose exhales as she forced herself through the cave entrance.

The temperature difference was notable compared to outside and Rose couldn’t see very well beyond her own hands.

Fiddling with her Pip-Boy, she turned on the flashlight module, and used it to see through the darkness.

Mal didn’t mention how long the cave system was or if there were any offshoots, so Rose had to rely on what little she knew.

“Okay, just like when you were a kid playing hide and seek with Cousin Tom!” Rose exhaled as she carefully went over uneven crags as she stretched her neck out.

Around her she heard water dripping from somewhere and nothing more.

She expected more of those rats like the one that initially broke her Pip-Boy or something worse.

It was surprisingly barren, for a cave that raiders would have easily overtaken, and turned into one of their encampments, but given Mal and Hal’s treatment of them, they’ve likely never gotten the chance.

Or they did and they were summarily destroyed after being discovered, but their hidden treasures inevitably lost.

Either way, Rose wanted to find what was in the cave and get out.

“Oomph!” Rose tripped over something and almost lost her footing.

Managing to prevent herself from falling over, Rose restituted herself and looked down.

Skeletal remains.

Human.

Covering her mouth, Rose’s eyes widened at the sight as it scared her.

Bleach white.

Wore clothing that was dissimilar to what raiders wore.

Using her flashlight, Rose searched around, and she was at the end of the cave, she didn’t see any open veins or anything suggesting anything nested inside.

Behind the skeleton, there was a locked trunk.

Attempting to use one of the Bobby pins she took with her, Rose found it near impossible to crack it open, and didn’t want to risk breaking the lock by forcing it.

Grabbing the side with metal handle, Rose began pulling it away from the skeleton, and it weighed more than she expected.

It took sheer will for her to pull it over the uneven crags towards the mouth of the cave, but she did what she could to get it out of the cave.

Overexerted, Rose stops for a moment to catch her breath as she leans over the green trunk.

Whatever is inside, it weighed a ton, and Rose prayed whatever inside was what Mal wanted.

With it safely in the wheelbarrow, Rose ventured back to Mal’s place.

HAROLD

It never crossed his mind that things would turn out the way they would, all he wanted was to live a quiet life out in whatever safe place in the Wasteland he could find, but that was for naught.

If it wasn’t radioactive areas that made traveling dangerous, there were mutant animals and insects that dot the area, claiming dozens of lives, and almost his hadn’t fled when he got the chance.

Madmen and women taking to the roads claiming lives to take whatever they can find for their own, raiders they were normally called.

If that wasn’t enough, there were unseemly types running around doing whatever they could to stay on top and were willing to do whatever it took.

The experiences made Harold wonder if he made the right choice to leave his Vault.

He didn’t mind it much, it kept him safe from the exposure to the topside but suppose having been relied upon too much as the only available scientist and doctor pushed him to his breaking point that he wanted nothing more than to explode his own head.

Well, suppose he didn’t know what he had until he didn’t have it anymore, given the misfortune he experienced after leaving the vault.

He endeared himself as a doctor to a settlement desperate for one and for the most part things were fine.

The settlement had so many setbacks that it was decided to vacate it and leave it to the raiders.

In a caravan, all twenty moved across the dangerous Wasteland in hopes for a safer area, but inevitably that wasn’t the case.

Pure luck had Harold survive the attack on his caravan, but in a cruel way it was karma, since he had to endure people being killed by the raiders with him hiding under the corpses of the slain settlers, and their screams still pierced his mind even unconscious.

He wasn’t sure if he had any right to survive, if this was a cruel joke by some power above, but all good things come to those who wait, as he woke up restrained to a medical bed with a Mr. Handy overseeing him.

“Oh goodie! Madam! The patient is awake!” It cheerfully said as it fetched its owner.

Walking in with her arms crossed, the woman eyes Harold with suspicion.

“And here I thought we’d have to toss your ass!” she huffs as she walks closer to Harold as he attempts to move away from the medical bed.

Unable to move with the restraints holding him tightly, Harold settled in the medical bed as he meekly asks, “Where am I?”

Sighing, the woman goes, “Not in a raider camp, if you were wondering. You better be happy, though. Someone came in a big way for you.”

Remembering Rose, Harold nods.

“It’s been a while, madam. Do you think she’s alright?” Hal wonders about Rose.

It didn’t pick up any signals or anything that denoted danger, but it was weeks ago when it first received a strange signal.

Thinking it over, Mal sighs, “Hm, didn’t think what to do with him.”

She spent quite a bit of caps on him and since Rose hadn’t come back with the item in question, Mal needed to recoup the costs somehow.

“Please…” Harold winces as he sees the look on Mal’s face.

Raising one of its arms, Hal cautioned her, “He stills needs time to recover.”

Mal reminds it, “Spent 1200 caps on him, Hal.”

Even their raiding raider camps weren’t that lucrative enough to eat the cost.

Thinking it over, Hal suggests, “Hm, his organs were in good condition. Could always sell those.”

Always someone needing a kidney or two.

“Good point. Problem. Who’s buying?” Mal waved her hand.

Discussing what to do with Harold, the two were stopped by him pleading with, “Please. I have money. Just, don’t hurt me.”

Raising her brow, Mal grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the medical bed. Sitting with her arms around the headrest with her head on top, Mal inquires, “You have caps, now?”

Didn’t see anything of value when Hal was performing the medical procedures.

Turning his head towards her, Harold explains, “I kept it safe, didn’t want anyone getting their hands on it.”

Raising her brow, Mal inquires, “And where is it?”

Harold responds, “If you let me go, I will lead you to it.”

Shaking her head, Mal spat, “Do you think I’m as green as her?”

Insisting that he wasn’t lying, Harold begged Mal to let him prove to her that he was telling the truth.

They weren’t able to continue the conversation when a voice echoed throughout the hidden bunker.

“Hey!”

There are sounds of something hitting the slide door.

Going to check on his owner’s insistence, Hal exclaimed, “Fortune smiled on her after all, madam!”

Shocked, Mal went to see for herself, and through the hidden camera she sees Rose with the wheelbarrow.

“Yeah, no kidding!” Mal exhales before leaving to meet Rose as Hal lets her through the slide door with the wheelbarrow.

“I found your what’s it!” Rose struggled to lift the wheelbarrow up for Mal to see.

Instructing Hal to retrieve the green trunk, the Mr. Handy robot proceeded to force it open with a well-placed laser, and inside there was a large weapon hidden.

“Well, now!” Mal’s eyes widened to the sight of it.

Cheerfully, Hal remarked, “My sensors have never failed me, yet madam!”

Gesturing, Rose weakly asks, “Is that enough?”

Looking over the weapon with careful detail, Mal sighs as she admits, “I’m actually surprised you made it back in one piece.”

Using its arms, Hal carried away the weapon to be stored for later use.

“Does that mean we’re even?” Rose gestures.

Sighing, Mal answers, “Deal’s a deal. On that note, he’s awake. Here I thought it’d be a Greek tragedy!”

Walking with Rose, Mal led her to the recovery room where she promptly released Harold from his restraints with the threat that if he tried anything, Hal would obliterate him on the first try.

Promise.

“You’re alive!” Rose cheerfully said.

Harold weakly smiles as he responds with, “I suppose I am; you are too!”

Hal returned with the parcel and Mal handed it over to Rose and she thanked Mal for keeping her word.

“How is he?” Rose inquiries about Harold’s health.

Hal cheerfully responds that aside from cotton mouth, which is temporary with some specialty gum, Harold was 100% once again.

“Oh good!” Rose smiles.

Pushing himself up from the bed, Harold held his chest as he exhaled deeply.

Their reunion was paused when Mal admitted, “I might’ve jumped the gun and presumed you dead.”

Rose was shocked at this before Mal pointed out, “Look, we’re in the Wasteland. You learn not to get attached.”

It didn’t help when Harold admitted, “If I am honest, so did I.”

Considering he survived the raider attack and the carnage that came with it, it wasn’t surprising he would think similarly as Mal.

Pointing at herself, Rose asserts, “Well, I’m here now, so.”

Shrugging, Mal then turned her head to Harold and said, “Looks like you’re off the hook with the bill, but things may change next time around, so I’d be prepared.”

Raising her hand, Rose asks Harold, “So, what where was your caravan going?”

Adjusting himself in the medical bed, Harold answered, “We were going to a new settlement, Brown’s it was called. It’s past Memphis that much I know.”

Well, when the caravan got attacked, guess Harold wasn’t going to the new settlement either, before Rose innocently asks where he would go from here.

“I don’t know, I’m not familiar with the area to really have an idea,” Harold admitted.

Trying to come up with some ideas, Rose suggests, “Could always go to Memphis.”

Mal then reminds them, “All Memphis is are those god-awful Elvis impersonators and their King. It’s honestly a miracle there’s people still alive there with the way they eat!”

Unless Harold can somehow put on a good impersonation, he wouldn’t last very long in the city.

“I’m told it’s actually a safe city, for the most part,” Harold argues.

Snorting, Mal mocked, “Yeah, because the sane people stay away from it.”

Seeing her slant Memphis as insane, Rose asks her about her disdain towards the city, and Mal pointed out that nothing good can come out of a city filled with impersonators.

“But it’s where I’m supposed to go,” Rose argues.

Mal points as she eyes her, “Your parcel is going to someone in Memphis?”

Meekly nodding, Rose confirms this before Mal exhales sharply.

Gesturing, Mal asks, “You have any sort of plan getting there?”

When Rose points to her Pip-Boy, Mal elaborates how getting to Memphis would be dangerous on account Rose would need to get herself on a ferry to cross the irradiated river.  

A river prone to having mutant crawfish crawling on the shores and will often attack the automated ferries that brought people across.

Crawfish with plated exoskeletons that a BB gun, blunt or used for its purpose isn’t going to do much.

“I did pretty good on my own before,” Rose asserts as Mal crosses her arms.

Mal then warns, “Even if you do cross the river peachy, you still have to contend with those wannabe cowboys that got kicked out of the west.”

Seeing her knowledge made Rose curious on how Mal knew so much about life outside her bunker.

Mal gave an elusive, “Trust me, you learn quick.”

Though she can’t understand how Rose was able to keep herself cheerful despite being on the surface with hell at every corner.

Her answer on why didn’t ease Mal’s concerns.

“It’s just Vault-Tech pride, ma’am!”

Hal returned to the recovery room to tell Mal that the upgrades were finished and ready, causing Mal to exclaim, “Groovy!”

Standing up, Mal points to Rose as she brought up that if Rose wanted to get to Memphis, she would need to go now.

If she’s lucky there isn’t anyone near the automated ferries when she arrives, but given there’s shanty towns nearby, that may not hold water.

“Don’t worry, ma’am, I can handle it!” Rose asserts.

Seeing the look on Mal’s face, Rose sheepishly remarks, “You make it sound like I’m crazy!”

Flatly, Mal states, “I’m a realist.”

No point idealizing and being whimsical when death is a stone throw away.

Getting up from the medical bed, Harold groans as he popped his back and stretched his arms before jumping off the bed.

“Well, since your friend made a recovery, you two can make your way out there,” Mal stood up as she stretched.

Jokingly, Rose offers Mal to come with them, before Mal gave her a sharp look before guiding them out of the recovery room with Hal sterilizing it heavily.

Can’t be too careful, all that.

Guiding them back to the main area, Mal sighs as she retrieves something from her stash that she handed to Rose and Harold.

A 10mm pistol and a hunting shotgun with their respected bullets.

The generosity was surprising, before Mal gave a pragmatic reason for doing it.

“I got something better,” Mal smirks.

Chapter Text

Back on the road again, this time with a companion, Rose returns to her goal in bringing the parcel to the recipient in Memphis.

Feeling better than he did before, Harold had no problem keeping up with her as he walked alongside her over the uneven road.

“Who are we meeting in Memphis?” Harold grew curious about Rose’s determination to get there.

Sheepishly, she apologized to him before saying how she had the explicit instructions given to her about saying that information.

“But you said something about a parcel,” Harold pointed out to her.

Frowning, Rose admitted she was loose with her words in that regard, but it was the only way of getting Mal to help her to some extent.

“I suppose you do what you can in your situation,” Harold gave an acknowledging nod before he was asked how he knew about the Vault.

Shrugging, Harold responds that everyone who lived in the Wasteland knew a vault dweller or another, even they themselves came from a nearby vault.

Rose’s circumstances weren’t unique, although her need to deliver a parcel to someone in Memphis, however, might be unique.

“There’s other vaults?” Rose grew curious before Harold nods as he regaled about the vaults that dotted the United States before he suddenly stopped, looked away briefly, and went quiet.

Rose asks him what was wrong, but Harold wouldn’t answer her, instead pushing her onward.

Stopping every now again, they took regular breaks, making sure there weren’t any hostiles near their makeshift camps.

Harold explained the different things he witnessed in the Wasteland that were of importance to Rose’s safety.

Brown recluse spiders, famously known to flee once light shines on them or they detected a threat had grown to a once impossible size, now lurk during hot nights, and aren’t shy anymore.

Their venom had grown with their size to the point that it didn’t only cause necrosis of the tissue, instead it was acidic, and ate through tissue within moments of it being injected.

Thankfully, they stayed solitary like their normal counterparts, but if they ever came across a nest, they better have a fire source at the ready.

And that was just the brown recluse.

Another spider that had mutated after the bombs dropped was the common trapdoor spider.

It too grew into a dangerous size and only got deadlier with their trapdoors.

Capable of lifting large flat stones to use as doors, the spiders buried themselves deep within the earth, and will use their webs to trap unsuspecting prey so they can easily grab them and pull them back into their holes.

They too were solitary, but like their contemporaries, the females were much larger than their male counterparts, and aggressive too.

While they didn’t have necrotic venom like the brown recluses, what the trapdoor spiders have are long gnashing fangs they quickly impale prey with.

Those were the spiders that Harold knew about.

The next dangerous things he witnessed were wasps.

Considered the bane of everyone come spring and summer, they too amassed in size, and unflinching when attacking anything they suspect a danger to their hives.

Harold stressed that Rose be especially careful with the wasps, because they evolved to spray a pheromone upon their deaths that doesn’t wash off easily, and once she’s covered in it, the wasps will never leave her alone until she either manages to wash the pheromone off, kill the colony, or painfully dies.

They seemed to stay relatively the same as their contemporaries in one regard, however.

During the day they’re active, but come nightfall, they retreat to their hives.

And if Rose ever wanted to know, it wasn’t pleasant accidentally coming across a hive in the middle of the night.

They were much more aggressive during that point and would be willing to latch themselves onto anything they suspected of as a threat to their hives.

“And of course, the ants,” Harold sighs.

As expected, they too horrifically mutated, and weren’t active during the night.

The difference is they don’t have anthills, instead fissures in the grounds with chewed up dirt around the fissures acting as a plug and to ward off excess water from seeping through it.

Like the other examples Harold had been providing, it wasn’t pleasant if someone accidentally fell into the fissures.

Death wasn’t always swift.

Those were just the insects that Harold knew about, there were more dangerous things lurking around that he hadn’t the chance to see yet and dreaded the thought.

“You… saw a lot,” Rose frowns.

Slowly nodding, Harold admits that he did.

Mal wasn’t lying when she said the Wasteland wasn’t a bowl of cherries, but Harold couldn’t deny the vaults were any better.

“So, you have any family, anyone missing you?” Rose broached.

Shaking his head, Harold answers that his family died a while ago, and well, he was too wrapped up in his work to find time to date.

It wasn’t important enough for him to find time, anyway, most people he met weren’t the sharpest tools in the toolbox.

“Yourself?” Harold raises his brow.

Nodding, Rose replies with a frown, “My dad. Mom died a while ago.”

Giving his condolences, Harold pushed up his glasses as he took a swig of filtered water.

Once they were well rested, they went back on the road, close to a shanty town just before the ferries as Mal mentioned.

Along the way they found some bottle caps scattered across the uneven terrain, but Harold warns Rose that the total amount wouldn’t be enough for, at most food, since ammo and weapons were hot commodities in the Wasteland.

“And most aren’t susceptible to bartering either,” he then added.

Even if they were, they were to the point that it would be impossible with them unless Rose was a savant at bartering.

“We can do it. If Mal can, so can we!” Rose puts on a cheerful smile.

Appreciating her optimism in an oppressive setting, Harold points out, “She has a Mr. Handy.”

And now a weapon that can do serious damage.

“And I appreciate the optimism, but we’re not exactly fictional characters,” Harold brought up.

Still optimistic, Rose persevered with Harold closely beside her as they made their way through the Wasteland with the sun setting as they arrived in West Dixie.

It stunk worse than it looked, but the two had no other choice but to cope with the smell as they went past filled bars trying to find a place to settle for the night.

Tomorrow they can resume their trek to the ferries.

“Do you think we have enough?” Rose asks Harold’s opinions as she checked a sack filled with bottle caps.

Thinking it over, Harold responds with a thoughtful, “Maybe.”

Though, Rose would need to be careful causally carrying around a sack of bottle caps.

“Sorry, I’m just… new to this,” Rose apologizes for making the mistakes she was doing.

Smiling at her, Harold waves his hand as he accepts the apology, and says that it wasn’t her fault.

Though, he warns her to be cautious next time.

This will be a test to see how Rose handles situations, since shanty towns were a hodgepodge of eccentric characters, equal chances of being dangerous, and whether she had a chance of surviving the Wasteland.

“I’ll be careful, Mr. Harold, don’t worry,” Rose flashes a smile as she assures him that she has everything under control.

Unsure about this, Harold shakes his head as he follows her around the shanty town looking for an inn.

Chapter Text

Going through the dual doors, Rose and Harold made their way up to a counter at the end of the room.

No one was there, so Rose rang the bell on the counter.

It rang out throughout the room, but no one emerged from the back, so she rung it, again.

“Maybe they’re on break?” Harold shrugs.

Stretching her neck out, Rose calls out for the owner of the inn, but they yet to come out, still.

So, in intervals she rung the bell and called out to anyone in the back.

She jumped backwards when she heard a screech, “Jasper, did you hide my ear things, again?!”

There’s another voice shouting, “Check your damn bed side!”

The voices overlapped as there’s shouting before a short woman with wild gray hair emerged from the back room.

She pushed herself up on her highchair before staring at Rose and Harold with her large eyes, instantly Harold spotted one being a glass eye.

“Well?” The short woman looked irritated.

Putting on a smile, Rose told her that she and Harold would like to two rooms for the night.

The short woman got the wrong idea and commented how Rose was a beautiful daughter and compliments Harold.

Harold was about to correct her when she offered a discount, and he went along with the ruse so they could get their rooms cheaper.

“We just washed the linen,” the short woman’s attitude changes to being more pleasant as she proceeded to shout at Jasper to help the two find their rooms.

An equally short man emerged from the back room and led the two up the stairs to their rooms.

“We have filtered water and there is a Nuka Cola machine in the lounge,” the short man went through the amenities the inn offered.

Once he led them to their rooms, he handed them their respected keys before heading off.

“Sorry,” Rose apologized for taking advantage of the mistake.

Shrugging, Harold complimented her for finding a way through a conversation, and no offense taken.

“Well, that’s 40 caps, think we can afford dinner?” Rose asks.

Pondering, Harold muses, “Well, I doubt we’ll get a father-daughter discount the second time.”

They entered their respected rooms where they took long baths and when they rejoined with each other’s side they headed down to eat dinner.

On the inn owner’s recommendation, they went to a bar where they were immediately treated to a man being tossed out the window for cheating.

“And this was ‘good eating’?” Harold whispers with clenched teeth.

As miffed as he was, Rose shrugs as she points out, “You said it yourself, sir, this is just how it is on the topside.”

Acknowledging this with a nod, Harold followed her to an empty seat where they watched a bar fight get broken up by an enforcer punching both participants in the gut.

A server noticed them and came over.

“Sorry ‘bout that, it gets hectic at night,” the server apologies as he fixed his tuxedo bow.

Waving her hand, Rose proceeded to ask about the menu and was told the current menu down to the drinks.

“Oh, uh, can we have two Nuka Colas annnd I guess some of those barbecued squirrels on a stick?” Rose puts on a smile.

Writing their orders down, the server told them there would be a short wait before moving on.

Smelling the air, Harold winces as the stale cigarette air hits his nose as he instinctively covers it with the palm of his hand.

“You didn’t ask how much it all costs,” Harold realizes.

Sinking in her seat, Rose musters, “It can’t be that much, can it?”

It’s just two Nuka Colas and two squirrel bits on a stick!

They briefly stopped talking when they heard a poker tourney going on in the table over.

“Rose, whatever you’re thinking, do not act on it!” Harold hastily whispers.

Nothing good ever happens going into poker games, especially when they’re operated by men with more weapons than them, and more experience in using said weapons.

“We need caps, right?” Rose points out.

And even if they spent hours searching the Wasteland for loose caps it won’t be worth the effort.

“If you’re wrong, we won’t have any caps left!” Harold warns her.

The two argued in hushed whispers until the server returned with their drinks and their meals.

“Oh, uh, how much do I owe you?” Rose put on a brave smile.

The server gruffly answers, “100 caps.”

That included the tip as well.

After paying the server, the two glanced inside the sack and pitifully only forty caps remained.

“It’s not enough, is it?” Rose grimaces.

Shaking his head, Harold sighed, “No, it isn’t.”

Seeing the cogs turning in her head, Harold tried convincing Rose not to go through with her ploy in entering the poker game, warning her that she risks a great deal by doing it.

“This isn’t a fun card game from your vault, these are men who will kill you if they think you’re cheating and might even kill you if you’re too good of a player!” Harold stresses.

Weighing her options and knowing Harold would refuse to play in the game, Rose ultimately decided to take a chance.

Harold could only watch as she leaves their table and goes over to the poker table.

Putting on a brave face, she garnered the attention from the poker players as she cleared her throat before asking if there was a spot for another player.

Immediately, she felt the eyes on her as the one running the poker game, a ghoul named Sal, cut her in.

“I only have 40 caps,” Rose told the truth about how many caps she had.

The buy in was 50 caps, but Sal allowed her to play with 40 caps, deciding that the game was getting dull, so something like this could offer some twists.

“Okay, the pot is sizable tonight, if anyone can take it,” Sal snorts through his exposed sinuses.

A grand total of ten thousand caps was up for the taking, but of course, in poker, the odds weren’t always in the players’ favors.

Given her cards, Rose watched the other players receive theirs, and Sal begin flipping over the cards he had.

Sitting back at the table, Harold timidly ate the squirrel bits on a stick as he nervously glanced over at the poker table.

The game was starting, and he couldn’t see where he was, but he wasn’t getting anywhere near the poker table.

With the world as it is, the players would be cutthroat enough that if they suspect he was trying to help Rose cheat, they’d kill him.

Not to say Rose’s luck was any better.

Keeping his eyes to the table whenever there’s people moving around, Harold exhales sharply.

This wasn’t going to end well, he fretted to himself.

The overlapping voices made it difficult for him to hear the poker game and Rose, but there hadn’t been a chair tossed, so things were still calm.

Though, in rough areas like this, there’s always calm before the storm hits.

And it wasn’t the storm anyone wanted to get caught in!

“Full house!” Rose cheerfully says as her voice broke through the overlapping voices.

It rouses Harold as he heard her voice as she talked to the other players at her table.

From what he could hear, Rose had turned the 40 caps into a hundred.

He hoped that if Rose had good sense, once she got to a certain number of caps, she would take a bow from the table, and that’d be the end of it.

Hoped.

Stretching out his neck, he can see her smiling.

This will be a long night!

Chapter Text

Harold was never a drinker, hard to drink when everything kept him on edge, but the sight of Rose casually winning hands was enough for him to relent and drank watered down beer as he watched from afar.

Already, Rose was up 400 caps.

Showing no sign of slowing down, Rose intended on continuing to play well into the night, the adrenaline rush was addicting to her.

Still hesitantly going over to the table to pull her away from it, Harold grimaced at the thought of Rose getting to the point of reaching ten thousand caps.

Watching the other players’ reactions, Harold could see the looks on their faces as this doe eyed girl was taking them for all the caps they had on their person.

He ended up finishing the squirrel bits and while the meat wasn’t anything, somewhat chewy, it was better than nothing.

“Damn, girlie, who taught you how to play!” Rose was asked by one of the players as she won 50 caps.

Pulling the caps towards her side, Rose cheekily responds, “My cousins all taught me!”

From an early age, Rose was taught by kids she liked as cousins how to play poker, they used to play with whatever they could find, but it was all the same.

Rose got good enough that her cousins wouldn’t play with her much unless she served strictly as the dealer.

“Ace high!” Sal gutturally says as he revealed the dealer’s hand.

Checking their cards, two of the players folded.

The game continued and Harold switched from drinking watered down beer to filtered water.

When he left to use the bathroom, Rose was up six hundred caps.

Upon returning to the table, Harold saw a crowd surrounding the table.

Naturally, he assumed the worst happened and used the cover of the crowd to see what was going on.

To his relief, Rose was still alive, but she now amassed a thousand caps.

The spectators weren’t helping his fears, adding to the pot with bets.

Rose remained calm as she played her hands, but Harold saw that she was deceitful in “losing” some caps to a bad hand.

Luring the players into thinking she was having a lucky bout, Rose took advantage of them, and obtained six hundred caps, pushing her over a thousand caps.

She offset some of the won caps by sending them over to Harold to help pay for the drinks and the food.

As the game continued, two of the players left as they lost too many caps, and one left due to obligations that took priority.

Down to Rose and two others, Sal the Ghoul remarks how it changed the dynamics.

He upped the ante and made the bets higher to compensate for the lack of players and to make things interesting.

"All in," says a player as he pushed his stack of caps into the center.

His tactic in getting players to fold didn't go over well as only one folded, but Rose didn't.
"All in!" Rose cheerfully says as she pushes her stack of caps forward.

Watching the player sweat bullets, Rose knew that he had a bad hand and hoped by goading her and the other player to fold, it would even his odds.

Sadly, for him, Rose learnt from the best during her youth in the Vault.

"Dealer has two pairs," Sal showed his hand as he eyes the adjacent player and Rose.

Begrudgingly, the player showed his hand, and revealed that he didn't have a good hand.

Rose shows hers and Sal laughs as he remarks, "Our girl's got moxie! Full house!"

Losing his entire sack of bottle caps to Rose, the losing player leaves the table grumbling, and now it was down to Rose and the last player.

With only two players, Sal further upped the betting requirements, and Rose sat at roughly two-thousand caps.

Things changed when Harold noticed another ghoul entering the bar clad in black and looked like Doc Holiday with exposed facial skin and no nose.

Sensing something off about him, Harold kept his head down as he subtly listened to the ghoul going through bar towards the counter.

They spoke with familiarity as the ghoul sat down.

"Vandal, how's the hunting?" the bartender asked as he went over to the counter.

The ghoul gruffly replies, "Caught the bastard trying to cross the state line."

Dragged his quarry back to the sheriff, kicking and screaming, and bought beer with the caps he got from the payment and then some.

"Surprised he didn't end up in a spider nest or a pot over an open flame," the bartender muses as he pours the ghoul a drink.

Pushing it towards him, the bartender hears the ghoul, "Hah, I made him choose what was worse."

Not surprisingly, the quarry chose to go back with the ghoul when given the choice between that and being eaten alive by ants.

"Why do they run? It isn't like there aren't things that want to kill you out there or something," the bartender remarks.

Shrugging, the ghoul responds, "Ah, it makes things interesting."

Sitting at the bar, the ghoul was content drinking, and Harold made sure his eyes didn't accidentally cross the ghoul's eyes.

He found the reflection in the Nuka Cola glass on the table allowed him to keep an eye on the ghoul without him catching on as he remained alert for trouble.

The ghoul was more interested in talking to the bartender than watching the poker game from afar, so Harold paid more attention to it than the ghoul.

“Okay kids, you don’t have to leave, but you sure as hell can’t stay here. I got commitments tomorrow and I’m a little crabby when I don’t get my sleep,” Sal saw the time and realized that the game was going longer than he anticipated.

Henceforth he made this the final round where the cards decide who got the pot.

Giving Rose and the other player their cards, Sal halts further betting from the crowd, and the final count for the pot was a staggering eighteen thousand caps.

It’s anyone’s game, now.

“May the best one win,” Sal dramatically says as he shows the dealer’s hand.

Swirling the straw in his cup, Harold flinches as he listened to Sal giving a dramatic speech about the final match in the poker game.

It can either be the destitute of Rose or a long night with her winning.

Instinctively, Harold glanced at the reflection in his bottle, and the ghoul sitting at the bar was gone.

He was nowhere in the bar.

Exhaling sharply, Harold shook his head as he mentioned to himself how the stress of surviving on the Wasteland proper had gotten to him.

“The little lady wins!” Sal raises his hoarse voice as he proclaims Rose the victor in the poker tourney.

The crowd erupts into a cheer as Rose received her winnings in a large bag.

Cheerfully, she thanked the crowd for their support, being a good sportsman with the other poker player, before the leaving the table with her winnings back to Harold.

“That was fun!” Rose smiles as she eagerly shows Harold the sack.

Gesturing with his hands, Harold reminds her to watch herself.

Seeing the time, Rose asks if Harold was ready to leave the bar, and he jumps off the stool with a, “I thought you’d never ask!”

Paying for the last of the drinks and the meals, Harold went with Rose out of the bar, and back to the inn.

Only when his door was locked and blocked with a chair did Harold breathe.

Rubbing his eyes Harold shook his head as he tried to unwind for the night.

Chapter Text

Harold didn’t know if he slept, he must have been periodically getting up at every interval in fear of someone breaking into his or Rose’s rooms, all in the name of thievery and unsportsmanlike.

The sun peaks through the tattered curtains as he pushed himself up from the uncomfortable bed.

Moving around the room, Harold washed himself with the filtered water and once he found some braveness he opened his door out into the hallway.

He goes to Rose’s door and knocks on it.

Prone to expecting the worst, Harold braces himself, and to his relief, Rose opens the door.

“Did you sleep well?” Rose notices the weariness in Harold’s eyes.

Admitting that he was worried that the attention from last night’s poker game would incite a negative response.

“It’s been quiet, Mr. Harold, you didn’t need to worry about me,” Rose assures him.

Nodding, Harold admitted that being in the Wasteland for a while frazzled his nerves that he always expects the worst outcome.

“Well, I say we have enough for the trip across the river, don’t you think?” Rose gestures.

Nodding, Harold suggests, “It might be best if we get some supplies before we go.”

Don’t know what troubles lie ahead and if the crayfish are as dangerous as Mal says, it would be best to have some extra ammunition.

Agreeing with him, Rose collected the sack of bottle caps and her things before she left her room.

Going down the stairs, they returned their keys, and off they went to the stores dotting around the shanty town.

Haggling over prices wasn’t an option, so Rose paid the asking price as she and Harold collected supplies.

During this, Harold caught sight of something in the corner of his eye as he was near the window.

It was hard for him to see, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn his head and look.

He got the opportunity to turn his head when Rose showed her new gear that the owner convinced her into buying.

Outside the shop leaning on a post, it was that ghoul from last night.

He wasn’t looking their way, but Harold held suspicion.

“Mr. Harold, I think you should get some too,” Rose got his attention.

Blinking, Harold fixes his glasses as he goes over to the mirror as Rose stares at herself wearing reinforced leather.

“I’m fine,” Harold weakly smiles.

Unconvinced, Rose pushes him to get similar gear, saying it was only fair that Harold had an advantage, too.

Unable to argue against Rose, Harold goes along with it, and he looked at himself in the mirror as he was fitted in better gear than a dress shirt and slacks.

“Ready to go check out some weapons?” Rose gestures.

Slowly nodding, Harold follows her out of the shop, as he did, he didn’t see the ghoul in the corner of his eye, and when he timidly turns his head, the ghoul was no longer near the post.

“After the weapon shop, we are leaving,” Harold moved ahead to talk with Rose in hushed whispers.

Seeing his blue eyes wide, Rose whispers, “What’s wrong?”

Harold explains, “When you were playing in that poker tourney last night a ghoul came into the bar. I don’t believe in coincidence that he was across the store we were in!”

Raising her fine brow, Rose questions Harold, “Why would he be after us, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

They hadn’t talked to anyone outside a handful of people and even then, they made sure they didn’t say anything untoward.

Seeing the worry in Harold’s eyes, Rose comforts him that everything will be fine, and they reach a store that specializes in weapons.

Ammunition was the priority before they moved onto looking at different weapons being sold.

Harold suggests they buy a blunt weapon to conserve ammo.

Going through the blunt weapons being sold, they decide on a reinforced aluminum club.

Light enough both can swing it with ease and keep on their backs, they would have no trouble using it when needed.

Loaded up on their supplies, the two made their way out of the shop, and on their way out of the shanty town.

Consulting her Pip-Boy, Rose guided Harold as they carried their purchased supplies out, and when they were further way Harold turned his head.

The ghoul wasn’t at the entrance of the shanty town, thankfully, but the doubt in the back of Harold’s mind kept him on edge.

Maybe he is paranoid, maybe being under the sun for hours on end before Rose found him and finally got to him, or even the stress of the situation took a turn, but Harold didn’t survive this long for nothing.

He started covering up their tracks.

The footprints disappear with every sweep of the branches as he tries to mask their footprints.

“Mr. Harold, what are you doing?” Rose ended up asking him.

With the large branch in his hands, Harold says, “I didn’t stay under corpses to be a corpse.”

Harold wasn’t convinced by Rose that there was nothing to be afraid of and she was forced to let him mask their footprints.

Checking her Pip-Boy once again, Rose saw them making progress.

They weren’t far from the ferries, now.

Stopping for a moment, Rose wonders if there was a ferryman they’d need to talk to upon reaching the ferries.

“Automated ferries would need regular maintenance, especially with those crayfish,” Harold notes as he took a swig of his canteen.

At most someone who stays near the shores to work on the automated ferries as needed, but he was sure that it wouldn’t cost a phenomenal fee to cross the river.

“If it takes as long getting across, we should settle down for the night once we reach the next settlement,” Rose sighs.

Agreeing with her, Harold asks, “When we arrive in Memphis, who are you looking for?”

Rose became hesitant as she dodged his question.

“Considering we’re traveling together, it’s only fair,” Harold pointed out.

Frowning, Rose says, “I promised my father I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Curiosity in his blue eyes, Harold points out, “Your father must be an overseer to have the power allowing you to leave the vault.”

He heard, “How do you know so much about them?”

Sighing, Harold explains, “Everyone on the topside knows about them and few know the truth behind them.”

Seeing Rose curious, Harold opts to explain the grisly history behind the vaults, and how they weren’t meant to be the last holdouts for humanity.

“Experiments, every vault had their assigned experiments ready even before people entered them,” Harold explains to her. “These experiments were cruel. I’m certain there are vaults untouched with everyone inside dead.”

Listening to him, Rose questions him with, “Why would anyone want that?”

As he pushes up his glasses, Harold replies, “They wanted to study the effects, wanting the betterment of humanity, so they claimed, but the way they handled it… hell is kinder.”

Seriousness in his voice, Harold didn’t mince words as he told Rose about the true nature of the vaults, and how the overseers of the vault were instructed to follow their assignments.

“My father is the kindest man I known; he wouldn’t subject us to these crazy experiments!” Rose argues.

Seeing her arguing for her father’s character, Harold calmly explains that even if her father had good intentions, he would be beholden to the experiment selected for his vault.

Even if he genuinely doesn’t understand why he is doing it, he would do it unconditionally.

“Well, I can tell you that nothing crazy was happening when I left,” Rose shakes her head.

As he frowns, Harold responds, “Some experiments are subtle enough none of the vault dwellers know it’s happening. Something simple as a weaponized white noise. Controlled rumors. You say nothing happened in your vault, but how could you know for certain?”

Chapter Text

With clarity, he could remember when he saw the first mushroom cloud over the horizon, everyone stopping in their tracks as they all saw it, too, and all panicked with them fleeing for their lives.

Some were fortunate going into shelters, others weren’t so fortunate, turning into permanent shadows on the walls of the ruins.

The more unfortunate ones turned into ghouls with some having even worse odds turning feral.

Shouldn’t be surprised when he opened his eyes and saw his face turned from clean-shaven James Dean to a nightmare in the middle of the street.

Fate had a funny way of making things interesting in itself that he somehow survived the bombs dropping on his head.

For years, he tried to find purpose in the new world, even becoming suicidal at times, but after the first fifty years, he figured everything out.

Everyone still treated him with fear and suspicion, worry that he would someday become feral.

But he had the last laugh, since everyone who mistreated him or were prejudiced died in spectacular fashion.

Decades passed and he grew comfortable with his new life as a ghoul.

It gave him perspective that he admittedly didn’t have until that day, being on the other side of the aisle, so-to-speak.

These days, he makes a living doing odd jobs.

Nothing cartoonish like tying people to train tracks, since well, trains no longer ran and have been off the tracks for decades.

It depends on the flavor of the week and whether he felt like doing them, but when he felt like doing jobs, he was tact.

Neither snow nor shine can stop this ghoul from his jobs.

Same goes for people who try to gip him.

It turned out people easily put aside their prejudice against him when they end up on the barrel end of a gun and a marksman that can piecemeal them with one shot.

Just another day in the Wasteland.

Despite everything that happened to him, he did find people who overlooked his condition, and treated him as an equal.

A few were even helpful.

One was nice enough to warn him about the symptoms of becoming feral, should it happen to him.

Well, the fear of becoming feral that he got from that wasn’t nice, but suppose it was better to know now, than later!

Hovering two-hundred years and going strong, Vincent Delgado, now known to associates as Vandal, took to the Wasteland in stride.

He traveled extensively throughout the former United States before settling in the south, surprisingly, people were nicer down there than anywhere else.

Nicer in the sense they don’t automatically want to shoot him on the spot and keep their opinions to themselves.

Still.

Better than nothing.

Becoming a known quantity, Vandal enjoys his time traveling between areas in the south taking the scenic route.

It’s a humbling experience, suffice to say.

Did Vandal wish things were different and he wasn’t a ghoul?

Sure, that’s normal.

Hell, the people he met over the years wouldn’t know what to do with themselves had things turned out differently.

Did Vandal enjoy looking like a skinless Frank?

No. But he met ghouls in worse shape than him, so he took the good with the bad.

“Mornin’ Vandal,” a woman greeted him at a walk-up counter for bounties.

Tipping his hat, Vandal greets back, “Mornin’ Barb, what’s hot?”

Shuffling papers on the desk, Barbara brought out a piece of paper with Vandal’s name printed on it.

“This came in over the wire,” Barbara hands over the paper to him through the slit of the walk-up window.

Thanking her, Vandal looks over the paper with his mouth moving as he read the bounty.

Whistling, Vandal remarks, “Wow. Someone must be desperate to hire little ‘o me!”

The amount of bottle caps being offered did make him question if the issuer of the bounty could be trusted.

Shrugging, Barbara tells him that it’s what came to her for his eyes only.

Folding the paper and putting it into his inner long coat pocket, Vandal thanks her, “I appreciate keeping it on the down low for me, Barb.”

Lot of people would bribe everything they own for this bounty and Vandal wouldn’t blame Barbara if she became tempted.

“Aw, hon, you did me a favor shootin’ my bastard of a husband,” Barbara waved her hand.

Tipping his hat at her, Vandal was off with his bounty in hand.

If this bounty is legitimate, Vandal would be the wealthiest ghoul in the entire south, hell maybe the entire United States!

Didn’t get far just to see stars, Vandal has a plan if things didn’t turn out the way he wanted.

Still, the issuer of the bounty choosing him in particular was curious to him.

Don’t know if the bounty was issued to other bounty hunters in the area, but Vandal will find out, and he didn’t get his reputation for nothing.

With his bounty in hand, Vandal set out to complete it.

Detailed, the bounty gave him the areas to check, and the first one wasn’t far from where he was staying.

Prepared to leave, Vandal came across some rivals of his that were vultures looking for an easy score, and they wanted his bounty.

“How long have we had this song and dance for?” Vandal exhales sharply as he grew tired of his rivals hassling him.

Immobile, the rivals threatened him, and weren’t happy that he mocked them.

He heard better threats from a crayfish!

“You always gettin’ the good ones, ghoul!” Vandal hears one of the rivals complain.

Visibly annoyed, Vandal pointed out, “If you chuckleheads did as good a job as I do, you might’ve had your chances.”

Always taking the easy way out of their situations, these lumpy S.O.Bs!

Their weapons drawn, the rivals weren’t leaving without the bounty, but Vandal didn’t hesitate to show why he was the best bounty hunter in the known area for nothing.

With Betty in hand, Vandal shot every limb off the advancing rivals.

Blood erupts from the dismembered limbs as men began shouting in pain as they fell to the ground in heaps with blood gushing out.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I got a job to do,” Vandal blew the smoke away from Betty before continuing the journey on the lonely road as men scrambled to find aid as they’re bleeding out.

Dumbasses.

Always the ones with artificial bravado and no substance whatsoever.

Ah well, more fun for him.

His journey in completing the bounty drew him to a little shanty town, Eryn.

It’s considered a pit stop for people wanting to get to Tennessee from the west side, got the amenities and the foot traffic to go along with it, and with it the troubles that follow.

Not the one to fill the dead air with meaningless discussions about philosophies, Vandal soldiers on, and within a few days reaches Eryn.

Easily, he stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the backdrop, but Vandal wasn’t deterred.

During the first hours of being there, he didn’t see anything involving his bounty, but on a hunch, he stuck around longer.

Made friends with the locals.

Well, friends are a stretch with them on the ground with their limbs shot off their bodies, but Vandal gave them ample warning not to mess with him, and they didn’t listen to him.

Can’t lead a horse to water, all that.

Well, can’t say he didn’t warn them.

Don’t think the shanty town minded their permanent removal, either.

Well, back to the grind, and already Vandal got a whiff.

Chapter Text

Hanging overhead, the sun cast its rays across the southern wasteland, walking among the tattered land underneath the rays, Rose and Harold, as they neared the river.

The temperature started changing due to them getting closer, the mist of the radioactive waters helped cool the warm air.

Still paranoid, Harold covered up their tracks as they went, he hoped when they reached the ferries, he wouldn’t have to cover them for much longer.

In the distance, they can see sparse structures near the water.

Finding a treaded path, the two follow it up to a shanty shack near a long dock leading out to the river.

On a dry-rotted board, there’s explicit instructions on how to proceed getting on one of the automated ferries, including a list of warnings.

Most explicitly, there’s a warning about fighting aboard the ferries.

In crude language, the ferryman threatened anyone causing trouble, warning how the automated ferries were expensive to replace, and the time and effort needed to replace them.

“How many people caused trouble?” Rose wonders.

Seeing the old bullet holes in the boards of the shanty shack, Harold answers, “Too many, it would seem.”

Cautiously, the two went up to the shanty shack, their weapons at their sides to show they weren’t hostile, and Rose boldly called out for the ferryman.

No response.

Going alone, Rose went up to the shack and knocked on the door, waiting for someone to come out, but no one did.

She instinctively dropped to her knees when she heard something popping and recovers after Harold calls out to her and points at a flare shooting up from across the river.

“I thought there’d be two ferrymen,” Harold tilts his head quizzically.

He soon found his answer when Rose forcibly opened the shanty door and inside there was a dead man filled with holes.

There’s a CB radio on the desk adjacent to the body and Rose hesitates to go near it when it came to life with a husky southern man saying, “Sorry for the mess, I couldn’t get over there to clean it up.”

Side stepping over to the radio, Rose picks up the receiver as she uses it to communicate with someone.

“Who are you?” Rose asks him.

The man introduces himself as Fisk, the man Rose had the misfortune of witnessing dead on the ground was his co-partner, Belmont.

“What happened?” Rose wanted to know.

Sighing, Fisk explains how the events unfolded that resulted in Belmont’s untimely death.

It was a band of raiders being led by a man, Fisk doesn’t know who, but from what he was able to view over the binoculars it was a man that stood out from the raiders wearing a nice suit and round glasses.

He thought it was a prisoner at first, raiders being as they are, using him as bait to lure Belmont out of the shanty shack.

Fisk was wrong in his observation as the man calmly waited for Belmont to open the door and then gave the order.

Raiders killed Belmont within moments, then the person leading them attempted to call for one of the automated ferries.

“We have a dead switch in both shacks for that reason, I flipped mine on, and then the guy starts talking into the radio,” Fisk recalls how the man calmly came over the CB radio asking for the ferry to be sent.

Obviously, Fisk wasn’t going to do it, and what scared him most was how utterly calm this man was to him despite him being understandably angry.

“Said the damndest things to me, too, but I was pissed, so I couldn’t tell you what he said. Then, I remember him asking what it would take for him to cross the river. Sure, I gave my response, but he was asking if the raiders “going away” would be enough,” Fisk was in disbelief recalling the events talking to the unknown man.

What happened next cemented this man being one of the most terrifying things Fisk ever seen since he grew up in the wastelands.

“What did he do?” Rose questions Fisk.

Fisk tells her with disbelief still in his voice, “He said something to them, I don’t know what, but they started opening fire on each other!”

Evidently, the crawfish got to the bodies, but if Rose looked closely enough, she could see some remnants of the raiders.

The result, Fisk begrudgingly honored the agreement by sending a ferry over to the man.

He hoped the crawfish would get him, but either this man was more dangerous than he let on or the crawfish were too busy coming ashore for the raiders’ bodies, he didn’t know.

He wouldn’t come out of his shack until the man disappeared over the horizon, that much he did know.

“In all my years of living, I never once saw anything like this!” Fisk exhaled sharply.

Don’t know where the man went after that, but Fisk prayed that he never came through here, again!

“We’re sorry for your loss, sir,” Rose gave her condolences before Fisk waved his hand.

He said, “Belmont was a prick, but even he didn’t deserve that. I’ll send over a ferry, but I can’t promise the crawfish won’t bother ya.”

Leaving the shanty shack and rejoining Harold’s side, they went over the wooden dock towards the end as a red ferry slowly made its way across the irradiated waters.

Sitting up on a beach chair above the shanty shack, Fisk held a sniper rifle as he planned on taking out any crawfish that was drawn by the ferry being active.

The ferry docks itself and the step bridge lowers, allowing Rose and Harold to board the ferry.

Automatically, the step bridge raises, and the ferry begins moving back across the water.

“Anything?” Rose asks for Harold’s opinion on the story.

Shaking his head, Harold replies how people survived the wasteland in their own way, but someone wearing a nice suit and round glasses without being obliterated by the raiders sounds obtuse even to him.

“I thought raiders weren’t… people friendly,” Rose questioned why the raiders hadn’t descended on the man.

Shrugging, Harold points out, “Most have the intelligence of a radroach, he probably convinced them somehow. Only explanation I have why they suddenly turned on each other.”

Don’t know more than that, but it did perturb him as well.

Staying far from the handlebars, he and Rose were back-to-back keeping a watchful eye for any crawfish drawn to the ferry.

Thankfully, they didn’t stir from the depths of the river, but given they’d eaten the raiders, they were probably still digesting their meals.

The moment the ferry docked at the other end of the river and the step bridge came down, Harold was so happy getting off the ferry with Rose trailing behind him.

“Figured they’re still full,” Fisk exhales as he came down from the rooftop of the shanty shack.

Studying Harold and Rose, the ferryman describes them as friendly, before apologizing for the delay.

Can’t be too careful, all that.

“Do you know a quick way to Memphis?” Rose asks him.

Fisk nods as he gave detailed instructions on how to reach the city.

When he was done, he stopped to wonder if the man he witnessed was going there, before shaking his head as he notes how Memphis had Elvis impersonators and their King.

Even if the man was able to convince the raiders to shoot themselves, he would be pressed doing similar in the city.

“The impersonators are an eyesore, but they don’t fuck around,” Fisk explains.

While Fisk found the whole thing hokey, as did most people, the impersonators weren’t to be underestimated.

Sure, they are cordial with people and generally try to be helpful to lost travelers, but when someone threatens them, their King, and Memphis, all hell breaks loose!

“But other than that, they’re still eyesores,” Fisk added.

Neither Harold or Rose should have any problems with them and if they need to know about anywhere outside Memphis, they’re the best at knowing.

Before he let them go, Fisk then tells Rose that he and Belmont charges fees for crossing the river.

It was only fair since they kept the ferries maintained and with Belmont dead, Fisk would have to manage the load himself.

“How much?” Rose asks the amount required.

Thinking to himself, Fisk answers, “At least a thousand caps. It would have been less, but as I said, I’m the only one maintaining everything, now.”

Without hesitation, Rose paid Fisk the amount and some extra to help him get by while considering his options regarding getting another person to help with the ferries.

“That’s mighty generous of you, miss!” Fisk looked surprised as Rose gave him roughly four thousand caps.

Smiling, Rose points out, “You provide a service, it’s only fair.”

Profusely thanking her for her generosity, before seeing her and Harold off to the lonely roads leading to Memphis.

Chapter Text

Following the path Fisk told them would get them to Memphis quicker, Rose and Harold continue walking along the uneven roads left to rot.

Abandoned vehicles picked clean by scavengers and became permanent fixtures in the ground dotted the former highway.

“What’s on your mind?” Harold noticed Rose had been noticeably quiet.

Blinking, Rose asks, “Would a parcel be part of the experiment?”

Ever since Harold told her about the true intentions of the vaults, she had been thinking it over for a while, and now grows unsure what she even was doing was her father’s wishes or the Vault-Tech’s.

Seeing her subtly distressed, Harold tries to calm her by saying, “To tell the truth, I’m not sure, but if he is a true father, he wouldn’t let his daughter be a part of the experiments.”

Thinking of that way, Rose wonders, “Why didn’t he tell me sooner?”

Pushing up his glasses, Harold says, “I’m sure it wasn’t any easier on him. Decades of following the same rules for so long, you don’t question them, anymore.”

Whatever the reason, Rose will need to speak to her father to know the truth.

Rose yelps when Harold suddenly pulls her backwards as he hears a subtle pinging noise nearby.

“What?” Rose briefly held her chest.

Raising his finger, Harold warns her, “Landmines. Be very careful!”

Pointing to an innocuous white puck where Rose would have walked, Harold urged her to look closely, and she saw the flash of a red LED light as the landmine stopped pinging.

“Follow my lead, carefully,” Harold urges her.

Her legs almost turning into jelly, Rose closely follows Harold as he guided her away from the sporadically placed landmines that dotted the highway.

“I thought he said this was safe!” Rose questioned Fisk’s guidance.

Seeing them placed awkwardly, Harold suggests that the landmines were placed recently, and since Fisk doesn’t travel far from the river, he doubted it was him.

Side stepping every landmine placed on the ground, there was an end to this as they came across an old diner that once served travelers.

The sign was completely destroyed, and all the aesthetics bleached and worn from the elements, there was no indicator of what diner this was originally, as they came up to the door.

Cautious, Harold advised Rose not to try and open it, frightful that it was also boobytrapped.

“I don’t see anyone,” Rose squints her eyes as she tries to see through the dirty window.

Despite Harold’s hesitation, Rose presses on, opening the door into the diner.

Instantly, the smell hit her nose, the dry rot, the mildew, and mold.

Once she saw there was no one inside or anything dangerous, Rose waved in Harold, and he begrudgingly entered the building with his blue eyes attentive.

Going around the chrome counter, Rose poked through what she could, but didn’t find anything of interest.

Harold gone to the kitchen to see if there was anything overlooked and to his surprise, he found a few Stimpaks and two Sweetie Teas.

“Sweetie Tea?” Rose raises her fine brow as she comes up to the window into the kitchen.

Showing her the glass bottles, Harold guessed, “Hyper regional brand?”

Coming out of the kitchen with them, Harold was as perturbed as Rose.

With them reaching Tennessee, Rose opts to drink the Sweetie Teas with Harold, as a celebration.

Popping the caps off and shoving them in her bag, Rose hands the glass bottle to Harold as she takes her first sip.

Instantly, she tasted the sweetness before the black tea came through.

“Wow!” Rose didn’t know what to think of it.

Flummoxed as she was, Harold couldn’t describe how it tasted to him.

Checking the bottle in his hand closely, he found a pair of regular Sweetie Teas, and there was a lemon, raspberry, and a peach flavor as well.

The bottle had a detailed history of Sweetie Tea and its founders etched into the glass as he read it off to Rose.

“Well, I guess if we get bored of Nuka Cola, we can always switch to that, then?” Rose shrugs.

Harold comments that they’d be better off drinking either, but with their situation, that can’t always be helped, so he agreed with the idea of switching it up every now again.

“I didn’t find anything else in the kitchen,” Harold informed her.

Not surprising but finding the drinks and the Stimpaks was better than nothing.

Leaving the diner, the two continued walking up the highway.

Watching their every step, the two made their way towards a livelier area with a recent sign put up welcoming wary travelers.

Underneath, it advertised a café ahead with the menu sounding appetizing as they read on.

HATTIE’S SOUTHERN COOKING

-Cornbread Dressing

-Fried Chicken

-Chitlins

-Apple Fritters

-Chess Pies (Chocolate and Original)

-Black-Eyed Peas

-Collard Greens

-And More!

Reading the menu, Rose sheepishly asked, “What are chitlins?”

Shrugging, Harold replies, “I’m not sure, I suppose we’ll find that out. Should we make a stop?”

Thinking it over, Rose responds, “Well, we need some lunch, don’t we?”

And, someone at the building would know where they can settle for the night.

Nodding, Harold follows Rose up a path to a quaint building where their noses instantly smelled the cooking going on in the back.

Upon reaching the doors they hear the chatter coming from the patrons.

Entering the building, the smell of fried chicken and everything else hit their nose all at once, and instantly they’re drawn to the empty seat across the building.

Sitting at the tables, there were men wearing thick cowboy hats drinking beer and chomping on their respected orders of food.

They were too busy with their conversations to notice the two sitting as they enjoyed the shade from the sun.

“Hello sweethearts, how are you?” They heard a thick southern accented woman coming towards them with a large hairdo.

Smiling, Rose and Harold gave their answers.

“What are ya’ll having to drink? We got Sweetie Teas, Nuka Colas, Diet Nuka Colas, beer, whiskey, and filtered water,” Tesla gave a list of the drinks they serve at the restaurant.

Both say the same thing, Nuka Cola.

“Here are your menus, I’ll be back in a minute with your drinks,” Tesla gave them yellowed papers.

Watching her leave, they went about looking at the menu with interest.

“I can go for some fried chicken,” Harold pushes up his glasses.

Reading the menu, Rose was indecisive before she musters, “I think I’ll go for the fried steak and sausage gravy with biscuits.”

And for dessert, she wanted to try chess pie.

“I don’t think it’s a pie with a chess design on it,” Harold ponders about the dessert.

Tesla returns to the table with their drinks before the two give their orders and Rose got the chance to ask what chitlins are.

Tesla proceeds to give a detailed description of them and it was more than enough not only to satiate Rose and Harold’s curiosity, but their interest in the dish.

“It is an acquired taste, sweetie,” Tesla shrugs before she sat down a basket of biscuits with butter and jam.

With their biscuits, the two proceed to munch on them as they listened to the background noise.

Chapter Text

With their plates in front of them and the aromatic smells hitting their noses, the two began dining on their respected orders.

Every bite was more delicious than the last, the two couldn’t believe how warm and comforting the food was, especially having had squirrel bits on sticks and not much else!

Tesla came around to check on them as she brought them more drinks and both Rose and Harold clamored with praise for the cooking.

“Aw, thank you sweeties, it’s hard work getting up from nothing. Hope ya’ll have room for dessert!” Tesla smiles before heading off to tend to the other patrons.

To Harold’s relief, none of the patrons gave them trouble during their lunch, but seeing the eloquent written rules on a chalkboard, the patrons knew better than causing a fight in the restaurant.

Quite simple to understand and in bold print.

DON’T FUCK AROUND AND YOU WON’T FIND OUT!

Having picked their plates cleaned, Rose and Harold glimpsed each other.

“How was yours?” Harold inquires.

Rose responds, mimicking Tesla’s southern accent, “Pretty damn good!”

They stacked the plates for Tesla and as they did, someone came through the doors.

Out of an old western, the moment the man crossed eyes with someone sitting at one of the tables, there’s silent words exchanged.

The mood in the restaurant changed instantly as all the cowboys stopped to look at the man who came through the doors.

“Thought you were dead,” Tobias spat.

His hands hovering over his belt, Gordon responds with a dry, “A blind ghoul can shoot better than you, fool!”

Quickly, it became apparent that Rose and Harold got caught in a confrontation between a bounty hunter and his mark.

And his mark wasn’t alone.

In a posse made of aspiring cowboys, his mark found safety in numbers, and things started getting tense.

Instinctively, Harold grabs Rose’s hand and pulls her under the table with him as they watch the confrontation unfold.

Tesla arrives from the kitchen hearing the commotion and starts demanding the patrons to calm down, or else.

“Ma’am, I’m here on behalf of New Vegas to collect this man,” Gordon politely tells her as he points to Tobias.

Crossing her arms, Tesla asks, “What are his charges?”

She hears, “Assault and murder of Jazlyn Singer.”

Rising from the table in anger, Tobias shouts, “I never laid a hand on her!”

Having done this before, Gordon kept his composure as he aired out Tobias’ dirty laundry for all to smell.

“She was six years old when her papa found her body and gnarly any clothing left to the Mojave sun!”  Gordon raised his voice for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

Going into the disturbing case, Gordon finished with proof of Tobias’ guilt by saying that something from Jazlyn was missing when her father found her.

A diamond broach that he won in a poker game and gifted to her for her birthday.

“Hey, wait a minute…” one of the cowboys stopped when something Gordon said resonated with him.

Another cowboy mentioned, “He said he bought it for his sweetheart.”

Tobias pleaded with his posse not to listen to Gordon, but it was all but too late, the cowboys weren’t inclined to listen to Tobias any longer.

Sensing what was to come, Tesla dove back into the safety of the kitchen as Rose and Harold ducked to the ground.

Expectedly, Tobias started breaking down and revealed a nauseating detail, “She was always… always… she was always teasing me!”

Backed into a corner, the desperado attempts to shoot his way through the cowboys and the bounty hunter.

Bullets went through the air, hitting everything with prejudice.

Air around them became hazy and thick as men opened fire on one another.

Stuck on the ground and afraid to move, Rose covers her ears with Harold beside her as they watched the gunfire happening before them.

“I AIN’T GOING BACK!” Tobias screams as he hides behind a table while firing on the cowboys and Gordon.

Something caught Rose’s eye as the intense situation continued.

Slowly, Rose moves towards what caught her eye.

Reaching out, Harold hisses, “Rose! What are you doing?”

He urged her to stay with him.

Rose says, “I have an idea!”

Begrudgingly, Harold watches Rose slowly move towards the object as there was a temporary ceasefire.

Despite the gunfire, it was untouched, but Rose moves back to Harold with it.

His blue eyes fell to the plate of chitlins and questions her with, “What on earth are you doing with that?”

Rose didn’t answer him, instead the moment Tobias pushes himself up from the barrier he made, Rose proceeds to throw the plate of chitlins at his head.

Immediately, the porcelain shatters and the hot sauce covered chitlins mixed with Tobias’ blood as the hot sauce began touching his cuts, causing him to drop his gun as he held his face in agony.

He didn’t get a chance to react when the cowboys and Gordon overtook him.

His arms bound behind his back and his feet chained together, Tobias was finally captured after escaping justice for weeks, now.

Their celebration was short lived as Tesla returns to the dining room with a Protectron outfitted with a weapon.

With her southern accent thickened, Tesla shows how angry she became with the situation in her restaurant.

“What I just say?” Tesla shouts at them.

Like children caught doing something wrong, the cowboys and Gordon apologized for what happened, before Tesla demanded reparations for the incident.

She made it clear no one was leaving until she got the money to fix everything that had busted up during the gunfight.

Realizing they would only cause more problems, the cowboys and Gordon chipped in to give reparations for the incident.

Curiosity got the best of Rose as she sheepishly asked if she and Harold needed to pay for it before Tesla waved her hand.

“You had no part in this, sweetie. Tell you what, lunches on me, okay?” Tesla scratched the side of her head as she exhaled sharply.

Taking her offer, Rose and Harold got out of the restaurant as quickly they can.

“What just happened?” Rose felt blindsided.

Harold sighs as he explains, “In a bid to reclaim law and order throughout the fragmented wasteland, bounty hunting made a return after the war. Not surprisingly, it is still a prickly situation.”

They’re alive, so they have that.

It’s terrible that the restaurant will likely have to close for repairs, but aside from that, nothing serious such as a loss of life occurred.

“They have terrible aim!” Rose notes.

Shrugging, Harold responds with, “There’s not many ophthalmologists left.”

As expected, with the war destroying the world and resetting progress considerably in areas, ophthalmologists are on the low end of the totem pole.

If there was any equipment leftover to do the practice, it was likely the equipment deteriorated or broken down for parts.

Chapter Text

Back out in the wastelands with the sun slowly moving across the skies, once again, Rose and Harold walked across the broken roads as Rose periodically checked her Pip-Boy.

Still ways away from Memphis, but they were making progress, and thus far they hadn’t come across a raider or anyone with cruel intentions towards them.

The sun was almost setting when they found an abandoned town to camp for the night.

Finding a house still standing with all four walls still up, they got inside using a broken lock and a screwdriver.

Making a small campfire in the center of the house, Rose watches as Harold covered every window that the campfire was visible from out of caution.

“So far, so good,” Rose shrugs as Harold sat down across from her.

Sighing, Harold warns her, “Be careful, Rose. Just because we haven’t had to deal with the raiders doesn’t mean we’re out of the woodwork, yet.”

While their luck has been good so far, Rose needed to prepare when it inevitably sours.

“We’ll be okay, Mr. Harold,” Rose showed unwavering optimism.

Something that Harold noted was a rarity in the Wastelands.

Sitting around the fire eating their respected meals, the two listen to the ambiance of the nightlife outside the abandoned house.

Howling coyotes in the distance, which Harold notes that these ones were different than the ones observed in the Mojave.

Heavily irradiated, the coyotes underwent mutations that have since left them blinded, but their remaining senses became near supernatural stronger to compensate for the blindness.

They’re rare, Harold hadn’t saw one himself, thankfully, but there was one person in the caravan that did.

Described them as mangy with sunburnt skin and excess skin folding over their eyes.

Once shy and nervous around humans, these mutated coyotes took a chance whenever possible in packs, the person telling Harold said they saw at least a pack of six.

Using the cover of darkness, they’re quiet, and deadly with their jagged teeth puncturing heavy leather and their salvia causing infections.

Of course, as Harold stressed, there were worse things out in the Wastelands.

“Can I ask a question?” Rose changed topics.

Shrugging, Harold gestures as he replies that she can, it was only fair.

“Where’re you from?” Rose asks him.

Sighing, Harold revealed, “A vault.”

Adjusting herself in her spot as she looked at him with interest, Rose gestures as if she wanted to know what vault.

“Vault 42,” Harold admits.

Eying him, Rose proceeded to ask, “What was your vault’s experiment?”

Sighing as he rubbed his tired eyes, Harold answers with, “I didn’t know everything. Our overseer… was a bit of a melodramatic man… fancied opera music. From what I learnt out here and what I experienced back there, it was evident they wanted to test the mathematical strengths of society. More specifically solving a math problem.”

To which Harold can safely say, they never solved it, last he knew.

“Well, I’m not sure what our experiment was, but if it’s poker tourneys and cookouts, well, that’s an interesting experiment,” Rose recalls what her life was like in her vault of Vault 50.

Curiosity arises and Rose asks what happened to Harold’s Pip-Boy.

“I used it to help save a boy in the settlement I lived in. He needed an iron lung and my Pip-Boy was the only way of powering the makeshift iron lung the settlers made with my specifications,” Harold frowns.

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, Rose opted not to ask further regarding what happened.

Sitting around the fire, the two converses until it was decided to sleep, and the crackling fire was their white noise as they went to sleep.

Sometime during the night, they were awakened when they heard hollering mixed with whooping noises coming from outside the house.

Immediately, Harold put out the fire, enshrouding the room in darkness as he sat quietly with Rose.

“What’s that?” Rose whispers.

Listening to the muffled noises, Harold responded how he didn’t know for sure, but he knew better to look for answers.

The noises continued, getting closer to the house they stayed in, and Harold starts tensing up as he fidgets in his spot.

In his mind he plotted a way out of the house.

If they come through the front door, he and Rose can escape through the back.

The opposite.

A window or two if they try going through both doors.

It continues until the hollering and whooping noises pass by the house without stopping.

If Harold had to guess, it was a hunting party.

Whether it be raiders or some other mad people living in the Wasteland, he didn’t want to find out.

Once he was sure the noises had moved on and no one was trying to break into the house, Harold relit the fire, and the living room they hunkered down in illuminates in the flame.

“They’re going through where we came from,” Rose exhales.

Nodding, Harold exhales, “And hopefully we do not cross their paths.”

Checking her Pip-Boy, Rose notes that they aren’t far from another settlement.

Hillsboro.

Don’t know anything more than a blip on her Pip-Boy.

“Once we reach it though, it says we continue south from there, and we should be on the path to Memphis,” Rose smiles.

In her mind, Rose plots how it will go once they arrive in Memphis.

Hopefully, it’ll be as simple as asking an Elvis the familiar haunts and find Mercurio Benton.

Deliver the parcel, get proof of the delivery, something, and that’ll be the end of it, Rose would be able to make the return trip back to her vault.

The stories she’ll tell to her friends when she gets back, the analogues she can write for her students to learn from her experiences.

Still, they have ways away from getting to Memphis, and thus Rose goes to sleep.

Come morning, Harold went around checking to see if there was anything outside the house before he left with Rose after covering up their tracks and the makeshift campfire.

As though no one was there, they leave the house when they first get inside, and following the Pip-Boy they move along the empty streets with lines of houses in various states of decay.

White picket fences broke apart and were left in tatters, mailboxes bent in odd shapes, and some fell over completely.

Signs of destruction to a school, but Harold doesn’t think it was the work of a bomb, though it certainly looked as though one went off.

There’s a trail of turned over dirt coming from an abandoned corn field with several acres destroyed coming through where the school was, and then after its destruction continues moving across until it stopped somewhere near a corner grocery store.

“What caused that?” Rose wonders.

Shrugging, Harold answers with a thoughtful, “I’m not sure.”

Moving on, they pass the destitute buildings with their signs missing and nothing indicating their functions left.

Rose stopped briefly when she found an abandoned bag left behind, too new to be something from bygone, and carefully went through it while Harold stood guard.

Whoever owned the bag dropped it because the strap broke and didn’t think to pick it up or had the chance for whatever reason, but they left behind some tinned food, stimpaks, and some caps.

Digging around, she found a map someone drew up and on it were clear warnings about someone called Chicken Charlie.

“Chicken Charlie?” Rose raises a brow.

Showing this to Harold, even he couldn’t hazard a guess before Rose decided to take the map with her.

Maybe she can ask someone in Hillsboro who Chicken Charlie is and why they warrant a detailed warning on a handmade map.

Traveling through the town, Rose poked through different buildings out of curiosity.

Doing so, she found more things to help them with the journey to Memphis.

Eventually, there was nothing left to see and the two moved on from the town, back on the lonely highway that once was, and they found graffiti marking old billboards warning travelers going further south.

In broken English, it took both Harold and Rose to understand what the graffiti was saying.

“Stay away from Belle Meade,” Harold blinks.

Rose tilts her head, “Why?”

Shrugging, Harold responds, “Who knows. Though, people tend not to make jokes about potential threats, suppose we won’t be going anywhere near there.”

Not that Belle Meade was anywhere near Memphis, so there’s that.

Chapter Text

“What happened to them?” Rose stares at the dead raiders left to rot in the sun and pilfered by the mutant wildlife as her and Harold came across a decimated camp as they got funneled to a different route due to a part of the highway sinking inward.

Raiders were laying on the ground with holes in their chests, parts of their heads gone completely, it was like they were in a war, and lost.

“I don’t know, Rose,” Harold thoughtfully says.

Checking around the camp for clues regarding what transpired, Harold noticed nothing was taken from it after the raiders were killed, something quite unusual in their new world.

The bodies had been left where they fell for at least three days, but with the sun, it could be longer.

Still, the foot traffic in the area would have had someone coming across the decimated camp and taking everything for themselves.

Yet, it wasn’t the case, and it perturbed him.

He flinched when he heard a ragged cough adjacent to him.

Calling Rose over, Harold stood next to her as she wielded her shotgun while they made their way towards the source of the ragged cough.

It was coming from a rickety hut with the door off its hinges and attentively, Harold kept Rose from entering the hut, and instead Rose called out.

There’s immediate concern from a man hidden in the hut and he refused to leave it.

“Get the hell away from me you creepy psycho!” His voice cracks in fear.

Recoiling in confusion, Rose calls out, “Who are you talking about?”

The man stops for a moment to process before sheepishly asking, “Are you affiliated with that creepy psycho?”

Raising her fine brow, Rose responds, “No.”

She and Harold watch as a man hobbles out of the hut with blood-stained leather and bandages wrapped around his chest and left leg.

Studying the two, the man coughs, “Fuck! I thought it was him!”

Confused, Rose asks, “Who are… you, talking about?”

Leaning on a makeshift crutch, the wounded raider fanatically tells her, “I don’t know who he is, where he came from, but he is no man!”

His camp got the idea of blowing up part of the highway to funnel potential marks and the first man to come through they thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t.

Wore a nice suit and had round glasses, but what freaked out the wounded raider more was the tone of his voice.

Calm, eerily calm, and he never raised his voice even when things were getting heated.

He had an aura of confidence that the wounded raider’s leader came to interrogate him, but then hell broke loose right after.

The only reason the wounded raider survived was because he wasn’t close to where it happened.

“And what happened?” Harold asks while keeping his distance from the wounded raider.

Coughing, the wounded raider answered, “I couldn’t hear much, but he was talking to Jeb, and everyone turned on each other… they just started shooting at each other.”

Hit by the stray bullets, it was a miracle he survived, by the time he regained consciousness, the man was gone.

“Fucking weirded me out, usually we have people scared to their skivvies talking to us, but that man, he wasn’t afraid of us!”

He didn’t know where the man went and while this would be the tale of him going out and getting revenge, the wounded raider wanted nothing more than to lick his wounds.

Curious, Rose asks, “You never seen him around before?”

Shaking his head, the wounded raider responds, “No. First time we ever saw him before. I’m a raider, I know who what is, and he ain’t nobody I ever met before in my life!”

He quickly implores the two not to come across the man.

If he can convince the camp to open fire on each other, what else can he do to people?

“Do you know where he would go?” Harold asks.

Shrugging, the wounded raider answers, “Usually, people get off the highway at the turn-off about four miles from here. There’s a settlement that operates out that way, Albion I think it’s called. Assuming it’s still there, who the hell knows. Afterwards, he can either go towards 40 or 69, but wherever he goes, I don’t want to be near or around when he does!”

Having been instructed not to take the raider’s words, him mentioning the same man that Fisk saw made it apparent he wasn’t lying.

“Do you have anywhere you can go from here?” Rose inquiries.

Nodding, the raider answers, “Alameda, sure.”

Chewing on her inner lip, Rose made the choice to give the raider a stimpak to get him where he needed to go, and he thanked her for her generosity.

“Mighty kind of you miss. I won’t lie, if the situation was different, we’d still probably shake you down. But, consider this a payment. And. I think he had an accent. You’ll know it’s him, it’s something you don’t hear much in these parts, and when you hear it, run the hell away!” The raider warned the two before setting off to Alameda.

His blue eyes focused on the raider, Harold listened to Rose as she wonders, “Who is this man?”

Shrugging, Harold responds with, “Who knows. Still, this isn’t coincidence.”

With the raider gone, now, the two set out to scavenge from the raider camp, mindful of the dead raiders laying everywhere.

Ammo, food, some medicine, it wasn’t much, but it’ll help them.

Once they checked everywhere, the two leave the camp, continuing their journey to the next settlement.

On Rose’s mind, the man with the round glasses.

From what the wounded raider and Fisk told them, this wasn’t an ordinary man, and he had the capability of convincing the raiders to turn on each other.

A silver tongue man that knows what he’s capable of and isn’t afraid of someone sticking a gun into his face, was somehow much more dangerous than a typical raider, and that alone was a frightful thought.

“You think he’s going to Memphis?” Rose wearily asks.

Thinking it over, Harold says, “I don’t want to be wrong, but I’m not sure being right is any better.”

They don’t know where this man is going, but Harold dreaded running into him during their journey to Memphis.

He hoped the man continued his path at this rate that even if he went to Memphis he would be gone from the city when they arrive.

Assuming there’s a city standing when they arrive, given how frighteningly calm he was with the raiders.

Chapter Text

Reaching the ferries, Vandal made his way to the shack after noticing the absence of the ferryman on this side of the river, and upon entry he found the ferryman lying dead on the ground with more holes in him than an alibi.

He’s been dead for a while; the blood turned a coppery color underneath him with the smell of decomposing rising in the air.

Rubbing his exposed nose, Vandal went over to the radio sitting on the desk and contacted the ferryman across the river.

“What happened here?” Vandal wanted to know.

On the other end, he heard a harsh, “Damn raiders happened!”

The ferryman apologized by saying that he can’t afford to go across the river to move the body somewhere else.

“Sorry for your loss,” Vandal gave his condolences.

Scoffing, Fisk retorts, “I don’t miss the arguments with the fool, but he left me with extra duty. You want over here?”

Affirming he wanted to cross the river, Vandal was warned that Fisk spotted crayfish coming out of the irradiated waters, again, and they might be attracted to the automated ferry.

“I can handle it,” Vandal assures Fisk.

Going out to the dock, Vandal sees the red ferry moving across the river, the ripples in the water caused it to briefly illuminate.

His hand over Betty, Vandal remained vigilant for the crayfish likely stirring from their underwater dens from the ferry moving across the river.

Docking itself, the ferry floated as Vandal boarded it, and Fisk operated the controls.

Once the ferry was set, Fisk climbed to the top of the rooftop of his shack with his sniper rifle as Vandal stayed in the center of the ferry as it started to make waves.

At first there wasn’t any movement in the waters, but Vandal spots waves moving towards the ferry, and the first pincer to reach up to the railings.

“Not today, honey,” Vandal grabs Betty from its holster and shot the pincer off with relative ease.

A deep guttural hiss emits as the wounded crayfish falls back into the water.

Behind him, Vandal hears Fisk open firing on a crayfish trying to climb over the railings.

The gunfire set them off and both men worked taking each and every crayfish down.

Angry beady eyes were focused on Vandal as an exceptionally armored crayfish wanted to take a bite out of him with its maw but fell to the waters as Vandal shot it through its weak point.

Eventually, the dwindled crayfish moved on, deciding Vandal was too much of a hassle, and disappeared back into the waters.

Reaching the opposite side of the river, Vandal steps off the ferry as Fisk emerges from his shack.

“Sorry about that,” Fisk apologizes for the crayfish.

Waving his leathery gloved hand, Vandal assures him it wasn’t any trouble.

“How much?” Vandal then asks what the price for the ferry ride.

Scratching the back of his bald head, Fisk answers, “Normally it’d be 50 caps, but with my partner dead, it’s been a hassle doing everything on my own. Since you handled yourself against the crayfish, I’m willing to go at least a hundred, if you don’t mind.”

Agreeing to the terms, Vandal handed the allocated caps before asking more about Belmont’s death.

“Damn raiders, they came to his side, and this man was leading them all. Belmont had no chance,” Fisk exhales sharply.

Giving an understanding nod, Vandal grew curious about the man leading the raiders, and Fisk told him about the man.

“Not any man I ever heard of, but if he can convince raiders to kill each other, then he’s no wallflower!” Vandal remarked.

Nodding, Fisk states, “I know, that’s why I didn’t come out of my shack until he was over that hill yonder!”

Don’t know where the man went, all Fisk knows is that he doesn’t want to be around when the man wants to go back over the river.

“Don’t blame you, but since we’re talking, I need help with something, if you don’t mind,” Vandal raises his hand.

Shrugging, Fisk agrees to help him.

Reaching into his long leather coat, Vandal produces a folded sheet, and as he unfolds it, he shows Fisk a picture.

“You see her come through here?” Vandal asks.

Studying the picture, Fisk shakes his head.

“Nah, sir, I didn’t see anyone like that. Just your typical settlers,” Fisk shrugs.

Vandal then asks, “Anyone come through recently?”

Thoughtfully thinking, Fisk went down the list of travelers he helped over the river, before topping off with a young woman and an older man.

Sparkles in his eyes, Vandal asks more about them, and Fisk thoughtlessly told Vandal how he was paid a handsome number of caps by the young woman.

“Must’ve gotten lucky at the cards!” Fisk chortles.

Through conversing, Fisk told Vandal how the young woman and the older man were heading to Memphis, but likely stopped off somewhere.

“They’re not in any trouble, are they?” Fisk sheepishly asks.

Shaking his head, Vandal answers, “Nah. Just doing my job. Thank you kindly, sir, you keep up the good work.”

Thanking Vandal, Fisk momentary stopped him and asks, “You think you can squeeze in an extra bounty? That prick killed Belmont and I’m already having a hard time doing stuff on my own.”

Seeing it as an honest work, Vandal agrees, and Fisk drew up a picture of what the man looked like through the binoculars.

“The static muffled his voice a little, so I don’t know how much I can ascertain his voice, but it’s way too calm for someone traveling with raiders!” Fisk huffed.

He pays Vandal a sum of two-thousand caps for the bounty and promises to pay two thousand more when the job’s completed.

“Dead or alive, whatever’s easier for you, I just want to see him getting eaten,” Fisk irritated as he waves his hand.

With another bounty under his belt, Vandal marches onward in his quest completing his bounties.

Having been a bounty hunter for decades at this point, Vandal didn’t run ragged looking for his marks, he took a slow pace, and took in the scenery as he thinks logically.

Along the way, he found a quaint restaurant where the waitress threatened to blow his head off with her Protectron when she figured out what he is, before he promised he wasn’t going to cause trouble in her restaurant.

It took convincing, Tesla was still mad as hell about the incident with the cowboys and the other bounty hunter, but Vandal convinced her into telling him about the young woman and the older man.

She never served the man with the round glasses, though.

With a few beers capping him off, Vandal was off on the dusty road searching for his marks.

Chapter Text

COURTESY

“Come one! Come all! To a hauntingly dreadful tour with stories of yonder!” Courtesy shouts aloud as people gather around him while he gives his spiel about a haunted tour around Albion.

Having rediscovered some of the old spook stories in the rubble of a burnt-out library, Courtesy began making his trade in the art of touring people around areas of Albion while giving detailed ghost stories and urban legends.

It was never meant to become more than something he did when there’s a lull in his father’s steel business, but the spry twenty-five-year-old stumbled over a niche that hadn’t been served for over two-hundred years.

His father lambasted him for going through with this plan, always saying he would only have three customers and nothing more, but luck would be on Courtesy’s side.

Surprisingly, Courtesy had plenty of customers wanting a tour, mostly tourists coming in from out of the state, but there were plenty of natives wanting to rediscover their state’s old haunts.

Selling his tours for a modest fifteen caps a head and ten caps for children, Courtesy had a busy schedule, but managed to get two days off to rest his voice.

Today was his Friday, after this day, he had two days to his lonesome, and he couldn’t wait.

Eager spectators handed him the requisite caps and he graciously thanked them before fixing his trademark purple top hat he salvaged from a junkyard one trip.

Clearing his near-raw throat, his copper eyes twinkling, Courtesy began his usual tour with spectators following him.

Taking them to a desolate distillery left to rot, Courtesy began his tour with a taster.

“In 2040, this distillery was fully functioning with hundreds of bottles of the finest Tennessee style whiskey coming out of it daily. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. It started with a rivalry and end with the loss of the distillery’s daughter,” Courtesy began the tale of the Harper’s Mill Distillery.

Having earned money from playing the market, Will Masters moved with his family from Maine to Tennessee, and started his own distillery.

Naysayers believed his distillery wouldn’t last, that the competitive market for Tennessee whiskey wouldn’t allow it to thrive, but Will soldiered on despite the uncertainty.

It finally paid off and Will Masters’ whiskey moved across the state, finding its place on the market shelves.

“Will Masters’ had a daughter, a bright-eyed girl, about eighteen, who was independent in every way, but he adored her nonetheless. She ended up talking to a young man who was staying around here from Washington,” Courtesy continues.

A relationship blossomed and while Will had his doubts about it, he supported his daughter in her quest for love, and that would lead to his downfall, as Courtesy noted.

“Will Masters went to a convention one week in Lincoln County and during this time, we believe that Janice allowed Theron into their mansion without him knowing,” Courtesy began to talk about the downfall.

At first, it was believed that it was just a daughter wanting to spend time with her suitor without her father knowing, but it wasn’t for a few months after that they realized the mistake.

Will had his share of rivals, but one particular was desperate for any chance of getting his whiskey on the market.

Ambrose Wheaton was the rival, known for his line of whiskey made with corn and wheat.

It wasn’t popular by any stretch, but it was believed that his whiskey was popular when there wasn’t anything else to drink.

His luck started coming around and he started a new line of whiskey and more it was considered better to Will’s in every fashion.

Critics flocked to it like locusts and people started drinking it like water.

Worse, it was cheaper to the point Will couldn’t hope to compete with the new line.

“It was the discovery that caused a cascade event. Ambrose had a son who wanted to impress him by any means necessary and we believed he used his son to steal Will’s recipes for his own,” Courtesy revealed a twist.

Endearing himself to Janice, Theron went through the Masters’ mansion and found the recipes hidden in a safe under the bed in the master bedroom.

“By that point, the family was in a financial crisis. Will Masters’ could not afford the costs bringing the lawsuit to court and he could not prove that Theron stole the recipes from him,” Courtesy frowns.

In his despair, Will launches a plan to enact vengeance against the Wheaton family, starting with the son that used his daughter.

“The records are scarce, but we think Will tricked Theron into coming to the distillery, where he was promptly shot. We think he was buried on the property after the murder. When Theron was listed as missing, Ambrose naturally came to the conclusion it was Will’s doing,” Courtesy continued the tale.

Ambrose accuses Will, but there was no proof of the murder, despite Ambrose’s attempts the court clears Will of murder.

Determined to prove Will’s guilt, Ambrose snuck into the distillery when it was closed for the night and tried to find the body.

“We believe that Will came to the distillery unexpectedly searching for legal documents and got into a confrontation with Ambrose resulting in the latter’s death. Rather than be detained and charged for the murder, Will proceeded to take his own life in the same spot as his late daughter before him,” Courtesy concludes the grim tale before moving on the ghost stories.

Every now again, there are accounts of people walking by hearing the phantom screaming matches of Ambrose and Will who be said to linger at the abandoned distillery, remaining restless since the day of their deaths.

Worse were there being accounts of Janice’s spirit still lingering, unable to move on because of the betrayal, and likely the limbo caused by her father and Ambrose.

“If you don’t believe me, we have an account of a vagrant raider who broke into the distillery one evening looking for a place to sleep. He did not last more than an hour before he fled into the night. By his account, there was phantom shouting, crying, things being tossed in the air, and phantom hands on his person,” Courtesy raises a finger as he explained how someone came into contact with the haunting.

As recently as last month, someone tried to brave going into the distillery in the daytime, but they also fled for their lives after being attacked by phantom hands.

“What happened to Ambrose and Will’s bodies?” Courtesy heard one of the participants ask him, a woman around his age standing next to an older man who knew her.

Shrugging, Courtesy answers, “That I do not know, but I know Will had a family grave south of here where he was likely buried next to his daughter and wife. I’d suppose Ambrose’s body was shipped back to his family. However, in the world of the supernatural, it isn’t always our graves that bind our souls to one place. Tragic events such as this does, as well.”

The belief that tragic events such as Courtesy’s story causes spirits to languish far from where their bodies were naturally buried still lingered centuries onward.

“Did they ever find Theron’s body?” The woman continues.

Shaking his head, Courtesy answers, “No. Police records are scarce, but it is believed that Will cut it up and scattered the remains in the nearby creek. There were rumors about him hiding them in his disused whiskey barrels that he stored in the basement of the distillery, but there’s no indication that I found that being true. However, no one ever gone down into the basement since that tragedy, that it’s a tossup whether there is some truth or not.”

Continuing his tour, Courtesy routinely drank from his canister of warm milk and honey while giving a long speech about the different aspects of the ghost stories and the urban legends he dug out of the rubble.

To his throat’s relief, the tour came to a stop where it was the only house that looked pristine.

It was called the Harpsichord House, an unusual name for a house, but it made sense, as Courtesy went into the story about the family that lived in the house.

Considered your typical nuclear family, the Hutchison family lived a quiet life, until they started hearing an odd noise around the house.

A harpsichord.

An instrument no one in the family owned or even knew how to use.

Every night, they would hear this instrument, that it began driving the father increasingly mad.

“He got rid of everything that could have made the instrument sound, but every night, it would persist until well into the morning,” Courtesy continues. “It resulted in the father calmly going into the garage as you can see here and concocting a substance that spilled out into the kitchen and upstairs. Within moments, the family perishes. Some say, you can still hear it if you come by during lonely nights.”

Raising her hand, the inquisitive woman from prior asked more about the story and if they ever found out the cause behind the seemingly phantom harpsichord.

Shaking his head, Courtesy informs her that nobody was ever sure if what the family was hearing was real or some sort of malady that overtook them.

The only reason they knew about it was because the father kept obsessively bringing it up to people at work.

When the police arrived at the home to investigate, they did not find the instrument, or even someone stowing away behind the walls making the noises they heard every night.

“Could be paranoia finally got to him or something we will never understand,” Courtesy dramatically ends his tour.

He thanks the group for sticking around for him this long before ushering them to return to Albion proper and getting some nourishments from the local places.

Trust him, he’ll be doing the same.

With the tour group disbanding and his job concluded, Courtesy ventured onward to give his day’s earnings to be counted and put up at the bank.

“How the hell you still have a voice, Court?” The bank teller asks him.

Coughing, Courtesy answers, “Won’t be for long!”

He deposits his earnings before heading off to do what he urged his group to do, going to the local watering hole, and quenching his thirst.

Arriving at Beal Hall, Courtesy took a spot at the counter as he held his head low.

If he keeps this up, he won’t have a voice by the time he’s thirty!

“Still crooning those old stories, huh?” Grissom the bartender came over with curiosity in his beady eyes as he gruffly asks.

Raising his head, Courtesy remarks as he coughs, “It’s this or steel work, I don’t know which’s worse!”

The old ghoul comforts the dismayed Courtesy by saying, “Well, you can tell your pa that you kept your head held up high over the two years you started this enterprise.”

Nodding, Courtesy admits that he didn’t think he survived this long doing the tours.

Hell, his own father made a bet he would be back at the steel mill within a week!

“Ah, you’re doing much better than most people, Court. Keep your head up, you’ll find your breakout,” Grissom encourages him.

Thanking him, Courtesy starts to drink as the cold brew hit his raw throat.

Might have to add an extra day-off, he overdid it at the part with the axe murders.

Sitting at the bar listening to the music coming from the jukebox, Courtesy laid his head on his arms as he exhaled sharply.

Scratching his matted wild hair of brown, Courtesy was presented a warm plate of food by Grissom who promptly told him to get something to eat.

“Thanks, Grissom,” Courtesy thanks him once again.

Chuckling, Grissom goes, “What bartender would I be if I don’t take care of my customers, huh?”

Fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, everything a tired tour guide needed to restore some energy before heading home for the night.

“Oh, hey this smells good, Mr. Harold!” He heard a voice coming from behind him.

Turning his head, Courtesy spots the woman from the tour with an older man following her.

They took a spot at the booth where Grissom came by to ask what they wanted to drink before moving on from their table.

“That was fun!” Rose showed interest in the stories she and Harold heard on the tour.

Blinking, Harold remarks, “I don’t know how you’re not at the very least a little nervous!”

Some of the stories still bothered him long after the tour ended.

Chuckling, Rose cheekily inquires, “Not much of a fan, huh, Mr. Harold?”

Shaking his head, Harold responds, “No, I am not. I live in a post-apocalyptic world; I don’t need more reasons to be afraid for my life.”

Chapter Text

Sitting at the table with their drinks and plates of food brought by Grissom, Rose and Harold took bites as they drank from their respected bottles.

“This is good!” Harold commented as he picked apart his fried chicken as he shoved the white flesh into his mouth.

Nodding, Rose remarks as her fork clanked against the porcelain as she stirred up her sweet potato salad, “What’s in this?”

Overhearing her, Grissom happily told her, “Just a little southern cooking secret, hon. Careful, little old ladies here don’t want it getting loose.”

A wink, Grissom chuckles before moving on tending to the other patrons.

Tempted to keep eating, Rose stuffed her mouth full of the sweet potato salad, and as she does, she spots their tour guide sitting at the bar scratching the side of his face with a long look in his copper eyes.

He notices her looking as he turns his head and raises his drink.

“He must know a lot more stories,” Rose turns her head back to Harold. “Maybe he knows about Chicken Charlie?”

Absent from the tour, Rose didn’t get a chance to inquire about the warning she and Harold saw passing through to Albion.

Shrugging, Harold responds, “Maybe. Though, I doubt he would be up to discuss anything more about the local legends.”

Weighing her options, Rose pointed out, “But who else but a tour guide to know what’s what, right?”

Agreeing with her point, Harold watches as Rose stood up from her seat, and gone over to the bar where their tour guide sat.

He was spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth before he noticed Rose standing near him with her arms behind her back.

Raising his bushy brow, Courtesy tilts his head as he sheepishly asks, “Yeah?”

Flashing a smile, Rose gestures with one hand behind her back as she talks to him about his tours.

“Yeah, it wasn’t something I expected, but hey, you gotta go with the flow, right?” Courtesy shrugs as he talked about his journey into becoming an improvised tour guide.

Nodding, her tightly bound ponytail stiffly moving, Rose asks him, “So, how did you find out all about this stuff?”

Wiping down his mouth, Courtesy answers, “Well, at first, I went out to the local library and dug around. Then, I went to the old police station for records. I find them wherever I go, really.”

Seeing the inquisitive look on her face, Courtesy lets her sit beside him, and he asks for her name.

“Rose,” she smiles.

Tipping his purple top hat, Courtesy introduces himself, “Courtesy Hudson, at your service!”

Curiosity in her hazel eyes, Rose inquires, “Your name is Courtesy?”

Chuckling, Courtesy tells her how it was more of a nickname than anything, something of an in-joke he garnered for being stubborn.

His real name is Curt.

But Rose can just call him Courtesy, it’s easier.

“Well, nice meeting you… Courtesy,” Rose smiles.

Smiling back, Courtesy says, “And to you, Rose. Where’re you from, anyway?”

Sheepish, Rose asks if Courtesy knows anything about vaults.

Nodding, Courtesy said, “Oh sure, everyone knows about them. I may be a man making caps off telling spook stories, but even I have my limits.”

If there’s one thing Courtesy learnt early on, it was that there were things he shouldn’t make caps on.

“Why not?” Rose tilts her head.

Sighing as he took a quick sip of his Sweetie Tea, Courtesy tells her, “Some bad stuff about them. Real bad. I heard rumors about one vault in like, Ohio. It was sealed from the outside, like someone didn’t want anyone getting into it, but no one knows why. I mean, most vaults are usually sealed as it is, but on the outside? That kinda sounds insidious to me!”

Of course, Courtesy won’t be going anywhere near vaults in Tennessee anytime soon, even if it would provide for him and his father for years!

“Well, it can’t be all vaults are bad,” Rose gestures.

Courtesy appreciates her sense of optimism, but having heard sordid tales, it was hard for him not to consider all vaults permanent crypts.

Showing her vault suit by pulling away her leather jacket, Rose retorts how she came from a vault, and she wasn’t whatever story Courtesy heard.

Seeing the emblem for her vault, Courtesy was surprised, and questioned how legitimate the vault suit was, since he said that people had a tendency for finding them around the Wasteland.

Usually stowed away somewhere.

Usually.

Not uncommon for someone pulling it off a dead settler.

“I can tell you everything about my vault and I promise it isn’t as scary as you make it,” Rose challenged him.

Taking her up on it, Courtesy challenged her, and she happily told him everything about her vault down to the poker games and what else.

Nothing frightful as he made it out to be, but there’s doubt on Courtesy’s face as he brings up what Harold said before, how the vaults had insidious plans, and some are so subtle not everyone knows what it is until it’s too late.

“I don’t doubt there’s probably at least some vaults without the craziness, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all a ruse,” Courtesy couldn’t help but showed skepticism.

He then asks Rose why she left her vault, and she only told him that she was asked by her father, but nothing more.

“Sounds like you travelled far,” Courtesy notes.

Nodding, Rose then stated she had help as she points to Harold sitting at the booth still eating.

“Honestly, I thought that was your pa,” Courtesy admitted for the mistake.

Waving her hand, Rose tells him that it’s happened before.

But before she forgets, Rose shifted topics as she asks what Courtesy knew about someone called Chicken Charlie.

Scooping his mashed potatoes into a hill, Courtesy tells her how there’s been some heated rumors about a man called Charlie Drayton.

He runs a fried chicken place further south, towards Shelby County, everyone seems to like his food, but there’s been some insane rumors that started cropping up recently.

“It’s standard cannibalism rumors,” Courtesy boils it down for Rose.

Seeing the mortified expression on Rose’s face, Courtesy could tell that this wasn’t something she was familiar with since being topside.

He boils it down for her as such: there have been known instances of cannibalistic tribes.

However.

Most times, the tribes fall apart due to diseases culminating from eating human flesh.

Other times, bounty hunters and opportunistic individuals go out of their way cleaning out the tribes and ensuring they don’t harm the settlers and wandering travelers.

Thus far, Courtesy hadn’t heard of any problems with cannibals since the effort went into effect.

Getting back to the rube of the conversation involving Chicken Charlie.

There’s been rumors about the titular Chicken Charlie kidnapping people and turning them into fried chicken that he sold to unsuspecting people, but there hadn’t been proof about these crimes, or even if the man existed, at all.

“Well, when we were coming in, we saw the graffiti,” Rose informs him.

Nodding, Courtesy sighs, “Oh those, yeah, some dipshits like to take spray cans and go out to spray sides of the mountains with those little warnings.”

Raising her fine brow, Rose asks, “Do you believe it’s true?”

After scooping the last of the mashed potatoes into his mouth, Courtesy answers, “Well, I don’t know, truth be told, but I don’t make a habit of leaving Albion, much. I do get curious and ask a couple of travelers coming in if they heard anything, but nothing. Guy could be dead for all we know. These bounty hunters are thorough sons of bitches, when you pay them to clean house, by God they’ll raze the damn neighborhood!”

Though, Courtesy can’t deny the possibilities of hidden communities of cannibals that avoided being found by the lawmen and the bounty hunters, there’s terrain that even seasoned travelers can’t get over easily, and there’s swaths of areas in Tennessee that haven’t been properly investigated since the bombs dropped.

Maybe there are some grains of truth about the mysterious Chicken Charlie, but Courtesy wouldn’t want to find that out himself.

He’ll stick to the tried and true, less likely to get eaten, all that.

“But, as with everything in the Wasteland, you better watch your back,” Courtesy points at her.

Grissom came by to check on him and amused how Rose sat by him, teasingly asking if Courtesy finally “put his voice” to good use.

“Hah-hah, Grissom, hah-hah, that’s cute. No, this here is Rose, and she was just curious about the stories and such,” Courtesy flatly told him. “Like Chicken Charlie, for example.”

Shivering, Grissom remarked, “I thought I had it bad with the whole ‘ghoul’ thing, but those stories are a nightmare!”

Tilting her head, Rose asks, “You heard of them?”

Nodding, Grissom regales what he knew in his hundred years of being a ghoul.

“A caravan traveling south going to Alabama stopped by a quaint town towards the border, everybody friendly like to the caravan and giving them room and board for the night. We’re in the south, it’s what we’re all known for, for whatever fucking reason. Anyway, at first the caravan didn’t suspect anything wrong, they were hungry, they were tired, so they paid no attention. Well, as it happened, they were given spiked drinks, and all fell unconscious. Except for this little boy, about eight. He was having a spat with his ma, so he stayed back at the caravan brooding when he realized no one was coming back to the caravan to put up the cows for the night. Well, he goes lookin’ for them and doesn’t find them. He ended up finding an unlocked door into a cellar and fled into the night as quickly as he went into it. When a minuteman found him running blind, he tells the minuteman how he saw bodies hung up with meat hooks. Flesh carved from them, and blood soaked the floors to the point of staining them. So, the minuteman gathered his men and went to find the town the boy’s caravan went to, but when they got there, there was no sign of anyone. But they did find the cellar the boy went into and all they found was the stained floors and the bloody meat hooks.”

Since then, Grissom heard parents warn their children not to travel alone, and never to leave their sides.

All sorts of little things to keep them safe in the new world they’re in.

“Is this… true?” Rose sheepishly asks him.

Casually shrugging, Grissom tells her that he doesn’t know himself, but given what nightmares lurked in the Wasteland, that it was possible there’s some truth to the story.

Pointing at himself, Grissom states, “I may be a ghoul, but I ain’t feral or stupid. I know better to poke my non-existent nose where it doesn’t belong, much less go to a town I know nothing about. Especially with people I don’t really know all that well. And believe me, when you’re a ghoul, you want to find people you know and slightly trust.”

It’s a given with someone like him.

Still, Grissom assures Rose that if she keeps to the routes, staying in well-populated areas like Albion, she won’t have trouble.

“I used to be a trucker. Going from the east coast to the west coast, north and south, all over, whenever you’re in a pinch, ask a trucker where there’s a safe place to stop for the night, and what’s good eating,” Grissom raises a finger. “But since that’s gone to shit. You can always find some semblance of good advice from a minuteman, they’re the Boy Scouts these days. All bright-eyed, it makes my poor irradiated heart swell!”

Easily identifiable, Rose won’t have problems finding one in a crowd, and she thanked him for the advice.

Smiling, Grissom said as he points at Courtesy, “Hah, if only this fool would take it!”

Chapter Text

Traveling the lonely road brought Vandal to a little-known shanty town of Alameda, where there were plenty of farmers selling their crops and livestock to interested parties.

Plenty of BBQ-centric places dotted Alameda, the scented smoke plumed like a cigarette, and the smell of hickory wood being burnt alongside the tenderizing pork and chicken was heavenly compared to the ratty places elsewhere.

Among the Alameda natives, there were minutemen with their shiny badges and prim hats and coats keeping the peace.

Bounty hunting was frowned upon in these parts, given the cleanly posted signs, as the minutemen served as the law.

Vandal didn’t mind the restrictions, people were trying to find some semblance of the law, and undoubtedly the minutemen provided it.

Still, he had jobs that needed doing, so he had no other choice but to risk cross-jurisdiction friction.

It wasn’t hard for Vandal to see the posted minutemen looking at him with weary eyes, they knew instantly what he was, and they watched his every move.

Wanting to prevent possible damage and loss of life, Vandal willingly searched out the head minuteman of Alameda, Sheriff Haynes.

He was in the office handling paperwork when Vandal came through the doors, and instantly he treated Vandal with caution.

“Howdy, sheriff,” Vandal flashes a smile.

Eying him, Sheriff Haynes asks, “What are you doing here, bounty hunter?”

Without skipping a beat, he warns about what’s expected in Alameda before Vandal waves his hand as he insists that he didn’t want trouble with either the sheriff or his minutemen.

“I’m looking for a witness, for starters,” Vandal calmly explains his reasoning for going to Alameda.

Sitting back in his chair, the sheriff gestures as he asks Vandal who the witness was and Vandal answers that he didn’t know the identity, only they exist.

“What exactly did they witness?” Sheriff Haynes wanted to know.

Sitting down across from him, Vandal answers, “His whole camp got decimated. I want to know who caused it.”

Pushing himself up and putting his arms on his desk, Sheriff Haynes grew curious as he then asks, “Why’s this got to do with a bounty hunter?”

He heard, “I’m on a bounty for a man with a silver tongue that can get raiders to kill each other with just his words. I have suspicioned our survivor saw him last.”

Frowning, Sheriff Haynes held a debate with himself whether to commend the man for his efforts ruining a camp of raiders or condemn him for causing more bloodshed out in the Wasteland.

“Who posted the bounty?” Sheriff Haynes wanted to know.

In one breath, Vandal answers, “Ferryman Fisk. This man got his co-partner killed with other raiders. It’s a dangerous prospect not having competent ferrymen at their posts.”

Exhaling sharply, Sheriff Haynes points out, “They were offered protection by the minutemen, but they wouldn’t accept it. We try to keep the peace where possible, so we didn’t press on the matter when they declined.”

Still, he showed sympathy for the dead ferryman.

Nodding, Vandal responds with, “I’m aware ya’ll have been making some headway down here in the last few years, but even you know that there’s still people wary about putting their faith in ‘outsiders’ and you can’t blame them for being cautious.”

Most would rather take their chances with Elvis's impersonators than minutemen from the north.

Nothing against Sheriff Haynes or his men, it was just part of life down here.

“I admit, it was hard work getting the citizens of Alameda to trust us, but I don’t want anything happening that would jeopardize the work we put into keeping this settlement safe,” Sheriff Haynes states.

Understanding his intentions, Vandal stiffly nodded before asking him, “You get anyone new recently?”

Shrugging, Sheriff Haynes points out, “We’re a stopgap, so we get people from all-around.”

Giving a toothy smirk, Vandal reveals, “Guess your boys were slacking. There’s a destitute raider somewhere here, I wanna talk to him, if that’s okay with you.”

Alarmed about a potential raider in his midst, Sheriff Haynes panics before Vandal stopped him.

“He’s my only shot getting some information on the man who got Ferryman Belmont and the raiders of his camp killed, if you round up your boys, he’s gonna escape into the night,” Vandal points out.

Calming down, Sheriff Haynes counters, “He’ll run if he sees you. Nothing screams ‘bounty hunter’ than you!”

Undeterred, Vandal brought up, “And what would it say about you if it gets out you let a raider come through here?”

Raising his hands, Vandal stresses he wasn’t here to pick a fight with anyone, all he wanted to do was talk to the surviving raider about the man with the round glasses’ whereabouts.

“You have to forgive me, but how can one man convince raiders to kill each other and not end up boiled alive in a pot?” Sheriff Haynes showed skepticism.

Fair.

“That’s why I’m here, sheriff, my only witness can help fill in the blanks,” Vandal says.

When he gets his information, he will leave, Sheriff Haynes can continue doing what he has been doing since he and his men arrived.

Seems simple enough, but Sheriff Haynes warns that even if Vandal talked to the raider, there was a good chance his bounty would already move on elsewhere, but Vandal points out how bounty hunters don’t rest until the job’s done.

Dead or alive, his bounty’s coming with him.

“You’ll have to forgive me, sir, but I’m trying to figure out what is best for our cause. I respect you coming to me and not going out of your way to find this raider on your own, though,” Sheriff Haynes touches the top of his hat as he exhales sharply.

Curious, Vandal asks if Sheriff Haynes ever heard about a man with round glasses and a nice suit seemingly marching to his own beat without fear of the Wasteland breathing down his neck, but the sheriff replied that it didn’t resonate with him.

“Though, we do get a lot of travelers through here,” Sheriff Haynes sighs.

Giving an understanding nod, Vandal gestures as he said, “Come on, sheriff, it’s just a simple question. What harm can it do?”

Weighing his options, Sheriff Haynes exhales as he brought up that the only way for Vandal to speak with the raider without causing a stir in Alameda is if he gets himself arrested.

As far as he knows, the raider hadn’t made trouble since he arrived in Alameda.

“Sticky situation. You got a bar around here, maybe he likes to drink his troubles away,” Vandal broaches an idea.

Already seeing it, Sheriff Haynes tries to talk him out of it by saying how the minutemen kept the bar fights from happening.

“Sheriff, you’re forgetting the golden rules of drinking alcohol. Either it makes you stupid or makes you even stupider,” Vandal points out.

Raising his hand, Sheriff Haynes insists that Vandal not cause a bar fight just to get to the raider, but Vandal argues how it’ll only be a while before a raider shows his true colors.

“Once a raider, always a raider, come on sheriff how many reformed raiders have you met since you went out on the lonely road with your shiny badge?” Vandal argues back.

Even if the sheriff didn’t want to admit it, raiders are a class of their own for a reason.

“I do like to see the good in everyone, you know,” Sheriff Haynes tries to give the raider a chance, especially after seeing his people killing each other for simply no good reason.

Raising a finger, Vandal then counters, “And isn’t it a minuteman’s job to ensure justice for all? He lost his people to this man. This man hasn’t been seen in Alameda by your account. I’m a simple bounty hunter trying to find his marks, I don’t have more than a reason staying around here after I talk to the raider. Can’t make a deal with that?”

Gritting his teeth, Sheriff Haynes tapped his leathery fingers on his desk before agreeing with Vandal with provisions.

Vandal can only talk to the raider at Logan’s Bar, but nothing more.

Any bar fights would result in Vandal’s imprisonment pending charges since it would be construed, he started it first.

“Reasonable,” Vandal sighs.

Sheriff Haynes wearily asks, “Who else are you looking for?”

Raising his finger, Vandal pointed out they only agreed on finding the raider, nothing more.

His words twisted by Vandal, Sheriff Haynes opted not to have his words twisted further, and left it as that.

“Once you get what you came here for, I have to ask for you to leave,” Sheriff Haynes gestures as Vandal stood up from his chair.

He can’t have an active bounty hunter in Alameda, else it risks trouble down the line.

“Fair enough, I’ll let you know what turns out,” Vandal tips his hat before moving out of the office.

Out in Alameda proper, again, Vandal disappears in the crowd of people going through the marketplace buying and trading.

Muttering to himself, Vandal mentally marked different areas the raider could’ve gone after arriving, he might even change his clothes to match the locals, since the sight of the minutemen posted at every corner would cause him to act.

Don’t know how much caps he brought with him from the camp, but it wouldn’t be enough for a long stay at the inn.

Having been traumatized by the event, the raider would likely drink his problems away somewhere no one would look at him twice.

If he was smart, he keeps his head low, and not cause trouble, lest he bring minutemen upon him, but raiders can only pretend to be civil for a while.

Maybe it won’t be guns out and causing shootouts, but the raider would be tempted.

Under the restrictions set by the sheriff, Vandal had to work with them, and keep himself prim.

He’s not exactly someone that ought to be imprisoned, lot of past bounties would mark him dead if they found out.

And he’s too pretty for prison.

Ghoul bounty hunter humor, give him some credit, Vandal had to have some after his misfortune.

Standing out like a sore thumb, Vandal doubted the raider would be willing to talk to him, so he did as one would in his situation.

He blended himself into the backdrop.

The grizzled bounty hunter went through Alameda until he found the bar that would be a siren’s call to the raider.

It had amenities such as gambling.

Checking the time, Vandal made his way into the bar where the strong cigarette smoke hit his nonexistent nose.

Like a fog, it hung low in the poorly ventilated bar.

It screams seedy to Vandal, but it’s keeping itself legitimate in the eyes of the minutemen so it wasn’t the seediest bar Vandal had the misfortune going into searching for his marks.

Making his way to the only person with the intel, Vandal took his spot at the bar, and waited for the bartender to come by.

As expected, the bartender wasn’t friendly towards him, went with the easiest slur he can think of, but Vandal shook it off, before calmly asking for a drink.

Eventually, the bartender wises up and started treating him better, before long Vandal was three beers in when he listened to someone coming through the doors.

The haze of the smoke made it difficult for him to see, but Vandal plays the part of a drifter coming in for a drink.

Chapter Text

After dinner, Rose and Harold found a quaint inn to spend the night, and for the first time, Harold let his guard down as he slept soundly despite the latent paranoia in the back of his head.

Not once in the night did, he get up periodically to check for someone waiting for him with a gun, instead he slept soundly.

Rose had to knock on his door in the morning to wake him up and he finally rose from his deep slumber.

Going up to the door, Harold sees Rose washed and ready.

“Mr. Harold, it’s almost twelve,” Rose informs him of the time as she shows it on her Pip-Boy.

Rubbing his eyes, Harold apologizes for making her wait.

Waving her hand, Rose modestly told him she didn’t mind it, how she spent much of the morning with Courtesy.

“His dad needed him for something, so I came back here to check on you,” Rose explains.

She then asks if Harold was up for lunch, since he woke up late, and Harold agrees to it, before heading back into his room to get ready.

Emerging from his room pulling on his leather armor over his shirt, Harold walks down the stairs with Rose, and they went out to grab a quick bite before heading out into the Wasteland, once again.

Stepping out of the inn, they went on to find a place where they spent time eating lunch, and Rose consulted her Pip-Boy’s map.

“All we have to do’s stay on the path, we’ll be in Memphis in no time,” Rose sighs before she goes back to eating her plate of food.

Scooping mashed sweet potato into his mouth, Harold reminds her, “Assuming the raiders haven’t been blowing up the roads, again.”

Shaking her head, Rose assures him, “Courtesy told me the minutemen have been keeping the raiders in check, recently. We shouldn’t have any problems.”

Still skeptical, Harold questions the minutemen’s seemingly altruistic motives, and Rose informs him how they only recently started coming down from the north.

Courtesy told her how often the minutemen had setbacks since most places down here weren’t fond of “Yankees.”

Some of the smaller settlements gravitated having them because it was easier, and the threat of raiders was getting to the point they had no choice but rely on minutemen.

Still, people regard them with suspicion, mostly because of old bias from yore that they believed in.

Despite the hurdles the minutemen wanted to overcome them and work with communities alike.

“Still, he says they can be trusted,” Rose notes.

Nodding, Harold muses, “Certainly better than the alternatives, I suppose. Hopefully, there’s some towards Memphis.”

Rose then brought up the Belle Meade graffiti she and Harold witnessed, having the chance to ask about it, Rose learns from Courtesy how it was an abandoned settlement in the southwest of the state.

“He told me everyone just upped and left, everything’s still there where they left it, but nobody goes near the settlement,” Rose recalls Courtesy’s words.

Nobody knows what happened to the former city reformed into a brief settlement, only warnings to stay away from it, and anyone who went to it is known never to return.

Those who saw it from a safe distance say it remains eerily untouched, not a paint stripped on the houses, not even a hole in the road, even the plants weren’t dead from radiation poisoning, everything was in pristine shape, as if the area hadn’t been decimated by the aftermath of the bombs.

The description alone was enough to unnerve the settlers in the surrounding areas that they warned their children to avoid Belle Meade and never go out into the night, in fear of accidentally stumbling across it.

“Not even the minutemen go near it,” Rose also notes.

They were warned from the get-go the areas in Tennessee they would face the most resistance to their presence and areas where not even the hardened raiders dared to tread.

Which, as far as Courtesy knows from talking to people, not even a boorish raider would go near Belle Meade, they would turn tail and run, rather than go near the threshold.

“Then there’s the rumors about those old caverns in the northwest, something about a witch that haunts them,” Rose brings up another tidbit Courtesy told her about the state.

As he wipes down his face, Harold shows appreciation for Rose’s attempts, learning what she can about her new surroundings.

“Sometimes the best advice about a place is from a local,” Harold astutely says.

Picking their plates clean, Rose paid for their lunch, and once they cleaned themselves with wet napkins, they left the restaurant.

“If we leave now, we ought to be close to another settlement before nightfall,” Rose tightens her ponytail.

Stretching out his arms, Harold nods, and as he lowers his arms, he asks if Rose said her goodbyes to Courtesy.

“Oh, he knows we’re leaving. I might see him when I come back through here going home,” Rose says.

With that, they begin their trek once again.

Above, the skies started becoming gray with thick clouds, blotting out the sun entirely, and enshrouding areas in a dim light.

There’s a slight breeze that kicked up every now and then, bringing relief as there was some cold air mixed in the breeze.

With the clouds above them, they moved longer across the craggy roads without stopping as much, only when they felt fatigue coming over them did, they stop to break.

The cold breeze passes by them as they sit around drinking their filtered water while nibbling on some snacks.

With the sun blotted out and the cold breeze whipping through his matted hair, Harold exhales as he settled in his spot relaxing as Rose consults her Pip-Boy once again.

“Are you sure you can handle coming back this way after Memphis?” Harold innocently asks her.

Glancing up, Rose smiles as she assures him that she can handle it.

Once Harold is situated somewhere, all Rose needed to do was come back through Memphis, take the same path they’re taking, come up to Albion, and head back west.

“Suppose if the minutemen are doing their best against the raiders, you shouldn’t have many problems,” Harold blinks.

They finished their break and continued the lonely path to Memphis.

The gray skies started darkening above them and, in the distance, they heard thunder.

“We better get to the settlement quickly,” Harold urges as he warns Rose of the potential for the roads to easily flood if this was a particularly bad storm.

They don't want to get trapped out here in the middle of the storm, especially.

Rested from their break, they hurry as there’s bright flashes of lighting illuminating the skies above.

Chapter Text

Having tirelessly worked on the project that kept her vested since her embarkment out in the Wasteland proper, Mal studies her work as Hal floats beside her.

“It is certainly your best work, madam!” Hal compliments Mal’s latest project.

Giving the Mr. Handy a toothy grin, Mal retorts, “You’re still the best one, Hal!”

Modestly, Hal babbles, “Aw, madam, you’re only saying that!”

Turning her attention to her project that took weeks of raiding camps and whatever junkyard was left to rot, it looked like something out of a comic book, but it served a purpose.

Known as to anyone with a working brain cell as a power armor, it was a far cry from what it was originally, the occupant having fallen to a mutant brown bear, and it tore the armor apart like aluminum foil with its layered two jaws and two upper mouths of teeth.

Only getting what it wanted, the brown bear left the remnants of the power armor scattered on the ground and took its kill elsewhere.

Lucky thing Hal pinged it, else the raiders would have made matters worse, and Mal would have easily overlooked it because of it being in such a bad shape that it blended with the backdrop of the Wasteland.

Reconstructing the missing components and whatever else took hard work, it looked like Frankenstein’s monster on the table, but Mal never had the chance of working on a power armor before.

Having spent time working with the remnants of the power armor and figuring out how it was meant to be put together, Mal felt she had the right idea on how it worked and functioned.

Couldn’t exactly ask for help checking her work, Mal had no other choice but to wing it, and hope for the best.

Still, something like this would be a target for anyone, which Mal counters by creating failsafe for the power armor preventing that from happening.

Hal further helped by using its computing power to rewire the power armor’s fleeting programming with Mal’s failsafe.

It took a while, Mal kept Hal from rushing the programming, but eventually it was set, and no one could track the armor except them.

Giving the power armor its seal of approval, Hal congratulated its owner in successfully restoring the decimated power armor to its former glory.

Even giving it a new paint work to mask the replaced parts that Hal gushes would make uninformed settlers think it was completely original.

“Aw, Hal, you’re gonna make me blush,” Mal chuckles as the Mr. Handy praises her.

Pointing at her with one of its tiny hands, Hal responds, “Madam, you don’t give yourself enough credit. This power armor will certainly give the raiders a good run for their money!”

Holding up her hands as she silently judges the power armor, its original design slightly modified due to the damages it took from the brown bear, not even Hal could make out its model number since so much of the plating had been damaged by the sheer strength of the brown bear’s teeth tearing through it.

If Mal had to guess, it must have been recent, not even a tinge of rust that she found when she and Hal collected the remnants from the ground.

Given how fresh the kill was when they discovered it, wherever the power armor came from probably didn’t realize it missing until the tracker went dead from being bitten apart, if at all.

By the time anyone came out to search for the missing occupant and the power armor, there was nothing left except for the broken tracker promptly being discarded.

Thorough, Mal and Hal ensured no one could track them when they brought the remnants back to the hidden bunker.

Since no one came around looking for the power armor, well, they did a good job covering their tracks.

“Maybe they thought it was a lost cause?” Hal suggested it to her.

During her initial assessment of the remnants, Mal believed that with the power armor rare, someone would come looking for it, even if it was in pieces.

It was a matter of how determined they were to find a scrap of the power armor.

With it being weeks since then, no one out of the ordinary except the raiders, Mal believed they gave up the ghost.

“Fancy a test drive, madam?” Hal suggests as it turned its body towards Mal.

Lowering her hands, Mal ponders this as she thoughtfully asks, “You think it can handle just the standard test?”

Moving its body towards the power armor, Hal scans it before estimating that Mal would have no problems testing the power armor on the topside.

“Suggestions, Hal?” Mal asks for its opinions on where she should test it first.

Pondering this question, Hal answers, “My scanners indicate that there’s a raider camp somewhat far from here we could test it with, see how it fairs against the typical gunfire.”

Agreeing with its suggestion, Mal takes off her hard hat, exposing her matted head of brown before heading behind the power armor.

Carefully, Mal turns the wheel on the back and the pressurized air puffs as the armor opened from behind.

“Wish me luck, Hal,” Mal braved getting into the power armor.

Hal assures her, “I have full confidence in you, madam!”

Exhaling sharply, Mal steps into the power armor.

It was a tight fit as her arms weaved into the arm holes and her legs slowly fit into the leg holes.

Behind her the power armor closes and seals.

At first it was dark and then the power suit powered on with the screen illuminating in front of Mal as it proceeded to gather information.

“V.A.Ts system is online!” Mal called out to Hal, the automated system deepening and reverbs her voice.

Hal then encourages her to start moving around.

Slow and methodical, Mal moves around in the restored power armor.

It felt weightless with the modifications she and Hal put into it that it was like wearing a costume over herself.

Moving forward, Mal couldn’t feel the reverb of her footsteps as the reinforced steel kept her from feeling anything.

Slowly, she raises her arms upright before lowering them.

Hal then instructs her to try and pick up the weapon that was found by Rose.

Mal does as such, it felt like an out of body moment with her only view of the outside world being the digitized screen in front of her face as her hands grasped the large gun and she picked it up as if weighed nothing, yet when she sat it back down, she heard the audible clank.

“Madam, I do believe we’re ready to try it outside!” Hal suggests.

When she made it outside with her BFG, the power armor’s reinforced feet made dents in the craggy ground as Mal moved inside.

The regulated air inside the armor meant Mal couldn’t feel the warmth of the outside, it was bone chilling cold, and the upgrades helped expel the carbon as she breaths.

With refinements, the power armor now has protection against radiation once more, but Mal wasn’t inclined to test it out by submerging herself in bodies of irradiated water.

Despite traveling a fair distance, Mal had no problems with overexertion.

Arriving at the raider camp, Mal proceeded to try out the power armor’s capabilities with the unsuspecting raiders.

Wielding the BFG, the barrel rotated, and Mal unleashed hell on every one of them as they opened fired on her in return.

Pinging off the plated armor, Mal was unscathed as she decimated every bit of the raiders.

Smoke plums from the barrel as it slowly stops and spent shells scatter the ground.

“Well done, madam!” Hal congratulated her on her successful test trial.

Still, there was work to be done with the power armor, that much Mal agreed.

Once they ensured there was not a raider alive in the camp, they left, and returned to the hidden bunker.

Adjusting herself after climbing out of the power armor, Mal smooths down her matted hair of brown.

“That was quite a display, madam, the power armor shows no concerning damages!” Hal scans the power armor for any hidden damage from the raiders’ weapons.

Patting herself down, Mal sighs, “And another camp gone to the dogs, I’d say we had a productive day, right, Hal?”

Agreeing with her, Hal chirps how they can clear out more camps with relative ease, now.

While she began putting the locks on the power armor, Mal could hear Hal from behind her.

“Hm, madam, do you suppose those two made it safely across the river?” Hal inquiries about Rose and Harold.

Going over to her clipboard to jolt down key details about the first test run inside the power armor, Mal shrugs as she answers, “We told her it was dangerous out there. Can only do so much, Hal.”

With Harold with her, Rose would have a decent chance of succeeding provided she learnt quickly, but other than that, it was out of their hands, now.

“Such as life in the Wasteland, I suppose, well madam, should we clean up and have a spot of tea?” Hal sighs before changing its tone.

Nodding, Mal agrees to having some tea as she worked putting up everything.

Taking a quick shower and combing her hair as it curled tightly, Mal steps out into the makeshift kitchen to see Hal prepare the tea.

Going to take a drink, Mal hears Hal humming in the background.

As she sips, Mal no longer hears Hal humming.

Sitting down the teacup, Mal instinctively searches out for Hal, and finds it idling silently while it hovers.

“What’s wrong?” Mal asks the idle Mr. Handy.

It took a few minutes before Hal finally says, “My sensors have picked up something quite unusual, madam.”

Raising her brow, Mal gestures, “What do you mean?”

Hal responds with an almost uncharacteristic concerning tone of voice, “Madam, it would seem as though the specifications you precisely inscribed into my programming have matched what my sensors detected.”

Wearily, Hal asks what Mal wanted to do as she stood with silent awe.

“Where is it coming from?” Mal wanted to know.

Harkening back to its sensors, Hal informs her, “From what I’ve gathered, madam, it’s… coming from somewhere in Tennessee. What should we do?”

Chewing on her inner lip, Mal silently paces around her bunker before asking, “Is it moving?”

Affirming that the sensors indicated there’s periodical movement, Hal watched with its eyes as Mal silently paces around her bunker.

“Madam, whatever you decide, know that I stand behind you, 100%,” Hal assures her that whatever she decided on doing, it would accept the decision wholeheartedly. 

Stopping in place, Mal exhales, “That’s just it, Hal, I don’t know what to do.”

Worried, Hal comes up to her with confusion as it asks, “Madam, are you alright, perhaps some more tea will smooth your nerves?”

Chapter Text

Traveling through the darkened area with lighting illuminating the skies above and the booming thunder afterwards, Rose and Harold quickened their pace as they ran through the darkness trying to avoid sudden potholes.

Shielding their faces as the wind got worse, they came to a fork in the road with two paths and when Rose checked her Pip-Boy, she found the map had gone offline due to the looming storm overhead.

“Where should we go?” Harold asks her.

Chewing on her inner lip, Rose feels the wind passing by her and points to the left of the fork.

Nodding, Harold follows her as they hurried while blinding lighting illuminated the skies above once more before the booming thunder hit.

The path was still uneven, it was even enough for them to keep up their pace as they hurried.

In the distance, they see illuminated signs and the tell-tale signs of a settlement up ahead.

Nearly breathless, the two finally reach a settlement shortly before the wind started whipping through the area, phantom shrills as it forcibly passes through.

Upon stepping inside the illuminated building with a neon sign showing it was an inn, the two hear the rain beginning to pour like the waterfall outside the doors.

The smell of heavy rain began wafting through the inn as the two went up to the counter where a man was nodding off.

“The rainstorms really know how to put you in a mood, I swear!” He rubs his eyes before he lowers his hand to see Rose and Harold standing before him.

Raising her two fingers, Rose requests, “Two rooms, please.”

Nodding, the man reached under the counter and brought out his book.

Flipping through the pages, he states that there’s some openings the two can take, before telling them the price.

Handing them the requested number of caps, Rose receives the keys and hands one to Harold.

Stepping around the counter, the man guides them to their rooms.

Stopping at one, he points at it as he tells them that it was Rose’s.

“See you in the morning!” Rose cheerfully says before she steps into her room for the night.

The man then brought Harold to his room before disappearing down the hall.

Entering his room for the night, Harold closes the door behind him and exhales sharply before drawing himself a bath.

The hot water eases his muscles as he relaxes to the sounds of heavy rain hitting the window.

Soon enough, they’ll be in Memphis.

Hopefully, Harold will learn of a new settlement from someone down there that will have what he needs.

Somewhere safe, most importantly.

He’ll endear himself to the settlement as a doctor and hopefully his troubles will be over, he will find a new home, and he won’t have to keep his head on a swivel so much.

Of course, Harold bitterly knew not to get ahead of himself and how quickly things would change for the worse, considering how quickly the previous settlement’s fate.

Perhaps the minutemen will be in the new settlement and that would improve things drastically for him he won’t need to worry.

Time will tell, but with the time he has relaxing in the bathtub, Harold contemplates his fate.

Having left his vault and stepping out into the world, attempting to settle down in the previous settlement ending in abject failure with the raiders killing them all, and somehow, he was still alive.

Don’t know whether to laugh or just cry, only that he survived despite everything that happened to him thus far.

Having had enough of the bath, Harold pushed himself out of it, and got dressed in clothes that smelled distinctly of him, but there wasn’t a luxury of washing them easily, thus he had no choice but to deal with it until he found new clothes.

Settling in the bed in the clothes he met Rose in with his leather armor on the hook, Harold hears the booming thunder outside the window.

Sighing, Harold tries to relax as the sounds of the rain continue hitting the window.

Closing his eyes, Harold drifted off to sleep, and come morning, it was muggy out, and the skies still black.

Opening his eyes, Harold groggily moves his head to see the darkness of the skies from the bed, and he pushes himself out of it.

Rubbing his eyes, feeling the crust pulling away under his fingertips, Harold grabs his glasses, before moving around the room recollecting his belongings.

Going up to the door, he opened it and found Rose outside once more waiting for him.

“He says there’s flooding in parts,” Rose informs him how the owner of the inn warns her how the heavy rain caused flooding on some of the roads further south.

Fortunately, the owner gave her workarounds for the flooded areas, but it would take longer to reach Memphis.

“Better to know now than later, is your Pip-Boy finally working, again?” Harold inquires before Rose nods.

The map turned back on once many of the storms went over, so they have that.

“Hm, it would still be dangerous to continue until everything dries out. We don’t want to get caught in a flash flood,” Harold suggests.

While she may be eager to reach Memphis, Rose can’t deny that it was a safer bet than trying their luck.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, besides I just took a bath,” Rose sighs.

She didn’t want to deal with dried mud stuck to her clothes, either something Harold can understand as he joins her side.

Rested, they went downstairs and paid for another night to accommodate for the rain.

The owner gave them recommendations on where to go for lunch and they stepped out to the mud riddled settlement.

The humidity hits their faces as they move down the wooden steps onto the muddy ground.

Harold stopped Rose promptly when he noticed two men having a stand-off.

One wearing dusty clothes and the other wearing an outfit that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary of a western.

Their eyes locked and their hands hovering over their respected holsters, the men silently anticipate the other’s moves.

Sensing the danger, Harold pushes Rose to go adjacent of the men and he follows her closely, leaving the men to their duel.

Once they’re safely away, they found a spectator watching it unfold to ask what was happening.

“Our hotshot minuteman caught Mark stealing,” Velvet crosses her arms as she leans on the post of a store.

Evidently, Mark wouldn’t come willingly with the minuteman to the sheriff’s department, so the minuteman is prepared for the worst.

“Is that something Mark does around here?” Rose sheepishly asks.

Sighing, Velvet went into an itinerary list of everything Mark stole, and it ended with Velvet saying he also stole her, “V-Card.”

Dumbfounded, Rose was about to ask for context before Harold stops her as he noticed the men stiffly moving their hands.

“I guess this settlement isn’t too fond of the minutemen, right?” Rose inquires as Harold pushes her to get behind the wooden pillars for safety.

Indifferently shrugging, Velvet says, “Eh, we’re used to yokels coming and saying they’re god’s gifts before their asses are shot. But this one’s different. He doesn’t bother me and the girls working, only to make sure we’re doing fine, really.”

Evident what Velvet does to make a living, she seen her share of hotshots coming into the settlement and causing hoopla, one of which is the decimation of her and the other women’s brothel in their misguided beliefs.

The new minuteman that came into their settlement not long ago showed similar traits, but put the caps where his mouth is, and he doesn’t hassle them over their work.

He was more interested in keeping them safe.

Everyone in the settlement was safe, really.

“He makes sure the riffraff doesn’t stay around,” Velvet adds.

Before the minuteman arrived, Velvet and the other women dealt with rapacious men and worse.

Once the minuteman established himself as someone who can be trusted, he made sure those men don’t bother Velvet and the other women.

Since, they were able to operate their brothel without fear.

“Ow!” Mark cries out as the minuteman effortlessly shot his knee, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Overtaking him easily, the minuteman calmly states, “I can’t have you stealing, Mark.”

Complaining about the pain in his knee, Mark was comforted by the minuteman that he will receive medical attention once he is brought to the sheriff’s department for pending charges.

No one in the settlement batted an eye as everything went down, Velvet said it was common that no one reacts anymore.

“Well, what an interesting morning that was, now if you excuse me, I have work to do. Come by and see us, we’re always looking for a good time. Oh, and one of the girls has a thing for the astute gentleman types. Her name’s Grace, she loves to paint,” Velvet pushes herself off the post as she prepared to take her leave, but not before winking at Harold.

Visibly blushing, Harold rapidly blinked as he exhaled sharply.

“She’s certainly something, right Mr. Harold?” Rose sighs.

Once the dust settled, they went on to find a place to eat.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Gram, you’re gonna bust the damn thing!” Selma laments as she watches the old ghoul fussing with the radio on the counter while the patrons behind quietly ate their meals and drank from their cups.

Undeterred, Gram stated, “I was an electrician before the bombs dropped, Selma, I know what I’m doing!”

From fridges to stovetops to wiring in houses, Gram did it all, until that day came, and he was hoisted into the new world as a ghoul.

His once olive skin turned sickly green with red veins, his nose gone, his voice went from silky smooth to making the sounds of broken blenders, Gram struggled to find meaning as a ghoul before settling in the south.

People didn’t treat him as badly as those in the Capital Wasteland did before he migrated, granted the “Yankees” didn’t shy away from their bias against him, but at least the southerners dress their insults nicer.

Found his home in this settlement that’s called Marcia, endearing himself as an electrician that kept the settlement well-lit at night, something important with the nocturnal mutants and the occasional raider trying to surprise the settlement with guerrilla tactics, and to help wayward travelers find their way to safety.

Sure, he still has some people giving him lip for being a ghoul, but he challenged anyone to do a good job he did rewiring the whole settlement with discarded junk!

“Hah! See!” Gram triumphantly says as he got the radio to finally work and by fine tuning it, he got it reach further out than before.

A station pops up during the scans and the DJ calls himself the Moose as he brought old classics to the airwaves that he or donors found during their travels across the country.

“This is the Moose! You’re listening to 69.3 Moose FM! Broadcasting out of an abandoned furniture store where it smells like pine all the time, but it’s fine. We got some storms coming in, folks. Spring showers may bring flowers, but what they never tell you’s the chances for some severe storms. Remember the Moose’s wisdom, folks, it could save your lives. I know the minutemen have been a contentious subject for some of you, but they’ve been doing some good work keeping folks safe during these storms,” a cheerful man calls out over the radio as he begins his hourly broadcast. “Some minutemen came by the station to tell me that they’ve devised a system that would allow people to find safety if these storms get wicked, especially at night. Flare guns. I know what you’re thinking but hear the Moose out. There are minutemen dotting the state and they’re all equipped with specialty flare guns. If they get the word some mean storms are moving through the state, they will use them to alert travelers on the road of safe havens. Remember folks, you can shoot a copperhead dead, but you ain’t doing much against Mother Nature. While you might not trust them, the minutemen are doing some good. I’m told they’ve been nipping some of the mutant population in the bud. Raiders, too. So, there you have it, folks, your hourly report. Stay safe, stay dry, and most of all, folks, listen to the Moose! 69.3 Moose FM, where we play all the classics!”

Music started playing throughout the building and the patrons quietly listen to it as they ate.

“Well, that’s good news, at least that saves us ammo,” Rose comments as she sat at the table with Harold.

Nodding, Harold sighs, “But, better safe than sorry.”

They continue eating as they listen to the music playing on the radio and at the conclusion of their meal, the Moose comes back with a sudden report that came to him.

“This is the Moose from 69.3 Moose FM, sorry for cutting in, but we got word about more decimated raider camps towards the west. I know what you’re thinking, ‘who cares, they’re raider camps!’ And you’d be right, but this wasn’t the work of the minutemen. They’re saying that the raiders killed each other, seemingly for no reason. You heard it here, folks. And the minutemen have suspicion that this isn’t in-fighting gone horribly wrong and have concerns about potential escalation. The leader of the Southern Minutemen Institute has said that this is deeply concerning and has requested if anyone knows anything to contact him via your settlement’s minuteman. If your settlement does not have a minuteman on hand, please direct your tips to whomever is your local sheriff. This is the Moose and you’re listening to 69.3 Moose FM! We have the classics!”

The music returns and Rose shares looks with Harold.

“You think it’s him?” Rose whispers as she leans forward the table.

Shrugging, Harold whispers back as he leans forward, too, “Who knows, maybe the raiders turned on each other, it happens more than you think.”

Still, it didn’t ease their nerves.

If it’s true and the same man the raider and Ferryman Fisk saw was behind the raider camps’ decimation, then Rose and Harold would be at a loss for words, and unsure what to say or do.

“Who cares about them raiders, they fucks us over enough, why does it matter if they are killing each other, they’re doing the lord’s work!” One of the patrons spat.

Overhearing this, Gram spoke up in his guttural voice, “If they’re killing each other, sure it could be them getting into it, but if it’s some sort of illness or something, we’d want to know for sure.”

While he hated raiders as much as anyone, he himself knew that if there’s a chance of some pathogen going around causing raiders to kill each other seemingly for no reason, then the settlers would need to know.

The patron grumbles before going back to his bowl of chili and as the music filled the air, Rose and Harold grew quiet as they’re deep in their thoughts.

One hand, it’s raiders, but if it’s the man they’re thinking of behind it, then the two fears what else he may be capable of doing.

“Should we report him?” Rose sheepishly asks for Harold’s opinion.

As he pushes up his glasses, Harold replies with uncertainty in his voice, “I’m not sure secondhand accounts will pass for muster, Rose.”

And if they’re wrong in their assumption, then they’d just cause more problems.

Deep in their thoughts once more, Rose digests in her chair before she earnestly says, “Well, it’s not like he’ll know it’s us, right, he never saw us before.”

Under the cover of anonymity, they can report the man with the round glasses to the minuteman in the settlement.

They can stress it was secondhand accounts from two different sources and there may be holes in the accounts, so they cover themselves.

“Okay-Dokey, we’re seeing the minuteman after this,” Rose said as she proceeds to drink from her glass.

Upon finishing their meals and paying for them, the two were out into the settlement proper, where they search for the minuteman.

They found him in the sheriff’s department having patched Mark up from the earlier standoff.

“What brings you folks here today?” Minuteman Moses asks them.

Sucking air through her teeth, Rose gestures as she explains to him, “We heard over the radio you were supposed to take any information we may have on the party responsible for those raider camps.”

Nodding, the minuteman gestures, “Sure. Our leader gave us the heads up. Why, you folks know something?”

Clearing her throat, Rose begins with, “Well, I’m sure you know about Ferryman Belmont, right?”

Nodding, Moses replies how he’s aware of the death and gave his sympathies to the deceased man, but frowns as he added how the ferrymen wouldn’t accept the minutemen’s help.

“Well. We talked to the other ferryman, and he said that he wasn’t just murdered by the raiders. They were being led by a man,” Rose weakly gestures.

Eying her with curiosity, the minuteman adjusts himself in his seat as he attentively asks, “What do you mean?”

Describing the man wearing a nice suit and had round glasses, the same description given to her and Harold by Ferryman Fisk, Rose then collaborated with what the raider she and Harold encountered on their way to Albion.

Writing everything down, Moses raises his brow as he reads his report.

“You’re saying this man talked the raiders into killing each other?” Moses wearily eyes Rose.

Shrugging, Rose asserts, “It can’t be coincidence, sir. Who else can walk away unscathed from going into these camps?”

Flabbergasted, Moses questions her with, “Why would he intentionally go into these camps if he doesn’t intend on taking anything from them?”

A good question.

“I don’t know, sir, but it’s what we heard,” Rose stresses her points.

With the sparse details and a rough sketch of the man from Ferryman Fisk’s account, the minuteman checked over his work before asking if they’re sure this was a possible suspect.

“We have no reason to lie to you,” Harold points out how he and Rose were mere travelers.

Sighing, Moses then finalized the account and the sketch before thanking the two for coming to him.

“If this information turns out to be the truth, you likely helped prevent something worse happening,” Moses thanks them.

Chapter Text

His journey into the wasteland finding his marks took the seasoned ghoul to a settlement called Albion where he began his search once more, but with the storms looming over them, he would have to stay for a bit until the storms passed and thus, he took in the scenery of another settlement trying to survive the wasteland each day.

No minutemen were in this settlement, so he didn’t have problems operating out in the open, of course that was probably a good thing since Vandal didn’t want to deal with another one, again.

Pain in the ass red tape!

Still, he got what he needed from his time in Alameda, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

Wearing plainly like his black long coat, the ghoul moves through the settlement before stopping at a place called Beal Hall, he headed straight to the counter.

“Looks like you spent too much time in the sun!” Vandal hears the guttural voice of a ghoul coming towards him.

Chuckling, Vandal shrugs as he says, “Nothing wrong with a little Vitamin D.”

Grissom snorts, “And some radiation! Heh, ah, hell some life, right?”

Nodding, Vandal sighs, “Ain’t that the truth. Mind I get something? I been walking my nonexistent ass off!”

Grissom fetched him a cold drink and Vandal thanked him.

Sipping on his drink, Vandal hears Grissom ask, “So, what brings you here?”

Resting his glass on the countertop, Vandal informs him, “On a hunt for two marks.”

Curious, Grissom asks, “Who’re you hunting?”

Showing him two pictures, Grissom looks them over before shaking his head.

“Nah, I’d remember their faces. Sorry, cuz,” Grissom frowns.

Thanking him for his time, Vandal shifted topics to ask about rumors and whatnot, figuring he could get something out of his extended time here in Albion.

“Ah, you know, some idiot did kill himself by eating an entire box of Abraxo because he thought the raiders have some kind of sickness,” Grissom thoughtfully says.

Curiosity in his dark eyes, Vandal inquires more, and learns how raiders are seemingly killing each other for no reason.

“I don’t mind raiders taking themselves out, but you know how it is,” Grissom sighs.

Don’t know more than what the Moose on the radio says about the situation, but Grissom admits he hopes it was just induced paranoia and not something pathogenic.

“Heya Grissom!” Someone calls out to him as he steps through the doors.

Glancing up, Grissom greets Courtesy as he comes by to have something to eat and drink.

“Still a little sore, eh? Might have to talk like a ghoul to get by!” Grissom chuckles as Courtesy took a seat at the bar as he rubbed his eyes.

Lowering his hand, Courtesy shots back, “Might just have to take up a different job if I can’t talk normally. Is there an opening?”

Snorting, Grissom playfully mocks, “Like I’d trust you around aged bourbon! What’ll it be tonight, Court?”

Settling on the barstool, Courtesy requests his usual.

“You got it,” Grissom smiles as he goes to put in his order.

Coughing, Courtesy gingerly touches his throat as he sighs.

“Didn’t think they still did tours!” he heard Vandal next to him muse.

Meekly shrugging, Courtesy says, “It’s a living!”

Impressed that there were people willing to go on tours, Vandal compliments Courtesy on seizing a niche while he had the chance.

“Here you go, Court, I scrounged up some cough drops for ya, menthol. It’ll be a bit for your dinner,” Grissom came back with a bag of cough drops.

Thanking him, Courtesy asks how much he owes.

“Aw, this one’s on the house,” Grissom smirks.

With his cough drops, Courtesy decides to talk to Vandal while he waits for his dinner.

“Bounty hunter, huh?” Courtesy gestures.

Stiffly nodding, Vandal responds with, “Pays the bills.”

Acknowledging this with a nod, Courtesy asks, “Seen a fair bit, huh?”

Gesturing with his gloved hand, Vandal answers, “About. I’ve been here and there.”

Since he took on the job as a bounty hunter, Vandal has seen more things than anyone could imagine, drunk or sober.

“So, what brings you to Albion?” Courtesy continues.

Casually, Vandal told him he was on a twofer job, he had a source point him here.

“Hm, no luck?” Courtesy blinks as he felt the soothing menthol coat his throat.

A grin on his face, Vandal says, “I don’t need luck, kid. I just need a direction.”

There’s a reason why he gets chosen more than any other bounty hunter in the south.

“Minutemen must be bad for business for ya, then!” Courtesy muses.

Acknowledging this, Vandal remained composed as he said, “I have my ways.”

Their conversation gets stopped when Grissom comes back with Courtesy’s order, and he thanks the old ghoul.

“Please, I’m just doing my job!” Grissom chuckles before asking Vandal if he needed anything.

Raising an empty beer bottle, Vandal requests more beers, and Grissom obliges.

With his meal in front of him, Courtesy quickly went to work on it, and as he does, Grissom reaches up to turn on the radio.

Music plays as he leaves to tend fetch more beer for Vandal and take care of other customers.

“Hm, must be a friend to get that kinda meal on the house,” Vandal astutely points out.

Wiping down his face with a napkin, Courtesy explains, “Grissom and my pa go way back. He’s kinda like an uncle to me.”

Before he was even an inkling, Courtesy’s father and Grissom became unexpected friends, and it was because of their friendship Grissom was able to live in Albion without issue.

Simple threats have their uses with Courtesy’s father threatening to shut his factory down if the settlement wouldn’t treat Grissom with some sliver of respect.

It was enough to get them off Grissom’s back and that was that.

In return, Grissom kept an eye on Courtesy whenever he strayed from his father’s side.

“Ghoul for an uncle, who woulda thunk it!” Vandal couldn’t help but laugh.

Still, he was touched how Grissom came to becoming a staple in Albion.

Their conversation was stopped once again by the radio host switching the music off to give a broadcast.

“This is the Moose coming in with a bulletin. The details are scarce now, but tipsters reached out to the minutemen. They claim that the raiders from our last story didn’t kill each other. It was a man. He didn’t go guns a-blazing, like you’d think, no folks, he used his words. You heard it here, folks. A man with a silver tongue convincing raiders to kill each other. And I thought I heard everything. The leader of the Southern Minutemen Institute has promised to investigate all possible leads and report his findings later. If you have a tip you want to give, visit your local minutemen. If you don’t have a minuteman, direct all tips to your local sheriffs. This is the Moose and you’re listening to 69.3 Moose FM. We have the classics!”

Once he finished, the radio host switched the music back on.

“A man convinced raiders to kill each other?” Courtesy raises his brows in confusion.

He caught a glimpse of Vandal’s eyes sparkling and he then got Grissom’s attention.

Handing him the caps for his beers, Vandal thanks him before leaving.

Putting the caps up, Grissom hears Courtesy ask him, “You heard anything like that before?”

Closing the cash register, Grissom responds, “I’ve heard of people talking themselves out of trouble, yeah, not outright convince people to kill each other.”

Not to say it wasn’t possible, but the way the radio host made it sound, the man somehow controlled the raiders into killing each other.

“Sounds hokey, Grissom,” Courtesy shakes his head as he doubted it was something like that.

Pointing at himself, Grissom reminds Courtesy, “And you’re talking to a ghoul, kid.”

Sure, it may sound insane now, but with the world as it is, who knows if there’s any merit to Grissom’s perception.

He sees a look in Courtesy’s copper eyes before asking what was on his mind before Courtesy worryingly asks, “You think they’ll be, okay?”

Referring to Rose and Harold, he wondered if they were okay since leaving Albion.

Sighing, Grissom assures him, “So long they stay on the path, they should be fine.”

He hears an uneasy, “Well, what if there’s some truth to the Moose’s report?”

A man convincing the raiders to kill each other, well, that might be fine if it’s only raiders, but to what end can he do to normal settlers with that silver tongue of his?

“It’ll be okay, the reports are in the west of here, they’re going south,” Grissom attempts reassuring Courtesy.

Trying to find some sort of comfort in Grissom’s words, Courtesy frets, “Those reports are hours old, maybe days.”

Sighing, Grissom broaches, “Unless you’re willing to get dirty and go down there to see, you’re better off glued to the radio. Besides, once they get to Memphis, they ought to be fine. Those idiots down there can’t possibly be convinced to kill each other.”

Elvis impersonators for you, so deeply involved in their delusions being the late great King, they’ll likely ignore everything the man says to them because they only take orders from their beloved King and no one else.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. We don’t have a description of him, anyway,” Courtesy tapes his fork against his glass deep in thought.

Chapter Text

“So, are there vaults here in Tennessee?” Rose asks Billy Lincoln of the Curious Shop as she stopped by it with Harold since they’re waiting for an opportunity to leave the settlement.

Stacking boxes on top of one another, Billy answers, “I would imagine so, little girl, there’s probably hundreds of the damn things.”

If he had to guess, there’s at least three vaults in the three sections of the state in accordance with the flag.

One in West Tennessee.

One in Middle Tennessee.

And one in East Tennessee.

“They would probably be close to the larger cities,” Rose speculates.

Moving on to another stack of boxes, Billy recalls, “I’m sure they are, makes sense to strategically place them in the more populated areas.”

Then again, with the rumors and stories he heard over the years, Billy wouldn’t be surprised if there were vaults in the rural parts of the state.

And what they entail, he doesn’t or wants to know.

“Hell, you’re wearing one of those fancy Pip-Boys, that alone should tell you what you need to know about the vaults!” Billy waves his free hand as he carries a box to a spot in the store.

Even if vault dwellers come out squeaky clean, they’re still green to the wasteland, and they won’t last long.

Harold stealthy stopped Rose from exposing herself as a vault dweller as Billy continued his rant.

“We’ve had raiders disguise themselves as vault dwellers once, thought they were slick, too, until one of them blabbed how fortunate it was, they “killed those sappy eyed vault dwellers came to their camp” and killed them!”

Sighing, Billy stopped ranting as he laments, “Well, it’s a damn shame what the world came to, that it makes me wonder, y’know?”

Finishing restocking his shelves, Billy moved on to tending to his store with Rose walking around with her arms behind her back as she looked upon the different shelves of trinkets that Billy sold.

She stops when she notices a teddy bear with glasses on it.

Picking it up, Rose shows it to Harold as he found some medical books Billy found.

“Look, Mr. Harold!” Rose smiles.

Seeing the teddy bear with glasses like his, Harold gave a light chuckle.

Sitting it back down, Rose moves on to the next thing that catches her eyes.

Easily recognizable despite it being slightly burnt, Rose picks up a Vault-Boy bobblehead that still moves as she flicks her finger against the head.

“Oh, that thing, yeah, you can find them hereabouts, guess they come from those vaults, who knows,” Billy mentions as he went on to sit behind his counter.

Seeing something familiar, it gave Rose delight, even though the Vault-Boy bobblehead had seen better days.

Deciding that it would serve as a totem of the reminder she promised her father, Rose brought it to the counter for Billy to price it.

“For you, little girl, 50 caps,” Billy decrees the price.

Nodding, Rose hands it over with no hesitation as she holds her totem.

Dropping the caps into the cash register, Billy thanked her for her purchase.

With the Vault-Boy in hand, Rose asks Harold if he wanted anything from the store, and he rests the textbooks on the counter for Billy to price.

“Academic, huh?” Billy sees the books.

Nodding, Harold masks his history by saying, “What else are you going to do in the wasteland?”

Billy retorts, “Ah, better than what some idiots are doing with their free time. Okay, these are about 20 caps.”

Handing over the amount, Harold retrieves them, and he leaves with Rose with their haul.

“What are you going to do with those?” Rose inquires.

Sighing, Harold admits, “I lost all mine when our caravan was attacked.”

While they weren’t in good condition, they were still legible, and that’s good enough for Harold.

Giving an understanding nod, Rose assures him she understands, before they head back to the inn for the night.

Returning to her room, Rose sat down with her Vault-Boy on the nightstand.

“We’re almost at Memphis, dad, we’re going to get the parcel to him, don’t you worry,” Rose said to it.

Crazy, Rose knows, however it was some comfort she had since she came out of her vault on her journey.

Still wedged in her mind, Rose wonders about the parcel her father made her promise would get to the recipient in Memphis.

What was inside it?

Why would her father want it delivered to someone in Memphis?

How would he know a city like it exists out the vault?

So many questions swirled in Rose’s head that she wondered quietly to herself while sitting on the uncomfortable bed.

“Dad, what did you get yourself mixed up in?” Rose whispers to herself as she forces herself to get some sleep as tomorrow, they’re leaving for the alternative path to Memphis.

It was hard, but Rose finally went to sleep, and when she got up, she collected her belongings and left her room to meet with Harold.

With their belongings collected and equally refreshed, the two depart from the inn, on the alternative route to Memphis that should be cleared of flash flood risks.

Checking her Pip-Boy, Rose locates a radio module that she set to 69.3 allowing her and Harold to continue listening to the radio during their journey.

Mostly it was music, but with the volume rocker and the ability to mute it quickly when needed, it kept things from getting too quiet for their comfort.

Mostly Harold, but it was understandable.

“Now, it says there’s no settlement out here, I guess we’re going to need to find a place to hunker down tonight,” Rose checked the map.

Sighing, Harold responds with, “It was nice while it lasted, but suppose we’ll find an abandoned house to stay in.”

Acknowledging this with a nod, Rose comments that once they’re back on the proper path, there should be a stopgap before Memphis they can stop through.

“Any settlements striking your fancy, Mr. Harold?” Rose asks about his opinions on the places they visited thus far.

Gesturing, Harold answers, “I much prefer a quieter settlement.”

He’ll find one eventually, it’ll take some time, like anything else.

“You know, Mr. Harold, you could always come back to the vault with me, I’m sure my dad would love to have another doctor,” Rose offered him.

While she’s aware of the truth behind the vaults and the various experiments they underwent, vehemently she said her vault was safer than the topside, and Harold gave it some thought before expressing that he gotten used to the fresh air.

Humid and dangerous as it is, Harold was able to see the skies, the vast lands that he never knew existed until he left his vault.

“However, I thank you for your offer,” Harold expressed while he declined the offer, he still appreciates it, nonetheless.

Gesturing, Rose says, “Well, whenever you change your mind, it’s still good.”

Continuing their journey, they stopped when they heard chittering noises.

Quickly alert, Harold drew his pistol while Rose held the shotgun.

“Are you sure you can handle it, Rose, the kickback might be too strong for you,” Harold worries about her.

Exhaling sharply, Rose goes, “Gotta learn, right, Mr. Harold?”

Slowly nodding, Harold moves with her, and as he does, he sees something moving adjacent to them.

Raising its head, the large copper headed snake moves its head towards them, the black forked tongue flickering as its yellow slit eyes narrow on theirs.

Exhaling sharply, Rose coughs, “Okay-Dokey!”

Squeezing the trigger of the shotgun, the kickback was unlike anything she ever felt before, and she nearly dropped her gun.

Despite her being unused to firing a gun before, the shots land on the copperhead snake that had mutated to be larger than it was originally and its venom growing more potent.

Letting out a hiss, the copperhead recoils before attempting to strike, however Harold shoots it with his pistol.

Fortunately, Harold had some minor training with guns during his time in the settlement he stayed in, though he wasn’t as hyper trained like some of the settlers, he managed to be proficient with small handguns.

It didn’t matter when the raiders attacked the caravan, however, since using a firearm would just end up with him being killed.

Keeping his concentration and giving Rose similar instructions, Harold kept firing at the copperhead as it lurches towards them, blood oozing from its wounds.

“Try to get it in the head!” Harold urges Rose.

Following his instructions to the best of her advantage, Rose struggles to line her shots, and shoots again.

The kickback wasn’t as bad as before, still made Rose sore, yet she lined her shots well-enough that it hit the copperhead in the eyes and head.

Dropping like a heavy sack on the ground, the dead copperhead tightly curled itself as it dies as a reflex.

“Are you okay?” Harold asks her.

Gingerly touching her side, Rose comments, “I didn’t learn this in the vault, Mr. Harold!”

Chapter Text

Sore from the kickback, Rose trudges onward with Harold beside her, he warned her that she will expect bruises and not to panic when she saw them when she inevitably takes another bath.

It was normal for inexperienced gun users to have bruising, but in time, Rose will become accustomed to the pain, and as she gains knowledge using the shotgun, she won’t worry about bruising terribly for much longer, it’ll just be a minor inconvenience.

“Not sure about the ringing in my ears, though,” Rose admits how she didn’t care for it.

Giving an understanding nod, Harold warns of possible hearing damage, but being they are in a peculiar time, that can be remedied, so Rose shouldn’t panic.

“Although, if you are not a fan of tangerine, I got bad news for you,” Harold then warned how the remedy has a tinge taste of the citrus.

Rose admits, “I… never had a tangerine before.”

Harold then says, “Well… either you like it, or you don’t, but in this regard, it will be worth overlooking the taste if it’s not your fancy.”

Unfortunately, none of the vendors they met had the remedy, but he hoped someone in Memphis would sell it.

At most, he can make it himself, but he would need specific ingredients of pure quality and equipment to synthesize it, which in the wasteland is a tall order unto itself.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Mr. Harold,” Rose put on a brave face as she gingerly touched her side.

Asking if she’d prefer the handgun instead, Rose points out that she needed to learn how to use the shotgun, and how Mal and Harold helped drill into her head she needed to learn how to survive out in the wasteland.

It would be detrimental if she swapped guns for no reason.

“Only if you’re sure,” Harold frowns as he watches Rose trudge along the uneven path.

Going along the path, the two made strides, and they saw a massive, abandoned rock quarry pit where the floodwater went over the sides like a waterfall.

Harold notes that settlers learnt to use the abandoned quarries in their areas to control flooding by creating motes with whatever they found to draw the floodwater towards the quarries.

Often, they would need to stack more wood and what else since the sediments will often bury the motes.

He saw some tall, around twenty feet tall with makeshift ladders helping settlers climb to the top.

When he lived in the settlement, there were talks of creating makeshift pits to further help control the floodwater, but the plans never came to light since the settlement opted to abandon the area outright to the raiders.

Considering it all, Harold wondered if they should’ve stayed in the area rather than go about the caravan idea.

“Mr. Harold, it was damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I might’ve not found you if your settlement stayed in place,” Rose brings up the possibility.

Weighing it in his mind, Harold admits she was right with a heavy sigh.

With the increased raider attack on the settlement, it was a doomed situation, either they were attacked in the caravan or their settlement.

His chances of dying would have gone up considerably since the raiders in that area would ensure everyone in the settlement was dead before they pillaged it into the ground if they didn’t burn it down first.

“Well, you’re safe now,” Rose shows her optimism.

Seeing what she was trying to do, Harold appreciated her for the attempt.

Checking her Pip-Boy, Rose alerts Harold to somewhere they can stop for the time being as they spot more gray clouds moving in from the west with rumbles of thunder in the distance.

Mindful of their steps as they went over the mud-covered road, Rose points to an abandoned gas station off the side.

It wasn’t what she wanted for a place to sleep at night, but much of the glass was intact and it looked untouched for a while.

Following her towards it, Harold watches as she goes up the front door and presses her face against the glass.

“I don’t see anyone!” Rose says as she proceeds to open the door.

Following her inside, Harold smelled the telling age of the gas station left to rot for ages.

The shelves were picked clean decades ago and not much of the signage was left.

“Oh, look!” Rose grabs a forgotten bottle of a glowing blue Nuka Cola left untouched in the back of the industrial fridge.

Holding it in her hand, Rose raises her brow as she reads the label.

Nuka Cola Quantum

“Um, should this be glowing?” Rose looked towards Harold as he came close to seeing the bottle.

Scratching the side of his head, Harold responds, “I… don’t know… honestly…”

Rather than drinking it, Rose got the idea of using its glowing characteristic as a night light of sorts.

Checking the rest of the gas station, the two found remnants of a kitchen that somewhat still worked despite lack of maintenance.

The burner had enough fuel for boiling water as Harold wanted something other than the Sweetie Teas and the Nuka Colas they bought from the shops.

Despite the bombs, the settlers still retained some degree of architectural knowledge that allowed for tea leaves to still thrive.

Proudly stating on the boxes to been planted and harvested in Brentwood, Tennessee after rediscovering the techniques needed to grow and harvest the plants needed for the tea, the Brenton Tea bags are a common staple among the settlers in the south with their size and easy stowage compared to bottled tea.

Typically, black tea variants, the boxes mentioned having green tea and other varieties of flavors.

Using a mug, he found that he quickly washed out, Harold sat on one of the benches towards the back as he steeped his tea bag in the boiling water.

Rose requests to try some and Harold found a mug for her to use as she sat beside him mimicking him as she sees him periodically lift the tea bag up from the water before allowing it to sink once more.

Once the tea was steeped enough, Harold sips on his mug.

Normally, he’d add some sugar cubes, but of course, there were none in the gas station, and the shops didn’t have any, either only the loose bagged sugars.

Something he didn’t want to carry along with them, for obvious reasons.

“This is certainly an interesting experience,” Rose smiles as she sipped her tea, mindful of the hot water.

Never had tea quite like this before, but Rose and the other vault dwellers had freeze-dried coffee most of the time, which she supposes isn’t the same, and Harold confirms that tea and coffee are two separate things.

Finishing tea, the two went around covering the windows of the gas station with the automatic window covers as it started getting dark outside from the skies above thickening and blackening as another round of storms arrived in the area.

Assured the makeshift motes will guide excess floodwater to the quarry pits and then some, Rose went to work with Harold preparing their makeshift camp for the night.

“Oh, darn it!” Rose notices her Pip-Boy’s map functionality and radio signal were lost once more.

Jumping at the sound of the booming thunder above them, Harold sucks air through his teeth as he tries to calmly say, “It’ll be back once the storms move on, Rose.”

In the darkness with the glowing Nuka Cola Quantum bottle, the two worked to build a small fire as the rain started falling from the skies above in thick blobs.

Hitting the metal shield outside, it sounded like bullets the way the large droplets of rain fell.

Another low rumbling thunder echoed throughout the area as its downfalls outside.

“Think we’ll be, okay?” Rose asks Harold.

Assuring her they’ll be fine; Harold relaxes as he rubs his eyes as he tries to find a comfortable spot on the laminated floors.

It took a bit, the closeness of the lighting strikes keeping them on edge, but they eventually settled and went to sleep.

The pouring rain lulled them, and the thunder no longer bothers them terribly.

It took a bit before one of them woke up to a sound outside the gas station entrance.

At first, they thought it might’ve been hail or the wind sending the rain against the metal shield until there were meaningful audible hits.

“Rose!” Harold reached over to shake her awake.

It was a few tries before she woke up confused before becoming alert as he reached for his pistol.

Grabbing her shotgun, Rose stamps out the fire, and thought to use the glowing Nuka Cola Quantum to give them an edge against the unknown person pounding against the metal shielding.

“What about the back?” Rose worries.

Pushing whatever they can against the back door to keep it from opening even with the broken lock, Harold whispers how he was certain they were fine.

Until it dawned on him how it meant they were trapped in the gas station.

“We can just push the carts out of the way,” Rose whispers as she reaches out to touch him.

Worried that the person trying to get into the gas station wasn’t alone, Harold chews on his inner lip as he tries to come up with a plan.

He didn’t get a chance to speak when something bored through the metal shielding and shot something through the hole.

White smoke started filling the area and as the two started coughing, Harold started having tunnel vision as he felt his muscles becoming heavy, and he couldn’t walk properly.

All he remembered before he fell to the ground was someone forcibly opened the shielding.

Chapter Text

Unsure how long he was out for Harold slowly opens his eyes as he sees the inside of the gas station illuminated by a newly lit fire.

Attempting to move, Harold struggles, and as his mind catches up to him, he finds he was tied up.

Alarmed, his blue eyes darted around until he saw Rose tied up as well with her eyes focused on the person responsible.

A ghoul wearing all-black down to the hat on the top of his head.

“I’ll give you this, little lady, you have a mean throw,” groans their captor as he rubbed the side of his face.

Looking at his feet, Harold saw the broken Nuka Cola Quantum bottle.

Struggling against the rope, Rose triumphantly says, “I can throw more!”

Unable to move outside a few movements, Harold calls out to their captor, “What do you want?”

Crossing his arms, the captor says, “I wanted information, but the little lady put up a fight.”

Harold was out like a light, but Rose held up for a little while until she subsumed to the smoke bomb.

Realizing he hadn’t gotten the chance to introduce himself on account they were knocked out by the smoke bomb, he puts a gloved hand over his chest as he calls himself Vandal.

“What information do you want?” Harold was desperate to find out how to resolve this so he and Rose would be unharmed.

Reaching into his inner long coat pocket, the ghoul brought out two pieces of paper.

Unfolding them, he showed Harold and Rose two people.

“I had a feeling it was one of you that talked about my new bounty with a minuteman. Heard it over the radio,” Vandal eyes them.

Studying the pictures, the two see the one with the man wearing round glasses, and the other a woman.

Instantly, they recognized her, but kept it quiet as they wanted to know how Vandal decided to come after them, two innocent people who had no idea what was going on.

Unfortunately, the seasoned bounty hunter was wise to see through it.

“I’ve been a bounty hunter for the longest time, honey. Let’s just say I have my way,” Vandal cracks a smile.

There’s a reason he was the most sought-after bounty hunter for hire.

“We only know as much as you do!” Rose states she and Harold don’t know anything about the man with the round glasses.

Raising his gloved finger, Vandal points out, “You talked to a raider about him, didn’t you?”

Struggling, Rose explains how they came across the wounded raider and even helped him, but the only new thing about the man with the round glasses they learnt was he had an accent that isn’t common in the area.

“He told me that, yeah,” Vandal scratched the side of his face.

With both Harold and Rose asserting they know nothing else about the man with the round glasses other than what Fisk and the raider told them, Vandal went on to ask about the woman.

“Why do you think we know her?” Harold questions him.

Eying him, Vandal went into detail how the two went on their path getting to the shanty town initially.

There was a reason he was keeping an eye on them!

Logically, they would have a chance finding and encountering the woman.

“What did she do to… warrant a bounty hunter?” Rose questions Vandal.

Shrugging, Vandal answers, “I don’t ask. Bounties get wired to me and I do ‘em.”

So long the caps are good, Vandal doesn’t investigate the detail much.

“You must realize that no minutemen are going to tolerate you holding us captive!” Harold warns Vandal about the pushback.

Groaning, Vandal laments, “Don’t remind me! Minutemen! Can you believe that nonsense?”

It wasn’t long ago that Vandal could easily walk into a settlement to find his marks without problems, now he meditates with minutemen as they’re popping up in places.

If it isn’t marks hiding among raiders, it’s marks hiding where there are minutemen!

“But that’s the beauty of a vast land, always a way forward,” Vandal saw some silver lining.

Convinced the two know the woman, Vandal wouldn’t budge from the subject until he hears something.

Eventually, the two silently talked to one another until Rose asks Vandal, “If we tell you, will you let us go?”

Casually shrugging, Vandal answers, “It couldn’t hurt your chances.”

Chewing on her inner lip, Rose struggles before she breaks down and tells him.

He heard Rose say, “I ran into her, but I don’t know where she is exactly.”

His nonexistent ears perking up, Vandal listens as Rose talks about the woman that helped fix her Pip-Boy.

Topping off her story with, “I don’t know what else to tell you, sir.”

None of them could tell Vandal where the woman was exactly, but they saw a glint in his eye that suggested otherwise.

“Tell you what, you’re gonna come with me,” Vandal decided.

Immediately, Rose protested as she begged Vandal to let her and Harold go, but the season bounty hunter won’t reconsider.

“I said I’ll let you go, but I didn’t say when, did I?” Vandal grinned at Rose.

Using choice words, Vandal reveals his intent on keeping the two tied up with the explicit purpose of having them help locate his bounty.

“What about the other one?” Rose struggles.

Flatly, Vandal told her that because of the first bounty being worth more, it was no brainer he wanted it to be finished before someone catches wind and tries to steal it from.

“It’s business,” Vandal expresses.

As she struggles, Rose begs Vandal to reconsider, saying that she has an important task that she needed to do, and she’s not far from completing it.

“Please, we’ll help you find her, just let me get to Memphis!” Rose pleaded.

Curiosity in his eyes, Vandal wanted to know what was important to Rose that she needed to venture to Memphis.

“Not trying to be the new Priscilla, are you?” Vandal chuckles.

Gritting her teeth, Rose states, “My father asked me to do this, sir!”

Fighting against the ropes, Rose was desperate in her efforts, and Vandal was amused by this display before telling her that if she and Harold help him find the woman he’s searching for, he’ll take her to Memphis, himself.

Desperate, Rose chews on her inner lip before broaching, “What if… what if we work it out?”

She insists that she can pay off the bounty for the woman, to keep Vandal from taking her and Harold back across the river.

“You sure have a lot of caps,” Vandal revealed how he went through Rose’s things. “But it ain’t enough, little lady. This bounty’s too good to pass up. Unless you get lucky at cards, again, you’re not gonna afford the payout.”

The bounty was an eye watering 300k caps!

“That much?” Harold winces.

Nodding, Vandal explains that he was shocked as well when he initially received the bounty, and that’s why he was insistent on finding the woman.

“What if they can’t pay you?” Rose brings up a possibility.

Chuckling, Vandal responds with, “Little lady, I told you, I earned my keep for a reason. They can’t pay me; it’s going to be worse for them.”

He encouraged the two to get some sleep, they’re going to need it.

Difficult as it was, the two couldn’t sleep in fear of Vandal, and come morning, he made good on his promise, forcing them to walk goose step out of the gas station.

“Yeah, we better get moving, I think we’re due for some more storms,” Vandal yawns.

Chapter Text

Forced with Harold into walking back the way they came, Rose held a disheartened look on her face as the realization that her journey hit a wall and she will not be able to complete it until Vandal gets what he wants.

Suppose she should be thankful that Vandal didn’t tear it open with interest, but as the ghoul talks to them, he sees the world in a different lens than most can say.

That or he just plain didn’t care what was inside the parcel, hard to say.

Still, Rose was understandably livid that her journey was so close to finishing, only to be stopped by a bounty hunter.

Even if he promised to bring her to Memphis himself, Rose learnt during her time on the surface that he wouldn’t help her back to her vault without wanting something in return.

His head hung low, Harold silently questioned himself as he walked, he never glanced up at their captor, and was timid about catching his sight.

Vandal said that he would release Harold once he captured his bounty, but he never said he would help him find a settlement, and he doubted it wouldn’t be for free, either.

Sometimes he wonders if life would be different had he stayed in the vault and listened to his cohorts argue about the math equation all day.

Suppose he won’t know.

“Alright, kids, we’re stopping here for a spell,” Vandal decided to stop the two at an area.

Ensuring they couldn’t run by staking their restraints deep into the ground, Vandal sat down while he stretched.

“Ah, even as a ghoul, you’re still feeling it!” He bemoans as he felt his bones pop.

He thought it would be an unexpected perk that he wouldn’t have to worry about his bones creaking and whatnot, but it was more of the same, so he guesses that was better than fused bones and walking like an idiot.

Proceeding to dig through their things, Vandal brought out their drinks and quick snacks.

Bounty hunter he may be, Vandal hasn’t forgotten civility.

Restricted in their movements, he allows them to drink and eat without his help, as he kept a hand on the hilt of Betty.

Unable to speak with each other, Rose and Harold silently ate, as they felt the air growing humid as the hour passes, and Vandal says that with storms, high humidity before a storm hit meant a likely chance of being a bad one, provided it hadn’t collapsed or boomeranged to a different area, as is with the nature of the storms.

“You can drop the act, little lady, I know you’re no settler,” Vandal grins as he spots Rose meaningfully looking away as Vandal told her and Harold about the possible strong storms coming through the area in the coming hours or days.

Part of being a bounty hunter and all that.

Oh, the Pip-Boy helps, and he can tell it hasn’t left Rose’s side since she put it on.

Maybe she took it off once, but she kept it on herself, nonetheless.

“Okay, fine, what about it?” Rose bluntly asks.

Eying her, Vandal brings up, “Usually, you vault dwellers end up in someone or something’s stomachs and that’s if you don’t end up being staked over an open fire.”

Unable to move, Rose responds, “Maybe I’m just lucky?”

As he shrugs, Vandal muses, “Maybe you are, little lady, but with all luck, it always runs out eventually.”

It always does.

Believe him.

“I’m still alive. So’s he,” Rose points out.

True.

“Ah, but for how long?” Vandal retorts.

Something he learnt from people coming in from the Mojave, luck always comes and goes for people, while some may never know what a four-leaf clover looks like before they’re red paste.

Well, that was true for a good chunk of the Wasteland, if he was honest.

Once he felt they’re rested enough, he bound them in the restraints once more, and off they went with Vandal guiding them to different routes they wouldn’t normally take, but with him trying to avoid the minutemen, it was a necessity.

No hint of sarcasm, he assured them that he had everything mapped out in his mind and that they’d be back on the ferry in no time.

“What if she’s not there?” Rose broaches.

Vandal responds, “Well, if your information’s good, I’ll find her.”

Even if the bounty manages to clean up everything, he’ll find something that’ll lead him to her.

That said, he won’t stop until he gets his bounty.

Alive, as explicitly stated by the issuer of the bounty.

“What if she won’t come willingly?” Harold meekly speaks up after spending time in silence.

Pointing at Betty, Vandal answers, “I got my ways.”

Rest assured; Vandal has a way of getting his bounties completed.

He almost laughed as Harold stiffly leapt into the air as there’s an ominous-like loud thunder in the distance west of them.

“Trust me when I say you get used to them, especially around this time of year,” Vandal smirks as Harold exhales sharply.

Though there’s exceptions with every rule.

“Like what?” Rose challenges him.

Commenting Rose is “getting an attitude for being a vault dweller” Vandal informed her some of the dangers of springtime storms in the area.

Clouds turning ominously green and the breeze suddenly dying down with seconds to find shelter or else risk “disappearing into a green wall.”

Hail of inhumane sizes destroying everything it lands on, including causing deaths of several people who were caught in the storm.

“One of the worst things you can see’s red mornings!” Vandal wags his gloved finger.

Red mornings, take warnings.

Red nights, sailor’s delight.

“Why?” Rose opted to converse with her captor.

She knew she wasn’t going to convince him to let her, and Harold go or try to win him over so that he’s lenient with them, might as well learn what she can from him.

Adjusting himself in his spot, Vandal tells her, “When you see a red morning, you know some shit’s going to go down. Maybe it won’t happen in the afternoon, but it will happen at night. And if it does, well, my mama always told me to be prepared.”

Very distinct, it is unmistakable, and when eagle eyed people witness a red morning, they know to prepare for a rough night ahead, and maybe they will be lucky, but often, storms that come from red mornings aren’t merciful.

“And when they happen at night, it’s hell,” Vandal stresses.

That’s the worst thing that can happen to the two with Vandal recalling settlements disappearing seemingly overnight after rough storms come through.

Trust him.

“Versus red nights?” Rose eyes him.

Shrugging, Vandal responds, “Means smooth sailing for the sailors and a quiet night for the sleepy people huddled around a broken lamp.”

So far, Vandal hasn’t seen any red mornings, but granted it remains cloudy.

Technically spring, the storms will remain a mix bag, which for most people in the state, it can be hell trying to predict when one’s coming.

Or when one is going to be the worst thing they ever experienced.

People try to get ahead predicting the storms, as the two would have heard over the radio, and as Vandal was forced to acknowledge, the minutemen try and help wayward travelers on the lonely roads avoid getting caught in them.

“Ah, but who the hell wants to talk about the weather all day?” Vandal sighs as he opts to push the two forward as they trudge along the lonely road.

The skies remained a distinct black, not a hint of the sun, and the humidity was still high, Rose and Harold exhaled sharply as sweat ran down the sides of their faces despite the cloud covering the sun.

One of the perks of being a ghoul, Vandal didn’t have to worry about sweat getting in his eye, just the occasional sand particle stuck in his exposed nostril.

It was around evening when Vandal suddenly stopped in his tracks as he made Rose and Harold do the same.

“What’s wrong?” Rose saw Vandal gripping the handle of Betty.

Hushing her, Vandal pushes her and Harold into a hiding spot as he unholsters Betty.

Pushed next to Harold under a large flat rock hanging over the ground, Rose was unable to see what was happening as she struggled to move.

Jolted, Harold struggles as he tries to adjust himself while panic surges through his body.

Narrowing his eyes, Vandal slowly moves his head as he surveys the surrounding area, and at first, he didn’t see anything, but he heard subtle movement in the distance.

Staying in place, Vandal didn’t move so much as a muscle, and he caught movement adjacent to him.

From the movement, it was coming in fast, but wasn’t mechanical, so Vandal shot at it once, sending it spiraling as something tumbled off the top.

Sliding across the drenched ground dead, a body of a mutant horse.

Six-eyed and six legs, a sore sight, and rare to see around these parts.

Rarer, now.

Rolling on the ground was its rider and Vandal didn’t hesitate to overtake him as he held Betty against his temple.

“Wanna dance, little man?” Vandal shouts.

Chapter Text

Struggling on the ground as Vandal kept him pinned with his boot, the armored man shouts back at him, “Fuck you, leather face!”

Vandal calmly asks, “Where are your friends?”

The armored man refuses to tell him.

“It’s going to be worse for you if you don’t tell me,” Vandal warns him.

Still, the armored man was being difficult, so Vandal brought about the now-dead horse.

A rare horse like this doesn’t come cheap, unless it was stolen, and it would be foolish not to have backup in case someone attempts stealing one or from another thief.

“How many are there?” Vandal remained determined.

Finally, the armored man shouted, “Shoot the bastard!”

Sighing, Vandal shot him in the head, instantly moving away from the body as he held Betty close to him while searching for the others.

Adjacent of him, there was another gunshot, from a distance, and there, Vandal sees more armored men and women lining their shots at him on a large rock overlooking the area with vantage points.

Glistening teeth, Vandal remarks, “I like these odds!”

Using the dead man as a shield, Vandal shoots at the armored group, managed to splat an entire head with one shot, disarmed another one literary, and when the dead body was full of holes, Vandal switched to the horse as he continues firing back at them.

Couldn’t have been easy, could it?

Counting his bullets, Vandal times his shots, and after three successful hits, he quickly reloads.

Down to only a handful of the raiders left, Vandal prepares to finish them off, but they won’t realize it until too late they picked a fight with the wrong ghoul.

Loaded into Betty, Vandal points at a strategic spot, and fires a special bullet.

The moment it hit the rock the remaining raiders were on, instantly an explosion set off, splintering the rock as it fell onto the ground below.

Unable to flee, the raiders tumble downward as they’re assaulted by the rocks.

Once it came to a stop, it was heaps of rocks and blood, Vandal made sure there were no survivors.

Turning his head, Vandal returns to where he hid them, but found Rose and Harold missing.

He was going to assume they snuck off when he was busy with the raiders, but he caught sight of a scared raider hiding behind them as human shields with a gun pressed against Rose’s temple.

“Really?” Vandal exhaled sharply as he stared down at the raider.

In usual fashion, the raider wanted to go free, and was willing to use Rose and Harold.

“I’ll do it!” He threatens Vandal with his voice cracking.

His hand trembling, the raider would accidentally shoot someone with how he handled his plasma pistol.

Gritting his teeth, Vandal holsters Betty as he slowly raises his arms.

“Let ‘em go and you can walk,” Vandal brokers with the raider.

The raider disbelieved him.

“You can still come after me!” The raider panicked.

Scoffing, Vandal points out, “I already killed your merry band of morons, what else am I gonna do to ya?”

Unless the raider kills his bounties, that is when he won’t be so cordial.

The raider momentary stopped to think about his options when Rose decided for him by head-butting him hard in the stomach.

Dazed, the raider struggles, and as he does, Harold instructs Rose to follow his lead.

Struggling, Rose works with him to run in tandem.

Vandal became distracted by the recovered raider who proceeded to shoot at him, and Vandal managed to dodge the lasers as they flew.

Only lightly singed his shoulder, but he had worse things happen to him.

With Betty in hand, Vandal promptly shot him in the head, and he fell in a heap on the ground.

“I was trying to be nice!” Vandal exhales sharply.

Refocusing on Harold and Rose, Vandal found the muddy chaotic footprints they left behind in a bid to escape him.

So much for civility!

Thankfully, the ground was still wet from the rainfall, so the two left behind plenty of tracks for Vandal, and he can tell when they were muddying them.

No, the footsteps were more erratic, Rose was trying to go back, but Harold wouldn’t let her, and forced her to push onward.

Glint in his eye, Vandal casually retrieves the object that would have incited the response.

Rose’s knapsack.

It was lost amid the showdown with the raiders and panic has a funny way of losing sight of it.

The guns were still attached to it, but Vandal had already disabled them, so they’re useless.

Having already looked through the knapsack before, Vandal knew why Rose wanted to go back.

She was determined to get to Memphis to deliver the parcel.

Should been a courier!

Come between them and their deliveries, they’ll raise nothing but hell and more!

They’re the most determined people in the known Wasteland and Vandal had dealt with one before his migration to the south somewhere in the Mojave.

Gave him a run for his money, almost took his life, but he managed to survive the encounter.

Licked his wounds, but he was still alive, so there’s that.

Well, with Rose’s knapsack, he has a reason for her to come find him and reclaim it.

Assuming she’s still alive by then.

Vandal got a badge for tying knots in the Boy Scouts for a reason.

Following the footsteps, Vandal easily found the path they’re taking, and as he follows the path, he starts hearing a commotion.

Running, Vandal catches up to another set of what he thought were bandits, but as he nears, he notices they weren’t wearing atypical bandit clothing.

More southern gothic than anything.

Hell, it makes him look normal!

They already undid his handiwork binding them together and restrained Rose and Harold themselves.

Once they saw him, the cast out of an Antebellum drama just stares.

“I don’t want know trouble, but these two are mine,” Vandal tries being civil with them.

As he was closer, he notices something unusual with the people restraining Rose and Harold.

Their unfixed gloomy eyes, for starters, didn’t even flinch when Vandal tries raising his voice.

Gurgling, one of the men wearing an Antebellum style suit mumbles, “Bring… bring…frau…”

Unafraid of him, the oddly dressed people slowly moves while forcing Rose and Harold to move.

Gritting his teeth again, Vandal raises his voice once more, but the people continued to ignore him.

Unable to be convincing, Vandal Relied on the tried-and-true way of getting to the point.

Shooting at them, Vandal witnesses the people not reacting in pain or fear.

Not even anger.

A yelp.

Something.

It made him stop as he never experienced something like this before.

They continue strong arming the two and Vandal had no choice but getting physical.

Using his serrated knife he forcibly cuts at the hands of one of the people holding Harold hostage first in a bid to force them to release him.

Not once did any of the people react to the hands being cut into with the knife, didn’t try to stop Vandal, attack him, instead they marched onward.

Blood oozes from the person’s hands as Vandal had no choice but to cut into their tendons.

They were not letting Harold go without a fight.

Once he decapitated the hands holding Harold, Vandal gripped him tightly as he went to work on the one holding Rose.

Hard doing with the caravan of Antebellum nutjobs moving without a care.

As he forces Harold’s compliance, Vandal works on the hands gripping Rose, but as he tries to cut into the hands, he heard something he never wanted to hear.

Something that all people on the topside feared.

For very good reasons.

A deep growl with a strange restraint, “Get… frau…”

If he had hair, it would be standing taller than a monument, Vandal uneasily turns his head in the direction of the deep growl.

Coming over the hill, tall, muscular, sickly green skin, something out of a fantasy book, it was not something Vandal wanted to see again since his last experience with them during a stint in the Commonwealth.

Blurting while fighting against the person restraining her, Rose asks, “What the hell is that?”

Vandal hoarsely tells her, “Welcome to the Wasteland, little lady, when nightmares are even afraid of it!”

A goddamn super mutant!

They’re getting too bold for Vandal’s liking making their headway from wherever pits of hell they walked out from and seeing one here in Tennessee already made his skin crawl.

“Can you kill it?” Harold panics as he asks Vandal.

Switching back to Betty, Vandal answers, “I usually avoid them!”

For very good reasons.

Sure, Vandal picked fights with people bigger than him, but even he knew it was suicide fighting with super mutants, especially when it’s a cabal of them working in tandem rounding up people, they find traveling the dusty roads for God knows what reasons and Vandal’s sure he doesn’t want to know.

But he had a job to do, and he loaded Betty with another round of his specialty ammo.

Pointing Betty outward, Vandal took a chance, and fires at the super mutant as it started advancing towards them.

The bullet hit its muscular chest and it didn’t even get so much of a snarl out of the super mutant.

A mini explosion occurs and the super mutant stumbles backwards with its blood shooting out of a hole the size of a Dixie cup.

Not once did the super mutant say anything Vandal knew them to say, instead it only utters a stilted, “Bring… frau…”

What in the hell?

The super mutant recovers and Vandal expected the worst, but the super mutant remained frighteningly calm about a hole in its chest.

Seeing the super mutant still advancing towards them, Vandal fires another round at it, and again, it never said anything more than what he already heard.

Not the one to waste his shots, Vandal turned his attention to Rose as he forced Harold’s help in freeing her from the near-zombie person who didn’t even flinch when Vandal cut into their hands.

What in the hell did Vandal get himself into?

To make matters worse, while they were trying to free Rose, someone shot a flash bang at Vandal’s feet, and all he saw as everything went white was the outline of a person standing not two feet away from them.

Chapter Text

“The power armor is doing well with the tests, madam!” Hal says as it moves around the shack the two found somewhere near a settlement after traveling over the uneven and unforgiving terrain.

Testing its effectiveness against the likes of mutant insects and animals, the power armor certainly lived up to the hype around it.

Didn’t want to garner unwanted attention, the only knock against the power armor, so the two stayed on off-beaten paths, and took long ways around into Tennessee.

“Now, I see why those idiots want one!” Mal comments how the power armor was much more comfortable than she expected after spending hours going over the terrain reaching the shack.

Attentively checking the power armor’s levels, Hal chirps that despite what Mal put it through, the power armor remains in optimal condition.

“Well, we’re not picking fights with a brown bear, Hal,” Mal pointed out how they learnt the limitations of the power armor through the remains found.

Acknowledging this with a trill, Hal believed that with the modifications and upgrades, the power armor can handle brown bears, now.

“I don’t want to test my luck,” Mal sighs as she stretches out her arms after being in the power armor for hours.

Running a hand through her wild hair, Mal yawns as she moves around the shack while assessing their situation.

Hal said the signal was still moving west, stopping periodically, and if they kept up the pace, they will be in the approximately of the signal.

“Are you certain this is what you want, madam?” Hal inquisitively asks.

Dabbing a wet rag under her sweat latent amber eyes, Mal asserts, “Didn’t come this far for nothing, Hal.”

Acknowledging this, Hal watches with its eyes as Mal takes a spot in the shack as she relaxes for the moment.

“Madam, if I may, you have been unusually tense since we set out on this adventure of ours, are you okay?” Hal inquisitively asks her.

Rubbing her left forearm, Mal asserts, “I will be, Hal.”

It’s a matter of time.

All they needed to be follow the signal.

“Well, since we’re here, should we stop off for supplies?” Hal asks her.

Pulling on her leather coat as she stands up, Mal responds with, “How much caps do we have?”

Counting to itself, Hal summarizes, “Oh, roughly ten thousand and nine hundred caps, madam.”

Nodding, Mal sighs, “I need a drink, how about an oil can on me, Hal?”

Twirling, Hal exclaims, “Oh, thank you, madam!”

It stops as it asks, “Hm, what about the power armor, though?”

Couldn’t exactly take it into the settlement, it might cause an uproar.

“Don’t worry, Hal, I got it covered. Anyone tries anything, this thing will give them a bad day,” Mal assures the worried Mr. Handy how she plans on everything.

With everything accounted for, the power armor powered and locked down, the two ventured out of the shack.

Guiding her, Hal floats over the uneven terrain as its eyes remain hyper-focused on any threats.

It said that the settlement nearby was called Albion and that it would have what they need to refresh themselves for the next haul.

“Hm, though I do wonder how the power armor fares in mud,” Hal notices blip on its radar for more storms coming through the state within a few days' time.

Walking alongside it, Mal remained optimistic that the power armor would handle muddy roads easily.

Mud pits might be a different story with the weight, but that’s par course with anything, really.

“Well, have to try everything, right?” Hal shrugs with its multiple arms.

Arriving in Albion, they see it as a thriving settlement that didn’t have too much of a problem, and the sight of Hal drew curious eyes towards it as it floats close to Mal as they find their respected drinks.

Found a mechanical shop and Mal bought Hal a can of premium oil.

The mechanic on hand was marveling at Hal as he commented how he never saw a working Mr. Handy in that shape.

“I have been working out!” Hal resonates as it twirls.

Leaving with the premium oil and Hal drinking it as it held the can with two hands with a twisty straw, the two moved towards a bar where it looked to be the place for a good drink.

Entering it, the two instantly have eyes on them as they went through the bar up to the counter.

A ghoul bartender with curiosity in his dark eyes’ whistles at the sight.

“Damn, here I thought these things were gone!” Grissom comments.

Casually shrugging, Mal responds with, “Greatly exaggerated.”

Chortling, Grissom recalls the robots during his time, how helpful they were helping him load his trucks, and the whimsical feeling dissipates as he notes that there weren’t many working robots left since then.

“Well, this one’s a different story,” Mal sat at the bar with intent on getting a bottle of bourbon.

Hal chirps, “My madam is often too modest for her own good!”

Getting her a bottle of bourbon, Grissom notes that Mal isn’t someone he seen before.

“Just drifting through,” Mal simply says as she drinks from the bottle.

Sipping on its premium oil, Hal stays close to Mal’s side until she finishes her bourbon and departs with it from the bar.

Couldn’t drink all day, they needed to get supplies.

With Hal following her, she went around grabbing what they needed, and upon finishing the list, they left for the shack with the supplies, where Hal stops Mal from going towards the shack as it notices something off.

Going forward, Hal spots fresh blood on the door as it quickly switches modes.

“Madam, stay behind me!” Hal orders Mal as it investigates.

Floating forward, Hal uses one of its hands to open the door as it screams a curse in French, only for someone to scream back, “Please! Don’t shoot me!”

Instantly recognizing the voice, Hal lowers its guns as it exasperated, “Madam, it’s Harold!”

Going forward, Mal enters the shack and sees Harold with spent stimpaks beside him as he looked bruised and weathered while the stimpaks began their effects on him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Mal questions him.

Coughing, Harold struggles as he says, “They got Rose!”

Eying him, Mal questioned him with, “Who?”

Once more he coughs before Harold explains how a group of people kidnapped Rose wearing antebellum clothing despite his attempts stopping them.

“We don’t have much time; they could be anywhere!” Harold gestures.

Gritting her teeth, Mal points out, “I didn’t agree to anything, bud.”

Didn’t need to explain anything more about how she warned Rose the dangers of the Wasteland, before Harold shouts, “You’ve got a bounty on you!”

Rousing, Mal echoes, “A bounty?”

Nodding, Harold states how he and Rose were captured by the bounty hunter and how he had a picture of Mal.

Concerned, Hal wonders if they overlooked a raider during their daily razing, before Mal points out the raiders wouldn’t have the caps to pay a bounty hunter much less a bounty hunter willing to take bounties from them.

“Whoever put one on you wants over three-hundred thousand caps for your retrieval!” Harold stresses.

Listening to him, Mal grew quiet as Hal questions the bounty.

“I got away from him, but if he found us. He’ll find you, too!” Harold warns.

Getting closer to him, Mal points out that she can handle herself and she has Hal has backup if she needs help.

“He won’t go down easily,” Harold further warns her.

Crossing her arms, Mal questions him with, “What’re you angling?”

Quickly gesturing, Harold stresses, “You have a bounty on your head, and we need to find Rose!”

The moment he brought up that Mal wasn’t the only bounty the bounty hunter was after, Harold stopped as something he said about the second bounty resonates with her.

“Antebellum?” Mal’s tone of voice changes.

Nodding, Harold then describes what they were doing and how a super mutant was seemingly affected, too.

“A super mutant in Tennessee?” Hal grew quizzical.

Didn’t expect that twist in the story.

“Yes, it was terrible!” Harold coughs.

Groaning, Hal laments, “And here I thought the raiders were dreadful!”

Chewing on her inner lip, Mal wanted to know where this happened, and when Harold told her, she only said, “They’re going east.”

Blinking, Harold asks, “What’s in the east?”

Mal never answers him.

Instead, she asks if Harold was able to move.

Nodding, Harold got up from his spot as he rubbed his face with a wet rag.

“Hal, how long will it take?” Mal turns her head towards the Mr. Handy.

Calculating, Hal gives the length and time, and Mal chews on her lip before begrudgingly saying to Harold, “You owe me.”

Exhaling, Harold thanks her for the reconsideration, before he notices a look in her amber eye.

“How do you know what a power armor is?” Mal got to the point.

No one would easily pass up the opportunity of taking a power armor seemingly left behind in a shack.

Or the opportunity to strip it for parts.

Harold was too unusually calm for someone who should be surprised and in awestruck at the sight of a functioning power armor.

Harold sheepishly remarks, “Most people do!”

Shaking her head, Mal demanded to know why Harold decided to pick the shack instead of trudging back to Albion unless he got an inkling that the power armor was inside it.

Pointing out that he was in a rough shape as he explains how he needed shelter and didn’t look too closely until he rummaged through the shack for stimpaks, Harold could see the disbelief in Mal’s amber eyes.

“If I tell you, would you believe me?” Harold exhales.

Crossing her arms again, Mal states, “It couldn’t hurt your chances.”

Their conversation was stopped when Hal got involved in their conversation by warning them how the bounty hunter would come back to Albion as a logical step in reclaiming Harold if what he said is true.

Chapter Text

A flash bang to the face, everything disoriented, hardly any chance for his mind to catch up, sent Vandal down for the count as everything erupted in a bright white light.

Don’t know much else that happened after, when he woke up, he was alone.

Standing up, Vandal brushed himself down before gritting his teeth.

“It takes two to tangle, honey,” Vandal utters as he fixes his hat.

Checking around the area, he could see that the caravan of weirdos went on their merry way with Rose in tow, blood led the way they went, the limbs left to the whims of the environment.

Spitting out coagulated spit and dirt, Vandal groans as he cracks his neck and stretches out his arms.

This isn’t how he wanted it to go down, but here it is.

He wasn’t going to cry about it, just the nature of business.

Except now, Vandal has options on how to pursue the bounties.

He could go chasing after Rose, but something gnawed at him, and it wasn’t a prairie rat.

The only way to know for sure’s if he finds Harold, suspecting the disoriented Harold’s not in the position of rescuing Rose.

And he knows exactly where Harold’s going, anyway.

The man won’t survive on his own, he knows it, so he’ll want to get back somewhere he’s familiar with and regroup himself.

Having taken the off-beaten path, Vandal hypothesized Harold would get lost trying to get back on the main road during this time, but somehow find his way back to a settlement he and Rose visited prior.

Dazed out of his gourd with the flash bang rattling his brain, Harold wouldn’t be thinking rationally.

Tipping his hat forward, Vandal marches forward in the direction Harold went in.

The muddy road made it difficult as light rain reinvigorated the already-wet mud packed on the road from the small floods from prior heavy rain.

Still, the anger in Vandal propelled him forward, and he kept marching until he found himself back in Albion.

Surveying Albion, Vandal mutters to himself before going to the few places Harold would likely go after arriving to Albion.

No hints at the general store, doctor’s office, so Harold checked the bar.

Couldn’t hurt to be thorough.

Grissom told him that he didn’t see Harold.

“What’s scurrying around your head, cuz?” Grissom was curious about Vandal’s intent on finding Harold.

Seeing the tense look on Vandal’s face, Grissom asks what was wrong, and gritting his teeth, Vandal told him that things became complicated.

Thanking him for his time, Vandal leaves, and still gritting his teeth, he goes through what little thoughts were in his head in hopes something gave him a good idea where to look if Harold didn’t go to the bar.

Muttering to himself, Vandal came up with an idea.

Maybe Harold was lying low somewhere, trying to recover, and hadn’t come back into the settlement, yet.

Harold not having caps would make it impossible for him to get any stimpaks and they’re not always lying around.

Not many places he can hide out near here, but Vandal needed to check every rock imaginable.

Since the way he came didn’t have any hiding spots, Vandal went in a different direction.

Perhaps Harold found a different path towards Albion.

Following a path, Vandal spots a lonely shack hidden by foliage.

A little way from Albion, but if Harold went to it, well, it will make things easier.

His hand hovering over Betty, Vandal went up to the shack.

There’s old blood on the door, fresh, but been there for a little while.

Didn’t smell anything dead, so Harold hadn’t died or still fresh enough.

Warily, Vandal was about to burst the door down when someone came through it.

Nearly screamed when he saw Vandal about ready to shoot his head off.

Covering his face with his trademark hat, Courtesy pleads, “Don’t shoot me in the face!”

Groaning, Vandal lowers Betty as he sharply asks, “The hell you doing in there?”

Courtesy answers, “I was poking around trying to find stuff for my tours. The hell you doing?”

Holstering Betty, Vandal gruffly tells him, “I’m looking for someone. Is there anyone inside?”

Shaking his head, Courtesy answers that when he got to the shack, there was no one.

Vandal forces himself in to verify and he notices subtle signs someone was inside the shack at some point.

“Who are you looking for?” Courtesy wanted to know.

Vandal sighs as he gestures, “Man with the glasses that was with the girl, you see him back here at any point?”

Listening to him, Courtesy musters, “You mean Rose and Mr. Harold?”

Nodding, Vandal affirms, and Courtesy shakes his head.

“Nah, I ain’t see him. He in some sort of trouble?” Courtesy grew curious.

Keeping it tightly lipped, Vandal only said he wanted to “talk” to Harold, only for Courtesy to see through him.

“This doesn’t involve you, kid,” Vandal shakes his head, but Courtesy refused to let it go.

Exhaling sharply as he didn’t want to deal with more trouble, Vandal calmly says, “This is bounty hunter business, you can’t get involved in bounty hunter business.”

Only for Courtesy to retort, “This wouldn’t happen to be related to that lady, is it?”

Curiosity in his dark eyes, Vandal echoes, “Lady?”

Nodding, Courtesy motions with his hand, “Yeah, her and the Mr. Handy.”

Reaching into his pocket, Vandal shows Courtesy, “She look like this?”

Studying the picture, Courtesy nods as he affirms, he saw someone like the person in the picture come through the settlement recently.

Not exactly hard to forget since he never saw a functioning Mr. Handy before.

“You see where she went?” Vandal asks him as he turns back to the shack while studying it intensely after being informed about the woman’s presence.

He should’ve expected it, but Courtesy refuses to tell him, not without something in return.

“Kid, you got no idea what I’m getting myself into. So, save me some time, huh?” Vandal tries being civil.

Crossing his arms, Courtesy demands, “First, you tell me what’s going on, why do you want to find Mr. Harold so bad, for?”

Sighing, Vandal grits his teeth as he sums, “It’s complicated, kid.”

It wasn’t enough to get Courtesy off his back and he needed to find the woman that he sighs, “Look, some shit went down, the girl’s in the wind, and I—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as Courtesy became alarmed.

“What happened to Rose?” Courtesy panics.

Forced to tell him, Vandal saw Courtesy gripping the sides of his head as he sputters, “Some weirdos got her?”

Vandal retorts, “And a super mutant. Look, I got enough on my plate as is, so the sooner I find who I’m looking for, the sooner I can get things going.”

Raising his hands, Courtesy stresses, “You’ll find Rose, though, right?”

Nodding, Vandal says that he made her a promise to get her somewhere, he’s aiming to keep it.

“Well, shit, I gotta come with you!” Vandal sees determination in Courtesy’s copper eyes as he insists on coming with the ghoul.

Shaking his head, Vandal flatly refuses, before Courtesy states he saw where the woman with the Mr. Handy went.

Intent on getting his way, Vandal was forced to hear Courtesy out.

“Let me help,” Courtesy demands.

Warily, Vandal pointed out how dangerous the ordeal would be that it wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

He doubted Courtesy would be able to do much, before Courtesy swore, he’s more capable than Vandal knows.

“I’m up against weirdos and a super mutant that didn’t mind me shooting it, what can you do?” Vandal fires back.

Raising his finger, Courtesy states, “My pa runs the steel mill here. You’ll need bullets, right?”

Thinking it over, Vandal sighs, “I do need to top off Betty… I ain’t responsible for you, you know this right?”

If anything happens, it’s on Courtesy, and Vandal didn’t hesitate to warn he won’t be hesitant to say he told Courtesy so.

“Sounds like we have a partnership,” Courtesy acknowledges the dangers.

Sighing, Vandal mutters, “So, it seems!”

Can’t make this up if he tries.

Chapter Text

Everything happened in a literal flash, Rose was fighting against deranged lunatics that captured her and Harold, the bounty hunter still after the two, tried helping them out of the lunatics’ grasp, and then a flash before her eyes.

Disoriented and her ears ringing, the urge to vomit was strong, and Rose coughed as she felt the salvia increasing in her mouth as the urge grew stronger.

Retching, Rose wasn’t sure where she was, if she was still standing, if she was alive, all she remembers was the title bit before the flash bang hit them.

“You’re all right now, sweetie,” she hears a man calling to her.

Groaning, Rose musters, “Am I dead?”

Chuckling the man insists, “Nah, you’re just out of it. Sorry, about that, but when you have that many variables, you’re better off getting to the point.”

There’s movement and Rose felt someone put something in her hand.

“Here’s some pills that’ll help with that feeling of yours,” the man encouraged Rose to take them.

Hesitant, Rose asks, “Who are you?”

She heard back, “My name’s Mac. You seem to be a lucky lady.”

Encouraged to take the pills, Rose hesitantly took them, only because she wanted the nausea to finally subside.

After she took the pulls, Mac gave her a glass of water to wash it down, and as she waits for the medicine to take effect, she listens to Mac.

“Now, what’s a young woman doing out here on her own?” Mac wanted to know.

Shaking her head, Rose pleads with him as she rapidly talks about Harold.

“No, ma’am, you were alone when I found you,” Mac shakes his head as the light distortion around him slowly subsides.

Rubbing her eyes, Rose asks, “Where am I?”

She heard back, “Bells.”

Lowering her hand, Rose asks, “What about those weirdos?”

Raising his brow as Rose sees a fuzzy figure of a man in front of her, Mac asks, “What do you mean?”

Gesturing, Rose talks about the antebellum clothed people that captured her and Harold.

“And that thing and… that flash bang!” Rose sputters.

Gesturing with his hands, Mac urges her to calm down, as he notes that she was still disoriented.

“No ma’am, you’re the only one I found. You might’ve been dumped, that’s oddly unusual around these parts,” Mac tells her.

Panic overtook her as she asked about her knapsack.

Fear washes over her face as Mac tells her that he only found her and her Pip-Boy.

“No!” Rose shakes her head in distraught.

Attempting to calm her down, Mac says that it’s likely where he found her, and he didn’t see it since he was busy getting her to safety.

Any weapons she had were long gone when he found her, but they could be wherever the knapsack was.

“Can you take me back there?” Rose begs him.

Seeing him clearly, now, Rose recoils as she spots something quite unusual about Mac.

He didn’t look like a person.

Well, he did, but he didn’t.

Catching her looking at him, Mac waves his hand as he tells her that he’s a synth.

“What’s… a synth?” Rose blinks.

Confused, Mac gestures as he sincerely asks, “You pulling my leg?”

Shaking her head, Rose asserts, “I’m… from a vault… I don’t know what a synth is... Sorry.”

Recoiling, Mac asks if she was from a vault here in Tennessee.

Answering she wasn’t, Mac was amused how she found her way this far, before Rose told him she was traveling with Harold.

“Well, you’re the only one I found,” Mac tells her.

He stopped her from jumping up from the table filled with fraught about Harold.

“Sorry, doctor’s orders. I can’t let you leave until you’re cleared. It’s standard,” Mac waves his hand.

Fidgeting, Rose begged him, “I have to find Mr. Harold! I need my knapsack!”

Sighing, Mac says, “He’s likely dead, sweetie. Your knapsack’s likely gone by now.”

Remembering the bounty hunter, Rose asks, “You didn’t see a ghoul bounty hunter, either?”

Reconfirming that Rose was the only one Mac found, he saw how distraught she became, and he tries to cheer her up by suggesting that the bounty hunter that caught them likely has Harold with him.

“I have to go… I… I need to find him,” Rose wanted to still attempt at finding Harold despite her promise to her father.

Stopping her again, Mac warns her that she needs to be cleared by the doctor before she risks going out into the wasteland, again.

“Well, where is he?” Rose gestures as she demanded to speak to the doctor.

They overhear, “She’s right here.”

Stepping through the threshold, the doctor blinks as she looks at Rose with curiosity in her ginger eyes.

“Thank you, Mac,” Regina thanks him for watching Rose while she attended to the other patients.

Standing up, Mac responds, “Anytime, doc.”

He leaves as Regina takes her spot with a clipboard.

Fidgeting, Rose asserts she feels fine now, but Regina was hesitant clearing her, yet.

“Mr. Harold’s still out there, somewhere!” Rose protests.

Calming her down, Regina insists Rose calm down as she shows understanding on the importance of finding Rose’s companion.

Stressed, Rose gestures as she insists on finding Harold and her knapsack, causing Regina to ask her why it was so important that she was willing to throw away potentially healing at the clinic.

“It’s a long story… but I promised my dad… and Mr. Harold!” Rose got to the point of why she desperately needed to find her knapsack and Harold.

Giving an understanding nod, Regina urges Rose to stay calm, and said Mac has a way of finding people, it’ll just take time.

“If your friend is still alive, there’s a good chance he found a minuteman,” Regina gestures.

Begrudgingly, Rose calms down, and Regina gives her a checkup.

For the most part, Rose was fine, but Regina noticed the bruise on her side.

“I used a shotgun for the first time,” Rose clarifies.

Sighing, Regina lightly chides Rose for it, warning her about the kickbacks, and Rose affirming that she learnt her lesson, quickly.

“No burns, it’ll go away in time,” Regina informs her.

Cautioning her to stay in the confines of the settlement while she recovers from her experience, Regina gave Rose the name of a place where she can stay that offers communal services for destitute travelers.

Going back and forth figuring out where Bells is in relation to where she and Harold were before everything went to hell, Regina releases Rose from the makeshift doctor’s office, and she is escorted out to Bells proper.

It’s smaller than expected, but Regina says that the settlement saw better days, and gave Rose a list of places she can check out while she recovers.

“That medicine will take time to work its way through you, miss, you can’t rush it,” Regina warns her.

On the promise she wouldn’t attempt to leave the settlement without getting cleared by the doctor, Rose set out on her own.

Minutemen walked the streets with their rifles over their backs and brown cowboy hats as they patrolled corners around the settlement.

Getting an idea, Rose went out of her way to find the station house led by Minuteman Cassius in hopes of finding a way to get a message out to Harold.

“Excuse me, sir,” Rose spoke up as she got his attention while he was busy filing paperwork.

Glancing up, Cassius gave a friendly greeting, as he asks what Rose was doing at the station house.

Frowning, Rose asks, “I need help finding someone, does the minutemen do that?”

Perturbed, Cassius stops what he was doing, and asks for more context.

Explaining her situation, Rose could see disdain in Cassius’s chestnut eyes as he utters, “Always the damn bounty hunters!”

Raising her hands, Rose warns, “It’s not just him, sir. There were these weirdos wearing… antebellum clothing… and they didn’t even flinch when he cut into them trying to get us free!”

Hearing this, Cassius grew stumped before he asks for more context, and became mortified as Rose explains how no one reacted to their hands being cut off by the bounty hunter.

Blood oozed down their bloody stumps, but no one said a thing, just droning the same two words.

“And that… thing!” Rose went on to describe the creature that came over the hill.

Watching Cassius’s olive face turn ghostly white, immediately he says with horror, “Super mutant!”

Tilting her head, Rose asks, “Super mutant?”

Standing up as he went to the radio console, Cassius told her what super mutants are, and what bad news they are to people who accidentally stumble upon them.

Or the super mutants find on their wild hunts around areas they settle in.

Either way, unprepared travelers are doomed if they get found by them, and they’re never alone, either.

It almost makes raiders bearable by comparison!

“This one was,” Rose struggles to remember the details.

Picking up the receiver, Cassius warns the minutemen of the potential super mutant situation.

After finishing the broadcast, he returns to filing the paperwork.

“Someone up there’s looking down on you, ma’am, super mutants are not to be taken lightly, especially those without skill, no offense,” Cassius exhales.

Asking about the people who captured her and Harold, Rose hears Cassius say he doesn’t know for sure about them, but his priority was only the super mutant.

“What about what they were saying?” Rose gestures.

Thinking it over, Cassius shrugs his leathery shoulders before answering they sound zombified.

Which wouldn’t be surprising given how dangerous the wasteland is to people, but the way Rose says it, it’s unusual.

“Bring and frau. Can’t get any more blatant than that. They wanted someone, you sure they didn’t want you?” Cassius raises his eyebrow.

Shrugging, Rose responds with uncertainty, before asking Cassius to help her find Harold.

“The radio is for official business, only,” Cassius informs her of the limitations.

“Isn’t your job helping settlers?” Rose brought up what she learnt about the minutemen.

Seeing her determined, Cassius wearily pointed out the possibility of Harold either being dead or went to a settlement that wasn’t protected by the minutemen.

“He could be long gone from the state at this point,” Cassius then gestures.

Shaking her head, Rose refuses to believe the possibility.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re not expanded enough to go searching and rescuing people, yet. Some settlements still don’t want us around and others are more likely to shoot us on sight than let us help,” Cassius sighs.

Chapter Text

In a twist of unexpected events that could only be described as improbable, Mal was forced to work alongside Harold trying to locate Rose with Hal floating alongside them.

The hidden fear behind Mal’s amber eyes seemed alleviated after Hal concluded that Rose wasn’t moving towards the west but was somewhere located in the southern part of the state.

Mal never explained why she became tense about the seemingly zombified people that captured him and Rose, Harold never tried forcing the issue out of fear that she would turn on him

Using its internal mechanisms, Hal homed in on Rose’s Pip-Boy.

So far, Hal can pick up on Rose’s vitals, she was still alive for the most part, but it quickly made the point that the vitals could be an opportunistic raider that cut it off her arm and was using it.

Harold chose to remain optimistic.

Walking among the uneven ground in the power armor, Mal views the wasteland through the lens of the visor, everything detailed in the HUD as she attentively watches for any sudden movement.

Having gotten out of the Albion area as fast as possible, Hal deduces that they had a decent head start, and if they kept up the pace, they will arrive where everything took place with Harold hoping that there was something left behind.

“If you’re lucky!” Mal says in a deep reverb as she walked forward with Harold behind her and Hal behind him as they went along the ridge.

Following the HUD, Mal guides them towards the spot where it happened.

A few days passed, some rain fell, the HUD didn’t pick up on any blood or decapitated fingers.

The antebellum wearing individuals and the super mutant were long gone, their footsteps disappeared in the rain.

“Someone standing there shot the flash bang,” Harold pointed towards the spot where he saw someone standing just before the flash bang went off.

Thinking it over, Hal questions the usage of the flash bang, rambling off mathematics on why it was a waste.

“I don’t think they did it for goodwill, though,” Hal then noted.

Asking Harold questions, Hal thinks to itself before concluding that like Harold, Rose and the bounty hunter were disoriented from the flash bang and hobbled in different directions.

Viewing the spot with the HUD and walking alongside the footprints to a large rock, Mal responds that someone was waiting for no more than half an hour.

“Hm, perhaps there was a raider lying in wait for the chance to ambush. Well, suppose I’ll give him a ‘C’ for effort,” Hal musters a theory.

Moving around, Mal concluded the person responsible was a raider, the HUD gave the detailed scans showing the indicators.

“The bounty hunter did go up against some before this, one took us hostage,” Harold meaningfully touched his chin.

Giving her the story, Harold sees Mal swaying her armored arms as she surveys the area.

“Guess that’s our best bet,” Mal’s reverb voice echoes through the power armor.

Find the raider, find what they need to know.

Going around trying to find their belongings, Harold notes that the raider stole them, before worrying about their intent with Rose.

“We’ll find out, come on, they’re expecting more storms tomorrow,” Mal motions with her armored arm.

Following attentively, Hal behind him, Harold chews on his bottom lip.

The HUD guides Mal through a path where there’s markings of a raider camp.

Likely where the raiders originated from when they went out on their ill-fated hunt.

“Stay back,” Mal orders Harold and Hal.

Marching forward, Mal follows the mud path, and even with the sudden steep drop, she didn’t feel a thing inside the power armor.

Entering the camp, it had the fixings, bone cages and all, and one lonely raider.

Soon as he saw the power armor advancing towards him, the raider shouted, “Who the fuck?”

Grabbing his peashooter, the raider opened fire on the power armor in a desperate attempt to kill Mal inside it.

The bullets bounced off the reinforced steel and Mal uses the BFG on him, only rotated the barrel once to get the point across.

Once the V.A.T confirmed his death, Mal calls up to Hal and Harold.

Hal gracefully floated down while Harold slowly climbed down the side of the steep drop.

Once he was on the ground, Harold follows Hal towards Mal as he sees the raider camp with a bone fire in the center and the remnants of people the raiders killed and picked clean.

The smell hit his nose and he turned away from the sight as he covers his face in shock.

Its eyes looking over the bone furniture and what else, Hal notes that none of them were fresh, thus Rose wasn’t another victim of the raiders.

“The raider shot the flash bang, you all splintered off, and the raider took what he could,” Hal suggests.

Moving around the camp, Mal agrees with Hal, saying that the raider wouldn’t have kept Rose alive, and wouldn’t waste a chance getting her Pip-Boy.

Mindful of the blood-soaked ground, Harold went looking for his and Rose’s belongings, and exhaled sharply when he found a large lockbox.

“Step aside, good sir, I am quite handy!” Hal chirps as it shoots the lockbox squarely in the lock with a laser.

Broken off completely, the lockbox opened with ease, and Harold went through it.

Recognizing the vault branded knapsack under a mound of pilfered belongings, Harold yanks it out.

Checking inside, he confirms it was Rose’s, the parcel was still inside as well as the caps, and her other belongings.

The raider didn’t get a chance to pilfer the contents, just mindlessly threw it into the lockbox.

Digging around, he found their weapons and ammunition.

He didn’t find his books, which Hal says was likely used to start the fire in the center.

Hiding his disappointment, Harold sighs as he holds the collected items in his hands as he walks back to Hal and Mal.

“Still a signal coming from her Pip-Boy?” Mal’s voice reverbs as she asks Hal.

Affirming that it’s still active, Mal motions to Harold as they leave the camp.

Taking different paths at Hal’s insistence to confuse the bounty hunter, the trio traveled south in the direction of the Pip-Boy.

Come nightfall, Hal found a cave where they can hide until morning.

Sitting around a campfire, Mal stretched out her arms after exiting the power armor.

Across from her as the fire reflects off his glasses, Harold sighs as he looks down at the Vault-Tech bobblehead Rose bought.

Hal floats adjacently as it prepares them tea with its arms, humming to itself.

“You must be awfully skilled to fix that power armor,” Harold pointed out as Mal pulls on her tanned leather sleeves.

Casually shrugging, Mal says, “I had help.”

Gushing, Hal chirps, “Oh, madam, you honor me!”

Eying her, Harold inquires where she found the power armor, but Mal wouldn’t tell him.

Only that the person wearing it before her didn’t make friends with the wildlife.

Crossing her arms, Mal leaned forward as she accuses, “But I’m sure you know something I don’t, huh?”

Weakly shrugging, Harold told her he knows different factions that use the power armors.

Some react rather violently to people like Mal using them.

“Technically, the bear took it, I just found the pieces,” Mal asserts.

She made sure that whatever faction had the power armor wouldn’t find it, too.

Not that her efforts mattered with the power armor in tatters courtesy of the bear.

Keeping it hidden and taking the backroads where travelers were less inclined to travel also helped.

“Besides that, Hal hasn’t picked up on anything,” Mal points to the Mr. Handy pouring them tea.

Slowly nodding, Harold picks up the teacup as the hot water bubbles.

In the distance, there’s a rumble of thunder, and Hal noting a storm cell coming through the area.

“You’ve restored a Mr. Handy as well,” Harold noted.

Eying him with suspicion, Mal questions him, before he meekly told her that he was only trying to make conversation.

Hal prods Mal to go along with it, at least until they find Rose.

“Information is information, madam,” Hal points out.

With her teacup in hand, Mal sighs as she confirms that she found the destitute robot in the rubble outside a courthouse.

Almost left it as is, but she saw potential with having one around, so she pulled it from the rubble, and went to work restoring it.

“I’m 100% recycled!” Hal chirps.

Amazed by this, Harold asks how Mal learnt such feats, but the woman was tightly lipped about her past, pointing out that Harold was the same way.

“I didn’t tell you, yet,” Harold remembers.

Eying him, Mal waits for him to tell her how he knew about the power armor, and he admits that when he left his vault, he was aimlessly wandering the Wasteland.

Eventually, he found himself in an encampment where he worked as a doctor somewhere in Iowa.

“They were initially going to shoot me on the spot, but once they realized I had medical training, they let me inside,” Harold explains to Mal.

Tilting her head, her mess of brown stiffly moving to the side, Mal questions, “So, why’d you leave?”

Sighing, Harold told her how he was tempted to stay, but the heavy militia vibe to the encampment rubbed him the wrong way, that he waited for an opportune time to escape it.

Raiders, convinced the encampment had everything down to the answer to the universe, attempted to raid it, and paid the price.

Using the chaos, he escaped, and wandering aimlessly once more, he found a settlement where he thought he finally had his answers in life.

Until that day when his settlement migrated, and the raiders attacked the caravan.

And Mal knows the rest.

“I don’t know, sounds too fantastical for me, what do you think, Hal?” Mal glanced up to the Mr. Handy.

Raising one of its arms as it thinks, Hal responds, “Sounds like the truth to me, madam. Even ardent liars aren’t that good.”

Curious, Mal asks if Harold told this to Rose, but he shakes his head.

The reason he didn’t was because she never asked outside where he was from.

And understandably, telling people about his time in the encampment wasn’t a good idea.

“That you told me and Hal. So, you’re from a vault?” Mal wanted answers.

Affirming he was from a vault like Rose, Harold watches Mal’s reactions.

Shaking her head, Mal asks if he wished he stayed with his vault, but Harold answers that while he had hardships living out on the topside, it was better than in a vault.

“There’s worse vaults to end up in than one about equations,” Mal says as she adjusts her left tanned leather sleeve.

She never elaborates and Hal encourages them to drink their teas.

Chapter Text

A Lone Ranger in his own right, Vandal didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did, but here he was with Courtesy in tow, as they set out to find his marks.

His ammo replenished and Betty shinier than she’s ever been since Vandal got her off one of his early marks, he was ready to take to the Wasteland.

The spring storms made it difficult traversing with the flooded paths and mudslides, pop ups storms and the expected, he and Courtesy stopped more than once due to the severity of the storms before continuing their search.

Wielding his father’s hunting rifle, Courtesy sticks close to Vandal as the two make their way back to the scene of the incident.

Took down some of the wasteland’s finest along the way.

Mutant insects, reptiles, name it, Vandal and surprisingly Courtesy dealt with them.

Courtesy explained to Vandal that his father would always have him test batches of bullets before he got his break as a tour guide.

“Surprised you didn’t get into hunting!” Vandal noted how good of a shot Courtesy has before he was told that Courtesy didn’t want to risk running into the “meaner” animals and insects that call the wasteland their home.

And, obviously, the raiders that also make the wasteland their home.

Fair enough.

“Should’ve been a deputy, then!” Vandal pointed out that while Courtesy understandably didn’t want to be a hunter for Albion, in the very least he could easily become a model deputy.

Thinking it over, Courtesy admits he always wanted to do more than the “standard” jobs in Albion, that led him into becoming a tour guide for haunted attractions.

“From a ghoul to a tour guide, are any of those stories true?” Vandal inquires what Courtesy believed.

Shrugging, Courtesy answers, “Not sure myself, honestly. I just dig around ruins and find stuff, craft the narratives, it’s harder than it looks, especially with the irradiated areas.”

The moment Courtesy wanted to do something more than work at the steel mill, he went to work digging around everything he can get into, and quickly he learnt to avoid areas that send Geiger counters into the stratosphere.

Since everything he found came from the distant past, no one can prove him right or wrong, and since he charged a reasonable sum of caps for his tours, it also meant he wouldn’t risk having it come back on him.

“Gotta strike gold somewhere, right?” Vandal compliments Courtesy’s initiative.  

Curiosity in his eyes, Courtesy sheepishly asks what ghost stories and other Vandal knew from time before.

Thoughtfully thinking back to the days, he wasn’t a skinless Frank, Vandal answers, “Well, y’know, your usual ‘scared straight’ stories parents tell their kids. Don’t go down to the river at night or La Llorona will get you.”

Seeing the confusion on Courtesy’s face, Vandal gave context on the fictional story of the titular La Llorona, at least the story he was told by his grandmother many times growing up.

A woman living in a village somewhere in Mexico fell in love with a visiting nobleman. He would periodically visit her village to do business with the village leaders and eventually he started courting the woman after she caught his attention.

Every time he made a trip to her village, he would bring her a red flower, and within a year she would bear twins.

Understandably, the woman thought he would marry her and legitimize their children, as was the thing to do, but the nobleman would always make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t marry the woman right then and there.

Around her children’s fifth birthday, the woman learnt that her lover had a family of his own and wanted to keep his illegitimate children away to avoid a political scandal.

Heartbroken and enraged that she was used as a mistress by the man, the woman became vengeful.

One night, she led her children down by the river that fed through her village and proceeded to drown them.

Their bodies would float down the river and she would return to their home once she confirmed her children were gone in the midnight black waters.

The next time the man returned to the village to do business, the woman accosts him for his treachery before boldly telling him that as punishment, she rid the world of his spawn.

While the man was in the wrong for what he done, he became disgusted with the woman, calling her a monster.

“You tricked me!” The woman tried to argue.

Calling her an idiot, the man states, “I did not kill my own children!”

Their arguments drew the village’s attention and when it became known what the woman done, she was shunned.

Ostracized by her village, the woman was cast out, and she commits suicide in the river that killed her children.

Initially, she gone to the gates of Heaven, but God refused to let her through them, instead he asks, “Where are the children?”

Panicked, the woman runs down to Hell.

Upon arriving at the gates of Hell, the woman requests the Devil to let her in, but instead he asks her, “Where are the children?”

Unable to enter Heaven or Hell, the woman was banished to a life of purgatory, where she spends her eternal life aimlessly wandering bodies of water searching for her children.

As the story goes, children who go down to rivers or any bodies of water at night have a chance of seeing a woman with long black hair wearing a white veiled dress, and she will plead in the empty air for her children’s return.

Known to snatch children in a blind attempt to appease both the Devil and God, the woman, now feared as La Llorona, was said to still stalk bodies of water late at night hoping to find her children.

“But mostly, it’s an allegory not to do stupid shit on your own near water at night,” Vandal sums the point of La Llorona.

Maybe she did exist at some point, and she really did commit the crimes told in the story, but as with history, it morphed into the folklore that prevailed throughout South America until the bombs dropped.

Vandal doesn’t know for sure, since obviously this was before even, he existed.

“Freaky! So, she can never find peace?” Courtesy asks for clarification.

Affirming with a stiff nod, Vandal gestures with his gloved hand how it was more of a curse towards La Llorona for her sins.

As punishment, she will never escape purgatory, and the children she spirited away to do just that will tack on the time she will spend.

“What if she does find her children?” Courtesy asks.

Thinking it over, Vandal waves his hand as he responds with, “I don’t think they’d forgive their mother for what she did to them, but like I said, this is a story my abuela told me when I was a kid.”

Not that any of it matters now, what with the mutant crustaceans that make the riverbeds their home.

Vandal doubted any of them would look good in a white dress!

“You must’ve heard a lot of stories!” Courtesy was amazed by Vandal’s storytelling.

Rubbing the back of his bare neck, Vandal exhales, “You have no idea!”

Oh, the punishments that old woman can dish out when little Vandal got himself into trouble.

He doesn’t miss her using her sandals to make a point, though.

Still, Vandal can’t help but miss her cooking.

Continuing their traveling, they found the area where the zombie antebellum people were, but there was no sign of Rose or her belongings.

Searching around, Vandal didn’t see so much as a finger sticking up from the ground.

The raiders he killed weren’t there, either.

“Damn, it was only a few days!” Vandal mutters.

It was par course with the wildlife of the wasteland.

He stops when he notices fresh footprints and burn marks on the ground.

One set of the footprints was heavy that it left noticeable indentations.

Narrowing his eyes, Vandal follows it with Courtesy behind him.

Finding a steep drop, Vandal hoists himself down as he orders Courtesy to stay where he is while he checks.

Betty drawn; Vandal went ahead towards the raider camp in the distance.

Upon arriving, he finds the dead raider still clenching his gun, a body full of holes.

Checking around, there was no other raider except this one, and he calls out to Courtesy.

Climbing down, Courtesy rejoins his side as the men scour the camp for signs.

Finding a lockbox with the lock shot off with a precise laser, Vandal grins, this was the work of Mr. Handy.

Going through it, he didn’t find Rose’s knapsack, but he did find some pilfered items taken by the raiders.

While standing guard, Courtesy caught sight of movement, and points his rifle with Vandal pointing Betty towards the spot.

There’s faint growling and the men were prepared to open fire.

Courtesy stopped Vandal when he recognized the sight of something coming towards them.

“Oh! Well, hello there!” Courtesy grins ear to ear as a stray German Shepherd came towards them.

Cautious, Vandal pointed out the possibility of it being feral, but Courtesy wanted to give the dog a benefit of the doubt.

Stretching his hand outright, Courtesy beckons the German Shepherd to come towards him.

Woofing, the German Shepherd putters over to him, and gently, Courtesy rubs the top of its head.

“Aw, where’d you come from, little feller?” Courtesy asks it.

Checking the camp, Vandal notes that there wasn’t anything indicating the dog came from the camp.

“Oh, who’s a good boy!” Courtesy scratches the side of the German Shepherd’s muzzle.

Perplexed, he asks the dog where it came from, and the dog barks.

An idea arises as Vandal went to the burnt spots on the ground.

“Hey, think you can ask the mutt to help us out?” Vandal looks up.

Chapter Text

The medicine working its way through her, Rose had no choice but to stay put in Bells, she found the place Regina told her about, and talked with the proprietor of the mission for the destitute.

Obtaining a cot, Rose lays on it while she felt periods of nausea.

It’s a common side effect of the medicine, but it was supposed to alleviate after a while, and a nurse regularly came by to check on Rose.

Her appetite fluctuated during this; it took the nurse coxing her into eating before Rose finally ate something.

Also, a side effect of the medicine.

The nurse said it will go away in time; Rose will be right as rain before she knows it.

Talking to the nurse, Rose learnt more things about Bells and the people that call it home.

She even told Rose about Mac and how synths weren’t welcomed in areas of the north due to an “issue” in the past, but she stresses that it was that, in the past.

There were a few that migrated to the south where people didn’t know much about synths.

While they had their troubles fitting in, the synths that managed to establish themselves ended up becoming part of the fabric of the southern wasteland.

“Why would no one like them?” Rose wanted to know.

Sighing, the nurse explained that it was a complicated issue, the same with the ghouls, but she hoped for the best, since they have better things to worry about.

“The minutemen are getting it, now,” she then added.

It was cyclic, as always.

When people finally accept the minutemen, there will be another group people will rile up about.

Called away, the nurse leaves, and Rose stays on the cot as she felt the side effects make their appearances periodically.

She manages to close her eyes and dream about being back in her vault where she was with her father and her friends.

Everything was fine, there was no threat of raiders, weirdos, anything like she has witnessed since being on the surface.

When she woke up a little later, the nurse came by to check on her.

“I scrounged up something for that nausea,” the nurse hands Rose another cup of pills.

Taking them and some filtered water to wash down, Rose exhales as she then asks the nurse if there was anyone in the settlement she can speak with about the situation.

Thinking it over and with Rose telling her that she already went to the minutemen, the nurse names Mac and Stu as the likely candidates that Rose can try her luck with.

Following her directions as she pushes herself up from her cot, Rose leaves as the red sunset lingers in the distance.

Sailors’ delight, she remembered that ghoul telling her and Harold.

No storms will barrage the area tonight.

Going up to a canteen, Rose enters, and the smell of liquor and cigarette smoke hit her face.

Dimly lit, she almost didn’t see the two until she turned her head towards a corner in the back.

Playing cards, the two synths didn’t notice her until she got close to their table.

Turning their heads, Mac recognizes her instantly.

Letting her sit at their table, Mac introduces her to Stu.

“You’re no worse for wear,” Mac comments as he tosses out the cards to Stu.

Running a hand through her hair, Rose replies, “Pills help.”

Giving an understanding nod, Mac responds with, “Sometimes the best medicine isn’t another stimpak.”

Curious, he asks how Rose was handling her situation, and she reveals her reasoning for searching him out.

“You were out of it, that much I know,” Mac shrugs as he deals the cards.

Gesturing, Rose asks where she was found, exactly, since Mac didn’t see anyone else.

“Let’s see, I found you at least fifteen miles from the settlement, somehow you didn’t get eaten by the Wasteland’s finest,” Mac thoughtfully says.

Checking his cards, Stu added, “I don’t know who you have as a guardian angel, but you better buy them a drink!”

Gesturing, Rose asks, “You didn’t see anyone else except me?”

Shaking his head Mac reaffirms what he told her before, she was the only person he found, and he even went far as to search for footprints.

Only hers were found, no one else, and nothing suggesting Rose was dumped, either.

Stu summarizes Rose walking her way down before finally collapsing.

“What about the super mutant?” Rose gestures as she stressed, she wasn’t hallucinating when she witnessed one coming over the hill.

Visibly shaking, Stu shakes his head as he goes, “The fact you aren’t being used as that thing’s toothpick is a testament unto itself! Those things will make dealing with the Institute a walk in the park!”

Seeing the confusion on Rose’s face, Stu waves his hand as he explains to her, “Before your time.”

Slowly nodding, Rose can understand how serious the situation would be if the super mutant had taken her.

“But it didn’t, it was mumbling stuff just like the people I told him about!” Rose informs him as he grows silent with confusion as he turns his head towards Mac.

Shrugging, Mac goes, “I never knew a Super Mutant to be “friendly” before, especially the one you’re talking about.”

It sounded alien to them how a super mutant was seemingly working alongside the antebellum wearing people.

“She said they were saying only two words at a time… “bring” and “Frau” got any idea?” Mac gestures as he asks Stu’s opinions.

It sounded like on the tin what they were after, but Stu grew quizzical as he points out, “Frau’s a German word for woman, essentially, how many people here speak a lick of it?”

Answer: Not many. If at all. If they even know what they’re speaking is German. Or if they know anything, at all!

“Is that important?” Rose gestures.

Deep in thought, Stu musters, “Well, I may have some ideas. There were those rumors from Illinois I heard a while back… but… ehh, it’s a stretch.”

Insistent, Rose watches as Stu brings a cup towards him.

Drinking from it, he sat it down as he tells her, “I know you’re greener than a pasture, so I’ll try to save you a history lesson. I heard a rumor or two about these wannabe assholes trying to start their own movement.”

Tilting her head, Rose inquires, “What movement?”

Sucking air through his teeth, Stu says with disdain, “Their own little Reich. Which is not a good thing, so you know for later. They were trying to make their own little Aryan society out of the ruins of Springfield, but things didn’t go the way they hoped. I don’t know the whole story, but one day, they completely lost it, and killed each other!”

Some curious wanderers trying to find semblance of stability came across the aftermath and from what Stu followed up, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Why did they kill each other?” Rose asks.

Shrugging, Stu goes, “Who the hell knows, maybe they couldn’t decide who passes for muster as the “perfect” Aryan, maybe it was paranoia. These are people you don’t wanna run with, little lady.”

Whatever the case may be, Stu was glad they failed with their plans, and suffered their karmic retribution.

“How does that help with my problem?” Rose gestures.

Finishing his drink and throwing a few chips down for his hand, Stu answers, “They all spoke German. Always peppered their conversations with some. I guess they thought since no one knew it, they could get away with using it to further their plans. Like I said, not a good crowd.”

Curious, Rose suggests, “What if someone survived?”

Scoffing as he threw chips across the table to match the bet, Mac retorts, “I doubt they even got out of Illinois before they got picked off.”

Calling as Rose shows the dealer’s hand, Stu weighs the thought before answering, “They couldn’t have gotten far, I doubt anyone put up with their schtick for more than a minute!”

The Wasteland has its problems, but it has its bright spots, and this would be one of them.

“Well, someone who knows German taught these people and the super mutant,” Rose argues.

Chapter Text

The red morning gave an ethereal red glow throughout the wasteland, Hal warning Mal and Harold the potential of severe storms later today and suspecting the worst will happen around sunset.

Calculating their time frame, it says that they will be safe by the time the brunt of the storms hits the area.

Out in the wasteland as the red haze lifts, the trio travelled along the old highway, passing destroyed signs with some graffiti on them.

Some crude, some too worn to read, and some with the same spook stories about Chicken Charlie.

“Chicken Charlie?” Hal was miffed as it read the name on one of the signs.

Harold told the curious Mr. Handy what he and Rose learnt, and it musters, “Sounds horrifically twisted, I’m sure it’s just a story. What say you, madam?”

Walking ahead in the power armor, Mal says with a reverb, “Anything’s possible in the wasteland.”

Given the stories of cannibals making their homes in ruins of former small towns, what else, someone like the titular man might just well exist.

Of course, as it goes without saying, sooner or later, the cannibals won’t live long.

Prion diseases are a bitch, like that, and people who had loved ones eaten by cannibals do their best not letting one slip through their clutches when they come across a pocket of them hidden away.

With minutemen making their way down here in recent years in earnest, it’ll only serve as the last testament to human depravity.

“If he hasn’t lost his damn mind, he’s probably staked in the ground somewhere,” Mal sums with a deep reverb.

Still, even if this was graffiti, there’s always some sliver of truth.

Even if Chicken Charlie is still among them, he won’t last long against her power armor.

“Hm, with that ominous red glow this morning, madam, we may not see travelers out on the roads,” Hal noted that with the red morning they had, people might be preparing for the possible storms later that day.

Nervous, Harold hopes, “Rose, don’t be out on the roads!”

Knowing her, she might try to leave wherever she found herself in to try and find him, assuming the bounty hunter hadn’t caught up to her, then!

“I’m sure if she managed to find somewhere safe in her dazed state, good sir, someone would have warned her away from leaving it until after the storms passed,” Hal says with a chirp.

Trying to remain optimistic, Harold nods as sweat dribbles down the sides of his head.

The bounty hunter warned them about red mornings, hopefully Rose found someone who can confirm his warnings, so she wouldn’t get caught in the approaching storms.

Encouraging him not to stress over Rose, Hal attempts to point out how Rose handled herself prior.

“I admit, I worry about her,” Harold frowns.

Giving an understanding nod with its eyes, Hal gave an encouraging, “I’m tracking her biometrics through her Pip-Boy as we speak, good sir, and she’s still alive and well.”

Exhaling, Harold wipes away the sweat building above his brow, as he does, Mal asks him if he needed a break.

He may try and argue against stopping, but Mal pointed out that he would be doing no service walking himself to death.

Besides that, Rose wouldn’t want him to do it, anyway.

“I… if only you’re sure,” Harold thoughtfully says as Mal guided them to an abandoned supermarket on the side of the road.

Checking its sensors for any signs of life, Hal says that it didn’t see any signs of life.

No indicators that this was a raider hotspot, Hal shot off the lock on the backdoor of the supermarket, and Mal enters first.

The heavy footsteps clanked against the laminated floors as Mal walked through the storage area of the supermarket.

Long picked clean, there was hardly a box left in the storage.

Dusty, too, with Harold sneezing twice in a row with Hal chirping “Bless you!”

As Hal indicated, there was nothing here except shelves in disjointed fashion on the store floor, picked clean with some stray food items left forgotten.

“Oh, another one of those teas,” Harold spots an unopened bottle of Sweetie Tea left on the shelf.

Hal found the idea of bottled tea preposterous, before Mal reminds it how it was a staple down here.

“I worry about their choices, madam!” Hal bemoans it.

Grabbing the bottle, Harold sighs as he agrees with Hal’s dismay about the bottled tea.

Still, he couldn’t be too picky, so he took it into his hand.

Rummaging through the shelves, Hal scours for anything useful, before it trills with excitement after finding a hidden box of the tea leaves.

“Oh goody! I thought I’d run out!” Hal chirps as it claims the tea leaves into its hidden compartment.

Going around the supermarket with her arms swaying while mindful of the BFG, Mal didn’t see anything of interest, and found a spot where they can hunker down while Harold recovers.

Getting out of the power armor, Mal adjusts her matted hair before pulling on her leather sleeves.

“My sensors indicate the storm is on approach, about after dark. If we keep to this path, we should reach the settlement called McGavock before it hits,” Hal tells them.

Though, Mal reminds it that because of the power armor, they won’t be in McGavock proper.

“Don’t worry madam, I have everything worked out,” Hal assures her as she walks around the supermarket. 

Relaxed in a cool corner, Harold leans back against the wall.

Floating towards him, Hal inquires if he’d like a cold beverage, ushering him to consider it on account of the serious effects of dehydration.

“If you don’t mind,” Harold meekly says.

Puffing its nonexistent chest, Hal encourages him not to be modest, health is important, all that.

It then produces from its metal chassis a bottle of chilled distilled water.

Taking it into his hands, Harold could feel the cold glass bottle against his skin, to the point it sticks.

Opening it, Harold felt the cold water hit his lips, the temperature difference was shocking to them, but instinctively he drank from the bottle.

Hal then encourages him to never be afraid to ask for a cold bottle of water.

It would be no trouble at all, since due to its modifications, Hal has mechanisms that ensure everything stays at optimal temperature.

Thanking it, Harold continues to drink the cold water, hitting the back of his throat, it causes a temporary painful discomfort, but he didn’t care.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, Harold twists the cap on, and as he does, he hears Mal digging through the supermarket.

Hal asks her if she was okay, and Mal responds how she found something of interest.

What that is, neither Hal nor Harold knew, but insistently Hal goes to Mal to help her.

Left alone, Harold relaxes for the time being before they head back outside to the wasteland.

In the back of his mind, he worried about Rose, and fears the bounty hunter might catch her.

“Madam, you should think of letting me check that for you!” Hal snapped him out of his thoughts as he sees Mal returning with something under her arm, Hal floating behind her.

Hitting his nose, Harold jumps up alarmed at the scent of blood, before Mal told him that it was a minor cut, she’d gotten from digging out a box.

As she sat it down, Harold caught the glint of blood trickling down her left arm.

“Does it hurt?” Harold instinctively asks her.

Rudely, Mal says it hurt like a bee sting, but refused to let Harold touch her arm.

Gesturing, Harold insists, “Mal, I’m a doctor. Please.”

Eying him accusingly, Mal showed no interest in letting him examine the cut, and even Hal wasn’t able to get her to comply.

“Mal, you know blood will attract the creatures out in the wasteland,” Harold insists.

Eying him, Mal stated, “I have a power armor, there’ll be blood alright, but it won’t be mine.”

She then reminds him that they have stimpaks before Harold insists that she not waste one on a minor cut, then.

“Resources are limited as they are,” Harold reminds her.

Kneeling, Mal opens the box she found, and inside she shows Harold the contents of what were tea leaves still in their cellophane wrap.

“Oh, that makes things better!” Hal chirps.

Seeing the boxes of various kinds of tea leaves, it made Harold’s blue eyes sparkle, but his concerns were still with her cut as he sees the blood pooling in the curve of the leather sleeve.

“If you’re cooled down enough, we better get out of here,” Mal stood up while telling Hal to take what it can from the box.

Squealing the elated Mr. Handy grabbed multiple boxes with its arms as it began showing them inside its chassis.

“Please, at least let me clean it,” Harold tries to convince Mal into letting him check her cut.

Eying him, Mal still showed hesitance before Harold pointed out that if she doesn’t, she will have blood within the power armor, and it would make another problem for her later down the line.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Mal grits her teeth as she asks for something to wash the blood off quickly.

Obliging, Hal hands her a disinfectant wipe, and Mal rolled up her leather sleeve, quickly wiping it down while Harold prepares to check her cut.

Holding the wipe around her arm, Mal watches attentively as Harold came towards her with a light and a makeshift kit.

He encourages her to sit down, and she does.

The cut was along her forearm as he sees the blood oozing from the cleanly sliced cut.

“What happened?” Harold wanted to know.

Begrudgingly, Mal told him she obtained the cut trying to dig through a pile where her arm rubbed against a broken beam.

“There’s nothing in your cut,” Harold noted before he began further disinfecting it.

Once he was sure it wasn’t at risk of getting an infection, Harold worked on stitching the cut.

With Hal’s help, he finished within a record-breaking time, and during it, Mal still never moved the disinfectant wipe from her arm.

She refuses to let Harold see her arm and when he clears her, she quickly moves her arm away from him.

Cleaning the blood off her leather sleeve, Mal asks if they’re ready to leave.

Chapter Text

With the help of their canine partner, Vandal and Courtesy follow the singe marks on the road towards a cave, seeing the sunset in the distance Vandal opted them stopping for the night.

Inside the cave, Vandal investigates the area where the woman and Harold sat around, there’s some remnants of tea leaves on the ground.

“What did the woman do?” Courtesy asks Vandal with curiosity.

Searching the cave, Vandal shrugs as he says, “I don’t ask, I just do my job.”

He never got into the grit of the details.

With this being a bounty worth a pretty penny, he couldn’t afford wasting time on them outside what he needed to know.

“What if she didn’t do anything wrong?” Courtesy brought up.

Shrugging, Vandal responds, “It’s a complicated thing, sure, but it’s my job.”

Something Courtesy ought to know.

Slowly nodding, Courtesy frowns as he wanted to argue against Vandal’s point, however, finding Rose was still number one on his mind, so he was forced to hold his tongue.

Starting a new fire in the pit left behind by the two, Vandal sat down with a weary sigh as Courtesy does the same with his newfound friend, Dogmeat.

Digging through his bag of assorted goods he brought with him on this journey, Courtesy grabs a packet of sausages.

“You hungry, boy?” Courtesy asks Dogmeat.

Wagging its tail, the German Shepherd woofs.

Smiling, he opens the sausages and with a stick he skewers them one at a time on it.

Seeing the eyes on Dogmeat, Courtesy relents, and gives the German Shepherd an uncooked sausage before telling it that the next one needs to be cooked.

The smell of sausage lingers in the air as Courtesy cooks them over the open fire as Vandal sat across from him sitting Indian style while checking Betty.

Going through his mental notes, Vandal knows Harold wants to find Rose above all else, too, and using this, he knows even if they can’t catch up to them, they will when Harold and the woman find her.

It’s a matter of where Rose found herself, if she found herself in a minutemen filled settlement or not.

Remembering she was insistent on going to Memphis, Vandal saw an opportunity that she would want to leave with Harold to Memphis the moment they reunite, so even if she was in a minutemen filled settlement, it was a matter of waiting.

Of course, that’s if all goes according to plan.

Still lingering on his mind were the antebellum wearing people and the super mutant.

There was no indication they died at the scene where they attempted to kidnap Rose and Harold, if they’re even still alive with the butchering Vandal went through trying to get Rose out of their grips.

Never saw anything like it before and if not for his obligations, maybe Vandal would have investigated their whereabouts.

“Okay boy, let me get you one off the top really quick,” Courtesy reaches up to pull the first sausage off the stick.

Hot in his fingers he quickly blows on it repeatedly until it was cooled enough to feed Dogmeat.

With a woof, the German Shepherd gladly consumes the sausage before Courtesy asks Vandal if he wanted any.

Sighing, Vandal takes one into his gloved hand, as the fire crackles before him.

“Grissom always told me stuff about what life was like… before the bombs dropped,” Courtesy began as he pulled the next sausage off for himself.

There were no raiders at every corner trying to flank caravans.

No mutants trying to take bites out of anyone trying to go from one place to another.

Patches of radiation with areas completely impossible to traverse without becoming human glow sticks.

Bounty hunters like Vandal weren’t prevalent.

Minutemen wouldn’t have been needed; the law was good enough.

Everything is a stark contrast to what Courtesy lived through since growing up.

Adjusting himself in his spot, Vandal lightly corrects Courtesy, “Life was better then, I’ll admit, but take it from me, kid. We weren’t squeaky clean back then, either that’s just wistful thinking.”

While those days were better than days today, Vandal knows that this was inevitable, even if it was delayed or never happened.

Human conditioning is at its finest.

And whether society ever returns to form completely remains a scattered dream, everyone’s too spread out, communications are limited, there’s factions that have grown in power to the point that they won’t simply disappear if the world somehow rights itself.

Trust him, he’s lived a long time to recognize the patterns, and it wasn’t pretty.

The only good thing he’ll admit to everything going to hell in a hand basket when the bombs dropped was how it brought humility back to society.

“Everyone thought they walked on a gold road back then, but they never stopped to wonder what would happen when that road ended,” Vandal sighs.

Admittedly, Vandal thought everything was peachy too, before he got hit with harsh truths and realities, that was even before the bombs dropped to hammer it home.

“What happened?” Courtesy asks him.

Looking down to Betty, Vandal admits, “Before my misfortune, I was in love with a pretty lady. Bethany Williams was her name. Called her Betty. She’d sent my heart soaring whenever we’d talk. Mean southpaw when she was mad, but that’s why I loved her.”

Sadness emits from his eyes as the memories come back to haunt him.

“Was she… you know…?” Courtesy pets Dogmeat as he asks Vandal the uncomfortable question about Betty’s fate.

Shaking his head, Vandal told him how Betty didn’t get vaporized before his eyes, turned into a burnt shadow on a wall, or turned into a ghoul like him.

She died before the bombs dropped from the skies above.

Bad luck hit her hardest than it did him.

Started with a bad automobile accident on her way home from work that left her in a coma and ended with her brain swelling uncontrollably from the trauma while doctors fought to stop it until a vein ruptured.

Betty was brain dead at that point and Vandal did what anyone would in his situation by pulling the plug.

It hurt, but it was no way for anyone to live, and as the doctors told him, she was dead, all that was left of her was her body.

Buried her in accordance with her wishes, but Vandal won’t lie how much it emotionally wrecked him.

He turned to the bottle to cope and was probably drunk when the bombs initially dropped.

Maybe that was why he turned into a ghoul and not a shadow on a wall.

Or fate cruelly taunting him by keeping him away from his love.

Admittedly, Vandal didn’t get that far during his existential crises.

Courtesy gives his condolences, but Vandal waved it away by saying that he worked through his trauma and grief decades ago.

His old life was gone, all his friends and family were dead from the bombs, and nothing he did will change that.

Unable to lie, he admits it making him bitter, Vandal still says that being a ghoul taught him there’s worse fates lived.

But that was the past, and this was the present, before Vandal encourages Courtesy to finish eating.

They leave first thing in the morning to continue searching for the woman and Harold.

Chapter Text

The red morning greets Bells and upon seeing the red light around them, the minutemen issue a possible storm warning for later to the day, further backed by the Moose relaying it over the radio station.

With the chance of storms, the minutemen limited traveling from Bells to emergencies until after the storms move through the area.

Rubbing her eyes as she woke up in her cot, the recovery getting better as she wasn’t as groggy and sore, Rose sees the red light coming through the window.

Almost foreboding, this wasn’t the typical morning light that Rose had been introduced to since arriving on the topside.

One of the settlers, noticing her awake came to warn her about it and how no one was allowed out of Bells until the next day.

“You don’t want to get caught by the storms at night,” the settler further warns her.

With the warnings hammered in her mind, Rose leaves the building, and instantly she’s enveloped by the red light.

Intense on her eyes, Rose squints as she walks through the settlement while settlers were preparing for the storms happening tonight.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad, just some heavy rain,” Mac thoughtfully says as he helps Stu nail down anything that can be blown away in heavy wind said to be in the area after dark.

Hammering nails, Stu responds, “Don’t know about that one brother, I feel it in my synthesized bones that something bad’s coming.”

Hopefully, because of their geography, they won’t get the blunt of the storms, but Stu shudders in fear for the people who were in the crosshairs of the storms.

“If we’re lucky it downgrades,” Mac gestures as he hands Stu more nails.

Taking them into his hands, Stu shakes his head as he warns, “Once those storms cross the river, they could rebound. Remember that beast of a storm from ten years back?”

Recalling the events that led to the deaths of over thirty-six settlers, Mac shudders, before he says in earnest how they grew better with detecting the storms, and as they continued talking to one another, Rose found them with curiosity in her hazel eyes.

“I hope you’re not going out on the dusty trail or anything,” Mac calls out to her.

Shaking her head as her tight ponytail stiffly moves, Rose affirms her intent to stay within the settlement until the storms passed, before expressing concerns for Harold.

“Assuming he’s still alive and smart, he’ll stay in a settlement after he hears the declarations. Even non-minutemen settlements are getting ready for the hell coming to town tonight,” Stu raises his finger.

Seeing the look on her face, the brothers realize how Rose didn’t know what was expected to come through the state after dark, if the red morning was any indication.

Raising his finger, Mac explained to her the details about tornadoes, something she would have never seen or heard about during her time in the vault.

With the spring weather, it heightened their risks of dealing with the tornadoes, and the worst yet was how they changed.

“How… did they change?” Rose questions him.

After handing Stu more nails, Mac explains.

As with everything going to hell after the bombs dropped and the events that followed afterwards, there were things that changed.

Namely, the tornadoes that Mac told her about.

More specifically, night tornadoes.

Something Mac sums up as something more dangerous than tornadoes Rose can see during the day, hence his tone of voice describing them.

Ever since the bombs, night tornadoes have grown in frequency, and even more frightful than when things were normal.

One would think the powerful weather events would have become iridescent from the radioactive ground and what else, but they remained blended in the darkness of the night.

Don’t know if it was because of the bombs or other, but ever since then, tornadoes have become quieter, stealthier to detect with what little the minutemen and eccentric people had around, only emitting their infamous growling noises when they’re close to settlements.

Sounds hokey, he knows, but it was as though tornadoes were hunting settlements to destroy, to feed on the destruction to grow, so on.

With the world as they know forever changed and they know less than nothing about the new world they exist in now, anything was possible, and believe Mac and his brother, it was a haunting thing to think about.

“What should I do?” Rose wanted to know how to prepare for a potential tornado.

Hammering in the final set of nails, Stu gave her the answer, “Listen. When the sirens start going off, get your ass to that big red two-door shelter in the center of the settlement. Follow the red flares the minutemen put down. We lost a lot of information since the bombs, so even if you start feeling your knees giving you problems, get your ass to the shelter.”

Unable to predict when a tornado would impact the settlement, it was a wing and a prayer, and Rose would have to keep her eyes and ears open.

Taking his warning to heart, Rose jumps when something crashes adjacent from them.

Alarmed, the brothers stopped in their tracks to look, but sighed in relief as it was one of the settlers losing their grip on plywood, they were handing it over to someone else.

“Don’t worry, it ain’t our first rodeo, just follow the people to the shelter, you’ll be fine,” Mac smiles as he glimpses Rose exhaling sharply.

Encouraging her to get something to eat after her checkup from Regina, the brothers watched Rose depart to do just that.

Upon arriving at the doctor’s office, Rose saw people impatiently waiting for their turns.

Taking a number from the queue machine, Rose found a spot, and waited for her turn.

Listening to the people in the waiting room, Rose could hear the worry in their voices, wondering what would happen later tonight when the storms are set to strike.

An older woman, about her sixties, described a story when she was a little girl, about six, living somewhere in Middle Tennessee on a Brahmin Farm.

One night, her father gone out for a smoke, but came running back inside with fears in his eyes while she and her mother were cleaning up after dinner to warn them of an approaching storm over the horizon.

Things were different then, worsened by the bombs destroying the meteorology tools, so they didn’t have the warnings that were prominent these days.

The moment they reached their cellar, the older woman recalled vividly the growling noise emitting from a wall of darkness slowly encroaching their farm, the Brahmin fleeing in terror with their moos disappearing into yonder.

In her mother’s arms, she remembers them going into the cellar with her father shutting the doors closed.

The growl grew increasingly louder as the tornado was closing in on their farmhouse.

“The ground was shaking — like an earthquake was happening, the air was getting thick, I remember I couldn’t breathe, and my mamma comforting me. Papa assured us it would be safe since we were down in the cellar where it was supposed to be safe. I remember the doors were starting to shake and my papa touched my head as he told her and me it would hold,” the older woman recalled the events leading up to the tragedy that befell the family.

The cellar doors rumbled for what felt like eons, but suddenly, they stopped.

Underneath their feet, the ground stopped shaking.

It must have been minutes before someone finally said something.

“It’s gone now,” her papa declared.

Her mother pleaded with him not to go up to the cellar doors, but he insisted that the tornado had moved on, and wanted to know what damages the farmhouse took.

“I need to know what happened to the Brahmin, too!”

The older woman watched her father go up to the cellar doors while she hung back with her mother as they huddled in a corner.

At first, he opened the doors, and she remembered the distinct smell of rain and the sound of large raindrops falling on the ground.

Leaning in with curiosity, Rose asks, “What happened?”

A frown on her tired face, the older woman recalls, “He stepped over the edge to see better. I remember… he called down to us to say it was safe… and then he screamed!”

Vividly, the older woman witnessed her father’s arm suddenly being pulled outward towards the fields and he instinctively grabbed the door handle on one of the doors closest to him.

Trying to keep his feet dug into the ground, her father tried desperately to climb back into the safety of the shelter, when they heard a sound like no other.

A roar.

Animalistic, there was no mistaking it.

The wind started whipping up and the tornado that was thought to have moved past their destroyed farmhouse had stayed close to the shelter.

As if it knew they were inside and waited for one of them to come out of it.

Pitifully, her father desperately tried to keep his grip while shouting at her mother and her to stay back.

A tug of war, her father forcibly gripped the door handle with his one hand while the other was pulled by the force of the tornado.

It inevitably proved impossible, and she distinctly remembered the doors being pulled closed suddenly, the roaring noises outside silencing, replaced by what would be construed as maniacal laughter, and then her father screaming, then nothing.

Too afraid, she stayed with her mother for hours, afraid of venturing outside their only safe place from the tornado.

Only when rescuers came by to check on them did they see what happened.

The force of the tornado proved too strong for her father that it caused his arm not only to be dislocated but ripped away.

His hand was still in a vice grip around the door handle when rescuers found the shelter.

Where her father’s body went, the older woman believed the tornado “ate” the rest before moving on to somewhere else before it dissipated.

Her childhood farmhouse was gone, and their cattle gone, the older woman moved with her mother to a different settlement, and since she never encountered anything like it, again.

Rose gave her condolences, but the older woman declined it, saying it was decades ago at this point, and she can only look ahead.

Chapter Text

Brightly, the red morning engulfs the area in the equally red hue, and Hal warns that its sensors indicate the storms will be devastating when they arrive in the nighttime.

High damaging winds, dangerous hail, thunder and lighting, flooding, and the potential for tornadoes.

Seeing Harold nervous, Hal informs him how storms like these typically happened around the evening and late-night hours before it assures him that it has a detailed map of the area and will find them a place to hunker down if they don’t reach McGavock in time.

“Rest assure you, good sir, you’re in capable hands!” Hal chirped.

Slowly nodding as he acknowledges Hal’s desire, keeping himself from panicking, Harold stares at the reddened sun.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Harold sheepishly asks the two.

Floating beside them, Hal answers, “I have some faint records of seeing red lights like this, but that could just be laser fires that decommissioned me.”

Walking in the power armor, Mal responds with a reverb, “I make a habit not to step outside much.”

Unless Mal and Hal need supplies or the raiders are getting too close for comfort, they generally never leave their makeshift compound.

Chewing on his inner lips, Harold follows them closely.

“Hm, madam, what will you do when we arrive?” Hal inquires Mal’s plans when they arrive in McGavock.

The power armor would likely attract attention, that there might be disturbances during the night when the storms arrive by opportunists seeking it for themselves.

Unable to shrug, Mal says outwardly that they’ll head into the settlement once they find a hiding spot for the power armor.

Hopefully, once the storms pass, the power armor will still be there when they come back for it.

Hal assures her that it can track the power armor with no problem.

“I’m picking up a neighborhood ahead, there’s probably someplace we can stow it away,” Hal’s eyes move in different directions.

It then chirps if Mal wanted to test the power armor’s effectiveness in tornadoes before Mal responds with a brief, “No.”

Though Hal pointed out the chances the power armor hadn’t been used in the weather event; Mal overrode the idea.

“It got torn up by the bear, I don’t think a tornado’s any different” Mal retorts.

They’re not far from it now, with Hal’s impeccable maps and sensors guiding them, they’ll be there before sundown.

Hal picked up buildings on the outskirts of the settlement, but most were attached to farms, and well, Hal warns the farmers might not be inclined to let them room in their shelters.

“We’ll think of something,” Mal says.

McGavock was in view now, there’s markings of minutemen having become part of the settlement’s fabric, which complicated the need to avoid conflict due to the power armor.

However, Harold brings up how the bounty hunter lambasted the minutemen when he and Rose were captured by him.

“Hm, I appreciate the good sir’s tenacity, madam,” Hal raises an arm.

Using the minutemen against the bounty hunter, Harold hoped to dissuade the bounty hunter from attempting to collect his bounty.

Nearer to the settlement as it was almost afternoon, the trio found an abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of McGavock, and Hal scans for possible threats while Harold poked around the neighborhood.

Many of the houses were stripped away to their frames, some completely collapsed, and others missing from their plots.

Hardly anything remained of the former neighborhood with its cracked road, broken sidewalks, and destroyed fencing.

He spots a tricycle buried in the mud, the handlebar poking through, completely rusted from exposure, and emotions bubbled as he wonders what became of the child that used it.

“Hm, no one’s here, madam and good sir,” Hal states as it spun around to look at them with its moving eyes.

Exhaling, Harold says, “No doubt they want to stay close to the shelters.”

Seeing empty houses that had clearly been lived in abandoned as settlers fled into the settlement proper, Harold frowns as the fear of the storms gripped settlers.

“My sensors indicate there’s a wine cellar nearby, madam, maybe that’ll be a good hiding place?” Hal moves towards Mal as she walks ahead.

Briefly stopping, Mal lets the Mr. Handy float ahead as it guided her towards a house on the corner.

Somewhat still together, there’s markings of some repairs being done, but it otherwise looked abandoned.

From what they see, there was no outside entrance into the wine cellar, the only way was inside the house itself.

“Hm, could be the work of the minutemen, madam, maybe they’re trying to spruce up the neighborhood?” Hal suggests as it ponders.

Agreeing with Hal, Harold noted what the minutemen he and Rose spoke with said about trying to get settlers to trust them.

What better way than to help rebuild settlements.

“Although, the mountain people may not be willing to accept their help,” Hal noted as Mal stood near the house.

Floating Hal went with Harold to find the wine cellar in the house after he opened the door.

Going ahead, Hal moves through the hallways as Harold follows it, and going through the house, they find it wasn’t used for a long time, before finding the entrance into the wine cellar in the kitchen.

“Hm, it’s perturbing there’s an anomalous amount of lead being detected on my sensors,” Hal’s eyes narrow.

Shrugging, Harold suggests, “Could been a fallout shelter.”

Cautious, Hal ran a scan for radiation, before stating that it didn’t detect any dangerous levels.

Firing a shot, Hal breaks the lock on the wine cellar, and darkness greets them.

“You don’t detect any life forms, do you?” Harold warily asks Hal.

Floating beside him, Hal narrows its three eyes before saying, “Oh, I don’t see anything. I don’t think this wine cellar has been used since the bombs.”

Checking the lock that lightly smolders after being shot off the doors with a precise laser, Harold saw its age, and it had been rusted shut long after the bombs dropped.

It would be difficult for anyone to open the doors unless they had a precise shot like Hal or an axe and a temper.

“Anything?” They heard Mal’s voice reverb from down the hall.

Hal raises its volume as it responds, “It’s a bit dark, madam.”

But it didn’t detect life inside the cellar.

“Okay, you two move aside, I’ll head down and see what’s what,” Mal orders them.

Moving to the side of the kitchen with Hal, Harold watches as Mal emerges from the hallway, every step he felt the wooden floors rumbling underneath them, that it was a miracle they held up to the weight of the power armor.

Pushing a button, the power armor’s helmet illuminated a bright light as Mal hoists herself down into the wine cellar where the light hits the glass bottles left behind.

Carefully swaying as she walks through the wine cellar, Mal sees nothing indicating there were burrows from mole rats, ants, or others that broke through the lead walls.

She found a dressed skeleton in the corner of the cellar clutching an empty bottle of wine, there were bottles littering nearby, and it painted the conclusion to the person when they fled into their wine cellar during the bombs.

Once she concluded the wine cellar was cleared, she carefully turned her body towards the two as they entered the wine cellar.

Warned of the skeleton, Harold braces himself as he sees it in the hue of the light.

“Suppose the drink killed him,” Hal muses.

Going into an empty corner, Mal pushes her way out of the power armor, combing her hair with her fingers, as Hal looks over the wine bottles with interest.

“My word! These are over 200 years old, madam!” Hal says with intrigue.

Picking out a bottle, Harold looks with interest before wondering, “Do you think it’s still drinkable?”

Thinking to itself, Hal scans the bottle in his hand before saying, “Well, I don’t have any taste buds, but I’m sure if it doesn’t kill you, it might just taste like refined vinegar.”

It offered to chill the bottle of wine for him, and Harold opted to accept the offer.

Watching Hal stick the bottle of wine inside its chassis, Harold hears Mal ask him if he was ready to head into the settlement proper.

Nodding, Harold places Rose’s knapsack near the power armor before he goes with her to the staircase as Hal follows behind.

Exiting the cellar, they locked it up with Hal’s help, and off they went to McGavock with the sun hanging over them.

The humidity increased in response as they walked over the broken road leading to McGavock.

Chapter Text

The red morning gave Vandal and Courtesy urgency in finding the man and the woman, Vandal knowing that if it didn’t storm in the day, it will at night, and he knew the stories about the night tornadoes that have increased in frequency to the point that it causes dread among the settlers come spring.

Folktales about tornadoes becoming the arms of God taking away the sinful and wicked as punishment for the world becoming the way it is with innocents taken as tests of faith, but there were plenty about the tornadoes becoming black monsters hiding in the night every spring that consumes all and any they can find due to the bombs and irradiated land affecting the weather that it made settlers wonder if mutant animals and people exist, what else possibly can in their new world?

For Vandal, before the bombs, he never witnessed a tornado himself as he grew up towards Northern California, but even then, they were terrifying from appearing seemingly out of thin air to ripping through areas in darkness.

His grandmother told him growing up they were the fingers of God coming down to smite the wicked and the sinners, but quickly Vandal saw the hypocrisy when seeing footage of family homes being destroyed by tornadoes one spring, and the fear-stricken children plastered across the screens as interviewers talked to their parents.

Even despite how far they come in their scientific quests for the atoms before it became their downfall, to this day, no one understands how a tornado works.

With everything as it is, it doesn’t surprise Vandal that people these days have taken the religious approach with the tornadoes.

Courtesy knew some stories from his father, how the approach of spring causes everyone in the affected areas to scramble for supplies and hiding places from the inevitable storms to slam the area until summer arrives.

Growing up he himself was tasked with getting the shelters ready for the spring even during the dead of winter when he was stocking shelves with pickled fruits and vegetables to survive should the storms be bad come the next spring.

In his twenty something years, Courtesy never had the fortune of witnessing one of the tornadoes, but he saw the aftermath every time they’ve come through areas.

Grissom told him how they used to predict the storms before they hit, that they would have enough time to get to shelter before the storms hit or if they won’t be as bad, how everywhere had tornado sirens propped up and ready to go off on a moment’s notice.

Evidently, the bombs meant they lost that edge, and even with the remnants of technology scavenged throughout the years, they aren’t always able to predict the storms like before.

The minutemen worked tirelessly trying, however, and using the Moose as means of getting the warnings out to everyone in the state, and then some.

If you asked him his opinions on the whole thing about the tornadoes becoming monsters mutated by the bombs, Courtesy wouldn’t disagree that they’ve become more than weather phenomena that strike fear and awe.

In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising if there were people believing the same about the hurricanes and cyclones being monstrous forces empowered by the new world, too.

Barking, the renamed Max, alerts the men of the next stop where the man and woman went.

An abandoned supermarket.

A good place to hunker down for a moment.

“Come on, boy,” Courtesy urges Max as they walked towards the building.

Finding the doors, they enter, and immediately Max alerted them to the presence of blood.

Following the German Shepherd to an area of the supermarket, Vandal spots a disposed bloody rag.

Someone got hurt, it’d seem.

Good means they have a good chance finding them with Max smelling the blood.

“Get a good whiff and find them, I’ll buy you a bone,” Vandal tells the German Shepherd as he went around the supermarket trying to retrace the man and woman’s steps.

Rummaged through the supermarket for supplies, there’s fresh dust where someone moved stuff around.

Glancing around, Vandal sees nothing but strewn garbage and empty boxes.

Picked clean to the bones, the few stragglers were taken by the man and woman.

On his mind, Vandal thought about the woman’s Mr. Handy, how it would be programmed to protect her at all costs, and the various ways it will attempt to retaliate.

Well-placed concussive shots will do the trick.

Might be a struggle with the woman, but Vandal dealt with worse.

Once the woman is captured, Vandal might retire and spend his long years coasting on 300k caps.

A simple plan.

And if he’s being swindled for easy labor, well he’ll still be getting 300k caps and more as repayment.

Always have contingencies.

“Okay, I don’t see anything else of value, come on, we don’t want to spend too long out on the roads,” Vandal urges Courtesy to get a move on with Max.

Returning to the outside, Max barks as its ears and tail point in the direction the man and woman went in, and the men followed it on the lonely road.

Along the way, Courtesy brought up a topic that he shared with Rose about vaults.

“She says she came from one, but I always heard rumors about them,” he says.

Harkening back to the days when he wasn’t a skinless Frank, Vandal recalled everyone jumping at the chance of joining Vault-Tec’s newest contributions to the world.

Everyone and their mother fought tooth and nail trying to get a place in a vault and how Vandal was almost a participant before he changed his mind.

Since becoming a ghoul and joining the new world as such, he heard his share of rumors about the vaults, and it didn’t surprise him how they turned out to be no better than what reporters described over the radios and televisions during the war.

Jaded as they come since Betty died and he was left to his lonesome, Vandal always expected the worst.

“Why would anyone do that to people?” Courtesy found it perplexing.

Sighing, Vandal explains how humans have always done things to one another since their inception, and vaults are an extension of that dogma.

Profit or bloodthirsty animals in a nice suit, it’s all the same to him.

“That said, you won’t catch me going near one,” Vandal wagged his gloved finger.

Some things are beyond reproach for Vandal and going into vaults is one of them.

He advises Courtesy to do the same, saying nothing ever good happens going into a vault, and how it was the equivalent of disturbing the dead.

Even if Rose says hers is peachy, there’s always something insidious lurking beneath that she might not even be aware of.

Trust the ghoul who walked the lands longer than Courtesy’s been alive.

Following the scent of blood, Max kept the men on their toes as it led them down the lonely road that since become cracked and marred.

There was credence to something menacing coming into the area, Vandal noticed the stark absence of wildlife as they’re walking.

Not even a straggler, mole rat or wasp!

Mutant or not, suppose even a mole cricket would have heightened senses for when to stay deep in the earth.

It doesn’t bode well for the area with everything ducking for cover this early.

Chapter Text

In the horizon, the sun starts setting, the humidity hasn’t eased, and on edge, a good chunk of people took to the shelters early, afraid of getting swept up in the storms.

The Moose came over the radio giving tornado warnings for much of the state until tomorrow morning at the latest, before giving his spiel of minutemen shooting flare guns and what else to alert travelers on the road of safe places.

As for those in settlements, the Moose warns to keep their eyes and ears open, as he says that he will keep the radio for much of the night in the basement of the furniture store where he operates.

“From what I’ve gathered, folks, it’s looking bad. If you have an underground area you can hide in and you’re not sure if you can make down in time, you’re better off sleeping down there. Provided you don’t wake up with the Wasteland’s finest digging their way through, but I digress. Stay safe, God help us all,” the Moose chillingly says before he switches the music back on.

Seeing everyone unnerved, Rose spots the brightly colored doors into the shelters, minutemen helped people down the steps as they grabbed their spots early.

She spots Regina with Mac and Stu moving patients down into the shelters early, unwilling to risk them getting caught in the storms.

Stress was on Regina’s face as she helped the final patient down the stairs before helping them find a spot in the shelter to rest while they nervously wait for the storms.

Settlers with children rush to the opened shelter doors with intent finding spots as they didn’t want to risk sleeping above ground.

Children, sensing the nervousness and worry reacted as they did just that it pulled Rose over to the group as the minutemen attempted to keep things civil while helping the families find spots below.

A little girl around the age of four clung to her mother’s pant leg as her father talked to the minutemen.

Her bright green eyes spots Rose and she uses the pant leg to bashfully hide her face before Rose talks to her.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, Lou Ann, daddy’s talking to the minutemen,” her mother pats the top of her head as she tries to keep her daughter from panicking.

She glances up as Rose was a step away and Rose held up her hands as she asks, “Is there a queue system?”

Shaking her head, the mother says with a sigh, “Oh, no, but some people here like to make sure they have their spots. Even if the minutemen made sure everyone here gets a cot in the shelters, they just gotta make sure.”

Still, she and her family want to make sure they have their spots ready for tonight.

Seeing the little girl peek from behind her mother’s pant leg, Rose inquiries about her.

“Oh, I especially wanted to come out here before it gets any darker. Poor Lou Ann’s just scared of storms,” the mother lovingly touches the top of her daughter’s head.

Nodding, Rose points out, “She’s probably scared because you’re scared.”

Still young, the child was still capable of sensing emotions, and seeing everyone nervous is causing her to react similarly.

“She’s not going to like it any better when she’s older,” her mother sighs.

It’s not the answer she wanted to give, but with their lives as it stands, Lou Ann will sooner come to cope with the storms and what else the Wasteland throughs at her, else she’ll just become another skeleton left to dry in the sun.

Looking down at Lou Ann, Rose gives her a smile as she waves to her, but expectedly the child didn’t wave back.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine after the storms,” Rose looks up to Lou Ann’s mother.

Nodding, the mother exhales, “I’m just glad the minutemen are here. We were always skeptical about them, but they’ve done some good work around here.”

Ever since the settlement agreed to allow the minutemen into it, they’ve gone to work cleaning up the area while creating storm shelters that can hold everyone in the settlement.

Dugouts to control the flooding helped keep the town relatively dry during intense periods of rain, which also contributed to the settlers beginning to warm up to the minutemen.

“I hear not many people like them,” Rose brings up.

Shaking her head, her fuzzy peach hair stiffly moving, the mother, who introduced herself as Clementine, informs Rose how the settlement she came from absolutely refused to allow the minutemen to operate out of it, and it contributed her to leave it once it reached a period where the only protectors of the settlement were chronic alcoholics.

“Sure, they’ll drink, but they’re not stumbling around drunk off their asses,” Clementine showed disdain for the people from the settlement.

Here, she knows the minutemen won’t let nonsense go unchecked, and they weren’t heavy drinkers who preferred moonshine.

Whenever they had bad storms, the minutemen were out doing what they could for them, and that’s as much as she can hope for in their situation.

“Clammy, you and Lou Ann ready?” Clementine hears her husband calling for her.

Excusing herself, she leaves with Lou Ann trotting alongside her.

Seeing everyone doing similar getting their spots in the shelter, Rose figures she goes with the flow, and waits in the line.

Slowly, the line thins, and Rose is in front of a minuteman with a clipboard.

“Name?” Horus asks.

Rose responds with a thoughtful, “Rose, sir.”

Nodding, Horus wrote it down before asking if she was accompanied by anyone.

Frowning as she shakes her head, she answers, “No. Just me.”

Writing it down, Horus asks if she’ll be taking refuge right now, or attempt to reach safety when the storms inevitably arrive.

“What’s my best chance?” Rose asks.

Horus responds, “Better get down there now than later.”

If Rose’s a heavy sleeper, she might not know what hit her, but he isn’t sure if that’s any better.

“Um, sure, I guess I should,” Rose weakly shrugs before Horus led her down into the shelters.

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, she’s greeted by lines of beds with people occupying them.

Leading her to a part of the shelter for people like her who were alone, Horus located a bed for her, and she sat down on it while Horus took the number on the bed frame.

“I have to ask, is this your first tornado?” Horus asks her.

Sheepishly nodding, Rose felt her cheeks turning red from embarrassment before Horus comforted her as he points out that she wasn’t the first.

“We’re about 30ft below, we have dugouts and roundabouts for excess water, the doors are reinforced, and we’ve taken precaution against any of the underground “residents” that make it their home. You may not hear the hail or thunder, but under no circumstance should you panic if the lights flicker. We have underground wiring with reinforced cables,” Horus gave the spiel to Rose. “The radios are hardwired so we’ll still be able to listen to them, but just don’t get crazy with the volume.”

Once he finishes his spiel, he moves on to take care of business elsewhere while Rose settles on her cot.

This far underground and far back, the minutemen were prepared to keep everyone safe from the storms, and ensure they weren’t packed in together like sardines.

Being underground again brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort for Rose, seeing the soft lights that she grew to associate with growing up, but amid the nostalgia and comfort, she felt sadness that her father wasn’t here with her or her friends.

Looking up at the large clock pinned to the cement wall, Rose can see the time being approximately 6:30PM and from what she hears from people coming down from the stairs, the dark clouds were on approach.

“Mr. Harold, please tell me you’re okay,” Rose frowns as she thought about him and how she hoped he was safe amid the storms.

Chewing on her inner lip, she stretched out her neck to see the arrivals of people coming down the steps hoping for Harold to be one of them, but alas, he never miraculously appears.

Once everyone was accounted for, the minutemen shut the doors shut, and they began patrolling the shelters as everyone kept themselves busied as they waited for the storms.

As she sat on her cot, she noticed Mac and Stu coming towards her.

“How’s it look up there?” Rose asks them.

Sighing, Mac responds, “It’s getting dark. Blacker than black.”

His brother added, “God help anyone out on the roads.”

Chapter Text

Arriving in McGavock as the sun slowly began setting, Hal warns that the storms were on the approach and gaining in strength and speed and urges them to get whatever food they can from the stores before they close.

“Come on, let’s see what we can scrounge up,” Mal motions as they walked through McGavock looking for somewhere that had food.

Not surprisingly, most places closed early due to the incoming storms, and some were picked clean by prepared settlers.

It took digging before they found a place with some leftovers that they could eat while hunkered in the storm shelters.

Some bottles of Nuka Cola and some cans of food were found in an abandoned store not far from the settlement.

During their scrounging, Mal also bought intact medical books that she found amid the clutter left behind by frightened settlers trying to ensure they had supplies for the aftermath of the storms, and gifts them to Harold when they left the store with their food.

At first glance, Harold was surprised at Mal’s unprompted gift, before asking what compelled Mal to buy the books for him.

“You lost yours, didn’t you?” Mal shrugs.

Acknowledging that his books were lost to the raider using them as fire starters, Harold thanks her for the gifts, before she waves her hand, downplaying the generosity.

Chirping, Hal responds, “Madam is being her modest self as usual, good sir!”

Mal did not confirm or deny, rather content with getting their spots in the storm shelter in the center of the settlement.

Following the directions, they arrived and as they did, they witness the sight of worried settlers hurrying towards men with clipboards carrying bags.

Already, the trio spot dissonance with the men not allowing ghouls into the storm shelter as they prioritized non-ghouls.

The fears of the storm grew strongly with the humidity and the red morning, it was causing tension between the deputies and the ghouls who wanted entry into the shelter.

“200 something years and we learnt what?” Hal sighs at the sight of the ghouls pleading with the men holding the clipboards.

Seeing the scene as they’re coming closer, Harold replies with a disappointed, “Not much.”

Going ahead of the two, Mal walks up to the men with their clipboards, much to Harold’s surprise, and he stands next to Hal as they listened to Mal’s conversation.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“Nothing that concerns, ma’am, are you here to get a spot in the storm shelter?”

“You’re taking that tone with me?”

Showing her hidden depths, Mal tricks the men with clipboards into believing that she was sent to make sure things were going well with preparations for the possible tornadoes later that night.

Seeing the despondent ghouls, Mal took a tone with them about not doing their jobs ensuring everyone equally got a place in the shelter, before the men quickly relented, and filed in the names.

Embarrassed by the event and haven’t caught on, the men disappeared to do something else, and the grateful ghouls came over to thank her for her help.

Further downplaying that she was only doing it to make a point, the ghouls nonetheless thanked her for her help in getting spots in the storm shelter before running down the stairs inside.

Sighing, Mal rejoins the two as they looked at her.

“Okay, we got our spots, anything you need to look at while we have time?” Mal didn’t acknowledge her help with the ghouls and Harold wasn’t going to push on the matter before joining her and Hal below.

Upon entering, instantly, there were issues with the storm shelter.

It’s shallow and confining.

This shelter would not be deep enough to protect people from the approaching storms or wide enough to accommodate everyone hunkering down.

Confused, the trio stopped when they saw something they didn’t expect.

Everyone corralled around it and there was the appointed mayor urging them to be patient.

His eyes wide, Harold was shocked at the sight of a vault door with the number 60 etched in yellow on it.

Recoiling, Mal was about to leave when Harold stopped her.

“We’re leaving,” Mal decreed but Harold wouldn’t let her leave.

Warning her that they have nowhere else to go, and they won’t reach the wine cellar before the storms hit, Harold sees the discomfort in Mal’s amber eyes as she insists, they leave, but gave no reason why.

“Madam, my sensors are showing the storms crossed the borders. We don’t have time,” Hal warned her.

Holding his hand out, Harold promised Mal nothing would happen, after all, she had Hal as her backup.

Her eyes locked on the vault door; Mal grits her teeth before begrudgingly agrees.

Taking his hand, Mal walks with him to the crowd near the vault, and the mayor turns around as it’s opened by his assistants.

“Please don’t rush, we’re all afraid, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be mindful!” The mayor raises his voice as lines of people formed while the assistants began leading people into the vault.

Gritting her teeth, Mal walks with Harold beside her and Hal floating behind them as they near the vault entrance.

An assistant led them inside, hair stood on Mal’s arms as she sees the florescent lights above illuminating the long hallways with a soft light.

Staying close to Hal and Harold, Mal walks with them to a cleared room where the assistant gave them a rundown on rules.

It boiled down to not doing anything stupid or else the enforcers walking the hallways would jail them.

Left alone in their room, Harold exhales sharply as he assesses their situation before noticing Mal becoming further uneasy as she paces around.

“My sensors indicate this vault hasn’t been used for over 80 years!” Hal twirls with intrigue.

“How can your sensors pickup on that?” Harold raises his brow at Hal’s ability to determine the vault’s status.

Before Hal can answer, Mal overrides it, and bluntly tells Harold that they’re leaving McGavock the moment the storms pass, and they’re cleared to leave.

Refusing to give reason for her uneasiness, Mal paces around the room, and as she waits for the storms to pass through the area, there’s a commotion down the hall.

It gets Harold’s attention, and he pokes his head out into the hallway to see a mother begging for help.

Her son isn’t breathing.

Instinctively, Harold leaves to investigate, and as he reaches the panicked mother with a crowd watching on, the mother wheezes while explaining what happened.

In her wheezes, she describes putting her son to bed and didn’t think of anything while she went to read a book.

Something stirred in her and she checked on her son, that’s when she found him unconscious.

“Is there no doctor?” Harold winces.

Shaking her head, the mother lamented, “Doctor Fraser left for Boston weeks ago!”

The settlement didn’t have a doctor on staff.

Volunteers here and there, otherwise they relied on stimpaks, but that’s been limited since they’re expensive to stock constantly that they’re reserved for extreme situations.

It would take time for the mayor to authorize their release.

Entering the room, Harold went straight to the child, upon reaching him, Harold proceeds to check his pulse, going down a list of possible causes for the child being unconscious.

Overhead, he hears the mother panicking.

Chewing on his inner lip, Harold deduces the child has appendicitis.

Relaying this to the mother only made her more belligerent.

Calming her, Harold scoops the child up from the bed, and hurries out of the room to find a sterile medical room.

Finding one was difficult, but he managed, amid the hectic conditions, Hal appears with curiosity in its multiple eyes.

“This child has appendicitis,” Harold explains as Hal floats inside the medical room.

Alarmed at the prognosis, Hal volunteers itself to aid Harold in helping the boy.

Thanking it, Harold watches as Hal helped sterilize the room before saying with a cheerful, “The doctors are in!”

Sterilizing his hands and finding what he could use as a scrub, Harold took deep breaths before beginning the surgery with Hal’s help.

Using its internals, Hal monitors the boy’s vitals while they worked on removing the appendix.

His heart beating against his chest, Harold works tirelessly with Hal giving him routine updates.

The smell of blood oozed throughout the area as Hal gently sucked blood away from the incision Harold made.

“The storm has arrived in the area, good sir, but the vault shouldn’t be affected too much,” Hal alerted Harold.

With the vault insulated, they will not hear the storm barreling down on them.

“Will we lose power?” Harold asks it.

Focused on the boy, Hal responds, “No sir, but even if we have the chance, I have enough juice for approximately three days.”

After that, it will require charging or battery replacements.

“But never fear, good sir, we will get through this!” Hal remains cheerful.

Remaining focused on the task, Harold kept his hands steady while he removed the burst appendix from the boy and dropped it on a tray.

Using a sterilized hose, Hal suctions out the puss and excess blood while keeping the boy stabilized.

Time froze around them as they were heavily focused on the boy, that once the final stitching was done, did they realized the passage of time that happened.

“There’s a tornado on the ground, good sir!” Hal warned him as he began sterilizing everything once again while Hal helped.

On its sensors Hal spots the markers of the touchdown and it's a monster.

“Be safe, Rose,” Harold exhales as he had Hal help him further.

Moving the boy somewhere he can recover while Hal dutifully watches over him, Harold briefly stepped away from his duty as surgeon, and converses with the boy’s mother.

“Is he going to be fine?” the mother gestures.

Exhaling sharply, Harold replies, “A day later, your son would be dead. Did he mention anything about pain?”

Harold listens as the mother tells him how her son complained about some soreness, but she attributed it to the farm work he had been doing since his father passed away last year.

“I’ve been working trying to keep the household together,” the mother blamed herself for failing to realize her son was suffering from appendicitis.

Raising his hand, Harold assured her that she wasn’t malicious in anyway, and how often people overlook even the littlest thing.

Sniffling, the mother asks if she can see her son, and Harold shows her the room while giving Hal instructions.

“Oh, good sir, you hurt me so!” Hal found it embarrassing how Harold treated it like a “first year model.”

Sighing, Harold returns to the room he and Mal had been assigned to and found her gone.

Raising his brow, Harold glimpsed around the room, but the woman had disappeared.

“Mal?” Harold calls out for her as he steps out of the room back into the hallway.

The chaos dying down, he was able to walk along the sterile hallways searching for her, and finally found her in front of one of the computers left behind.

“There you are!” Harold exhales as he goes towards her.

Glimpsing up, Mal briefly said, “Yeah, hi. Had fun?”

Blinking, Harold says, “A child almost died of appendicitis, about as fun as being used for target practice. What are you doing?”

Curiosity drew him into standing beside Mal as she hacked into the computer and looked through the contents.

As quickly as he stood next to her, she flicked off the computer, standing up while saying that there wasn’t anything interesting.

“Mal, what’s gotten into you?” Harold asks her.

Waving her hand as she moved away from the desk, Mal only says, “Look, focus on finding Rose, okay. I’m only helping you until you do.”

With that, she slinks out into the hallway leaving Harold with a quizzical look on his face.

Once he was sure that she was gone, Harold went back to the computer Mal was using and turned it back on.

It’s been a while since he used one, but muscle memory allowed him to access the computer fine.

Mal was deeply invested in searching through the computer and he found some evidence of what she was looking for.

Three things were left behind during her attempts to scrub her presence.

> 655321:

No file; reference

>655320:

No file; reference

> Krauser, Heinrich:

No file; reference

Chapter Text

Hidden in the underground shelter, Rose didn’t hear anything, but the anxiety was thick around her as people prayed to whatever they conjured up or read in a book for an end to the storms that have moved into the area.

The radio broadcast update on the storms, and it wasn’t looking good, the Moose warned that the minutemen reported that a tornado was on the move, and with their limited capabilities saw it moving west.

Unable to properly gauge the tornado’s strength and its movements, the minutemen caution everyone who could listen to stay sheltered until they’re given the clear.

Rested on the bed with her legs pressed against her chest, Rose listens to the ambiance of the shelter with people talking amongst themselves as the minutemen came around to check on them.

Mac and Stu were elsewhere and the lighting in the shelter wasn’t perfect so that Rose stayed on her bed.

Checking her Pip-Boy, she saw it was not functioning due to the heavy storms, and it left her with nothing but her own thoughts.

When she returns to her vault, her friends will never believe the journey it took doing her father a favor, and she wondered if they’d believe her.

All she wanted to do was go back to the vault and never leave it, again, everything was a nightmare coming out of the vault, and even with meeting nice people like Harold and Courtesy, Rose knew she was out of her elements.

Though, she admits to herself it’ll be sad not to see Harold, possibly ever again, she doesn’t see herself staying on the topside long after getting the parcel to Mercurio Benton.

Courtesy won’t leave his father and Albion, so there’s that.

Mal was right.

She wasn’t cut out to be a wanderer and it’s a miracle she’s survived this long.

The bounty hunter was right, her luck will run out sooner than later, and she might as well make use of it before the inevitable.

Startled from her thoughts, she listened to the panicked settlers as they heard the doors to the storm shelter rattling.

Raising their voices the minutemen attempt to bring order, but the rattling grew intense, so that it sounded like the doors were about to come off their hinges.

Pushing herself from the bed, Rose steps forward as she listened to the commotion.

“Get back!” The minutemen ordered the settlers as they stumbled backwards in fear.

Alarmed, the minutemen initially went to reinforce the doors more, when one of them stopped as he swore hearing a voice.

“Could just be the wind, you never know,” says one of the other minutemen.

Initially, the minuteman was going to ignore it and continue aiding his fellow minutemen with reinforcing the floor, the minuteman stopped again as he swore hearing…

Barking?

He urged the minutemen to stop what they’re doing and help him open the storm doors.

“Are you crazy?” He met resistance from the other minutemen eying him.

Firm, the minuteman reminded them of their oath to help all and anyone who needed it, and it enough force the minutemen into helping him.

“What are they doing?” Rose hears one of the settlers ask with fear.

Watching the minutemen unlatch the storm doors, they’re ready for the possibility of failing their duties, when a soaked man and dog barrows through the opened doors.

Nearly broke his ankle flying down the stairs, the man lands on his rump with a loud thud.

The soaked dog moved down the steps and went straight for him.

Closing the storm doors and locking them tightly, the alarmed minutemen surround the man and his dog.

“Are you okay, son?” Cassius raises his brows at the sight of the soaked man and dog.

Getting up with his shoes squeaking, the man goes, “Well, I got a bath.”

The soaked dog barked in response.

Confused, Cassius asks, “Who’re you, son?”

Pointing at himself, the man was about to answer when Rose spoke up.

“Courtesy?” Rose recognized him despite his soaked appearance.

His copper eyes widening, Courtesy sputters, “Rose?!”

Hobbling towards her as his shoe squeaks, Courtesy hugs her tightly.

Surprised to see him, Rose steps back as she asks, “What are you doing here?”

Lowering his arms, Courtesy explains as he gestures, “Well, when I heard you got caught by those weirdos, I figured I… well… help find you.”

Her eyes twinkling, Rose excitedly asks, “Where’s Mr. Harold?”

She stopped when Courtesy told her, “Um, about that. We were on the track finding him and…”

He stopped as Rose raised her eyebrow.

“We?” Rose raises a finger.

Weakly gesturing, Courtesy told her, “Well, that bounty hunter feller came back to Albion and…”

Alarmed, Rose blurts, “He’s here, too?!”

Raising his hands in defense, Courtesy corrected her.

“About that… we got separated…” Courtesy frowns.

Calming down, Rose exhales as Courtesy pitifully told her that Vandal got captured by slavers.

He saw through them instantly despite their well-thought-out disguises of being frightened wanderers, but they outnumbered him and Courtesy that it was difficult fighting them amid the impending storm.

Courtesy barely escaped with Max and here they are.

“It’s a complicated situation,” Courtesy summarizes.

Looking down at the soaked Max, Rose comments, “Is he friendly?”

Shrugging, Courtesy answers with a thoughtful, “Well, he didn’t like those slavers, but other than that, he’s nice.”

Nodding, Rose knelt to look at Max closely while holding out her hand.

“Hi, Max,” she greets it.

She recoils her hand as Max immediately sneezes.

Smiling, Courtesy cheerfully says, “Well, you still have your hand, so that’s a plus!”

Coming towards him with towels, Cassius raised his brow at the young man before encouraging him to dry himself off and to find dry clothes.

“Don’t forget to dry the pup behind his ears, too. Are you okay, son?” Cassius stares at him while he does just that.

As he dries his face with the towel, Courtesy responds, “I’ve had better days, sir.”

Max barks in response.

Crossing his arms, Cassius gave Courtesy the rundown of the rules and urged him to keep Max behaved during the extent of the sheltering.

Assuring him he’ll do just that; Courtesy follows Rose back to her assigned cot with Max following closely beside him while one of the minutemen went to find dry clothes.

“You left Albion to find me?” Rose speaks to him as she wanted to know more about what drove Courtesy to leave his only home.

Shrugging, Courtesy admits, “That’s about the sum of it, yeah.”

Blinking, Rose inquires, “What about your dad? Grissom?”

Rubbing the back of his soggy head, Courtesy admits how the news made them look at him like he grew three heads.

However, he was set in his ways, and no amount of trying to convince him otherwise was going to work.

Sitting on the bed with a look on her face, Rose then asks if Courtesy found Harold with Vandal and Courtesy frowns that they were intending on doing that, but things went awry as he said earlier.

Miffed, Courtesy wanted to know how Rose got away from the “zombies” he called them.

Shrugging, Rose responds how she couldn’t tell him if she tried, all she knows is that she was found near Bells.

Stopping herself, Rose then asks him if he and Vandal found her belongings.

Shaking his head, Courtesy crushed her hopes by saying that they didn’t find anything of hers.

He then elevates her woes to an extent by saying how he and Vandal were on the track finding Harold and the woman Vandal was after when the separation happened.

Hearing how it sounded like Mal was in Tennessee with Hal, Rose was baffled as she sat quietly on the bed for a moment.

Curious, Courtesy asks how Rose knew Mal.

Glancing up, Rose told him how Mal helped fix her Pip-Boy after it was broken by a mutant rat and helped save Harold’s life.

Why she would be in Tennessee, Rose couldn’t tell Courtesy, but with Harold with her, she felt slightly at ease.

“Max was tracking Mr. Handy, but someone got hurt so he was tracking their blood,” Courtesy explains.

Don’t know who got hurt, but Max never lost the scent.

He saw the reignited worry on Rose’s face before he hypothesized Harold was still alive despite Rose fearing otherwise.

There was no body or other, none that they found.

Shaking his head, Courtesy told her, “He’s with a Mr. Handy, Grissom always said they’re worth their weight in gold… when they work. And you said he got helped by it and the woman before, right?”

A minuteman came by and gave Courtesy a bag for his wet clothes, a set of new ones before leading him to an area where he can redress himself with privacy.

Left alone with Max, Rose asks the German Shepherd, “Where did you come from?”

Chapter Text

Hal kept them updated on the storms that began ravaging through the area, with oversized hail belting the structures above ground, heavy rain, thunder loud enough to be heard two states away, and lighting so bright it can cause temporary blindness if someone glimpses at the skies at the wrong time.

The worst, of course, being the tornadoes that have spun up during the progression of the storms.

Its instruments weren’t capable of specifically identifying the tornadoes by their strengths, but Hal can see they were devastating.  

Everyone huddled below, they waited for the storms to pass, and some worry there were more over the horizon and much worse than these storms.

Sitting on his assigned bed with his books, Harold read them as comfort, though periodically he would check in on his patient.

Insistent it wanted to help him, Hal kept periodic logs of the boy’s health, and Harold began to question Hal’s origins.

“Hm, I don’t remember much, good sir,” Hal responds how its memory bank was affected by laser blasts.

Speculative, Hal suggests it worked at a clinic before the bombs dropped and though it lost everything during the attack, Mal restored its core memory.

She would be the one to know more, but she wasn’t in the mood for an exposition.

Instead, she’s in her own corner of their assigned room, her back turned towards Harold, and he didn’t want risk waking her.

Though, the things she was searching for bothered him greatly that when the opportunity arose, he was with Hal as they checked the sleeping boy once again.

In private, Harold asks, “Hal, can I ask a question?”

Shrugging, Hal responds with, “I don’t see why not, good sir.”

Slowly nodding, Harold asks, “Who is Mal searching for?”

Seizing up, Hal sputters, “Oh, good sir, I don’t think I can answer that question.”

Harold calls it out on the hypocrisy since it said it would answer his question before Hal states, “You never said which question I answer, good sir.”

Sighing, Harold gestures, “Why was she messing with the computers, then?”

Hal remained tight lipped, and his curiosity got the better of him as he pointedly asks Hal, “Why are you two doing out here, then?”

Going quiet, Hal responds with a dazed, “Oh, well, good sir, she really doesn’t like me talking about her business.”

If Harold wanted to know more, he would have to bravely talk to Mal, which Hal warned against, since they haven’t found Rose, yet.

Not wanting to force the issue, Harold left it at that, and after checking the boy once last time before going to bed, Harold noted he was doing better, and his mother covered him in a blanket while he slept.

Harold urged her to wake him or turn to Hal if anything changes and he returns to his and Mal’s assigned room.

Resting on his bed, Harold tries to get comfortable, and slowly his eyes close.

It’s been so long since he slept in a vault, he forgotten how quiet it can be, the only noises coming from the humming lights above.

Struggling, Harold finally felt himself lulled to sleep, and he didn’t know how long he slept before his blue eyes opened.

Rubbing them, Harold pushes himself up from the bed and turns his head towards the bed adjacent to him to find Mal wasn’t there.

Pushing himself off the bed, Harold shuffles out of the room to discover he had been asleep for roughly eight hours.

The storms have long since passed over the area and minutemen gone out to see the damage left in their wake while the settlers stayed where they were until it was clear to leave.

Hal was with the boy checking his vitals when Harold found it.

The boy was awake talking to Hal as Hal used a stimpak on him that it retrieved from somewhere in the vault. Gingerly, it injects the stimpak into the boy while monitoring his vitals.

“It tickles!” Young Jeremy declares as Hal lightly chides him for moving.

Once it was sufficient, Hal retracts the stimpak.

Its attention was drawn to Harold.

“Oh, good morning, good sir!” Hal chirps.

Greeting it back, Harold asks about their patient before Hal assures him that Jeremy is healthy as can be, and his mother gave her heartfelt gratitude.

She was getting Harold something as thanks for his help.

“She was so nice enough to give me a can of motor oil, good sir! As if I’d run out!” Hal twirls.

Talking to Jeremy, Harold mentally notes everything as Jeremy tells him.

“I feels lotsa better, Mr. Harold!” Jeremy gleams.

Modest, Harold says he was only doing what was right.

“Just like the madam, you’re too modest for your own good, good sir!” Hal chirps.

Their conversation is stopped when Jeremy’s mother returns with freshly brewed sweet tea and some caps.

“I know it’s not much, but I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my boy,” the mother smiles.

Accepting the drink, Harold modestly declined the caps, saying that she needed it more than him.

The mother then told him how freshly brewed sweet tea was better than a Sweetie Tea, but with fresh water being scarce in parts, most people relied on the brand for their sweet tea fix.

“My word! Say, if you need a place to stay, McGavock would love to have you!” The mother offers as she’s handed back the empty glass and Harold affirmed his stance on not taking any of the caps offered by her.

A drink was enough.

Placed on the spot, Harold mentally frets before Hal gives an opportunity for them to get away from the room, allowing him to breathe as he turns towards Hal.

“Hm, you know, good sir, you did say you needed to find a new home. And McGavock is without a doctor,” Hal suggests.

Above ground, there’s a vault they can use, so it’s a win, at least in Hal’s multiple eyes.

Thinking it over, Harold frets, “Well… I don’t know…”

He’ll consider the offer once they find Rose and get her to Memphis.

“Well, if you’re worried good sir, her vitals are steady,” Hal assures him.

No concerning changes to her vitals and from what it looks like on Hal’s sensors, thus Rose stayed safe during the storm.

Exhaling sharply, Harold was pleased before he asked about Mal’s whereabouts.

Floating before him, Hal musters, “Oh yes, the madam is busy with something. She will be by in time.”

She does it a lot, so Harold shouldn’t worry.

With their work done and Jeremy cleared, Harold asks about the topside, and Hal says that it heard some of the mayor’s “posse” going up to check.

Nodding, Harold asks, “Is there a chance for more storms?”

Floating weightlessly off the ground, Hal responds with a warning, “So far, my sensors indicate your usual springtime rain in the coming forecast, however I can’t rule anything out. In this area, my good sir, there’s always one last storm to cap off the season.”

They’re around the middle of the season, so it urges Harold to finish his business and safely relocate to either McGavock or somewhere else before the end of the season comes.

Preferably a settlement with a vault, since it’s deeply rooted in the earth.

“You think this storm was a wallop, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Hal further warned Harold.

Taking its warning to heart, Harold sighs as he says they better find Mal, and get out of the vault while they still have time.

Agreeing with him, Hal floated beside him as they searched for Mal.

Didn’t need to go far when they see a vent cover coming off the wall and someone climbing out.

Patting herself down, Mal grumbles to herself before she notices the two looking at her.

“They said it’s cleared, but it’s a mess,” Mal didn’t acknowledge herself coming out of the vent while she replaces the cover on the wall.

Astonished, Harold wanted to know why she was in the vents of the vault, but in her usual ways, Mal wasn’t answering him.

She prodded him into collecting his things and he did so as Hal went back to following her.

Returning to their assigned room, Harold collects his books and Rose’s knapsack.

As he picked up the knapsack, the Vault-Boy bobblehead fell out and lands on the floor upright.

Its head jolts while the spring rattles inside the plastic head.

Sighing, Harold reaches down to retrieve it.

Picking it up, he held it to his face and sees the smiling Vault-Boy staring back at him with its beady black eyes.

Shoving it into the knapsack and securing it, Harold leaves to find Mal and Hal waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Exiting out into the main settlement once it was cleared by the minutemen, Rose and Courtesy witness the ravaged settlement with stripped wood pieces laying on the ground, broken windows, and collapsed roofs on some of the buildings.

“Thank god, it didn’t hit here!” One of the settlers exhales sharply.

While Bells suffered damage from the storms, it paled in comparison to what would happen had a tornado come through.

Over the radio, the Moose received word from the leader of the minutemen about the known causalities from the storms.

Roughly ten settlements were hit directly by the tornadoes, one has a causality of eighteen when the shelter ceiling unexpectedly collapsed and the heavy rainfall and mud made it difficult for anyone to escape, another had their shelter flood, and survivors witnessed the water making its way up to their chests before they struggled to escape the shelter before it rose any further.

Alas, they experienced a causality of ten, there were disabled people who couldn’t be hoisted upright quick enough, and blind panic made it difficult for people to recognize their plights.

Hearing the breakdown sunk Rose’s heart and Courtesy pats her on the back before they moved on to see what else happened during the storms.

Mac and Stu were helping with the cleanup efforts, and they stood in awe of a signpost being driven through the settlement’s clocktower without splintering the wood.

Settlers worked to sweep the broken glass into one neat pile as others took an assessment of their lost possessions.

There were missing Brahmin that broken out of their enclosure during the storms, but their farmer was working on locating their whereabouts.

“Ah, listen, I know he may have rubbed off on you the wrong way and you need to get to Memphis and all that, but no one deserves that,” Courtesy speaks up as he follows Rose.

Stopping for a moment, Rose sees Courtesy holding his hat with his hands as he looks at her.

“You want to rescue him?” Rose summarizes.

Nodding as his matted hair stiffly moved, Courtesy affirms his wish.

Seeing her conflicted, Courtesy brings up, “You may be able to wrangle a favor from him.”

Using the angle, Courtesy attempts convincing Rose that saving Vandal would be a benefit.

Going through the Vault-Tec handbook in her mind, Rose chews on her bottom lip, before conceding that it would be against Vault-Tec rules to not help.

Still, Courtesy made a good point about getting a favor from Vandal for the good deed, and if it meant that he won’t get in the way of her mission to Memphis, then so be it.

However.

As she pointed out, she didn’t have any caps or weapons, any means of fighting off the slavers.

“Well, I’m sure someone might be willing to help,” Courtesy flinches as he realized he was at a disadvantage.

Whining Max barks emphatically.

Returning to the only ones who would know an answer to their plight, Rose led Courtesy and Max to Mac and Stu.

“Not much to look at,” Mac looks at the collapsed roofing.

Stu retorts, “At least it’s still standing for the most part. What’s got you twisted up?”

Explaining their situation to them, the two see the brothers' recoil before warning them the dangers of slavers.

“We’re aware of it, sirs, but no one deserves that fate,” Courtesy pleads with them.

Pointing out how ironic it looks, the brothers listened to the two before giving each other looks.

“From what you described; it sounds like they’re going to Aberdeen. It’s further east of here and not a place you want to get caught in after sunset.  Let me stress this, when raiders are afraid of getting into skirmishes with the lovely people of Aberdeen, that should say something,” Mac raises his finger at them.

Mentally writing down the name while Courtesy flinched at the mention of Aberdeen, Rose asks about the area, and it didn’t give much hope to their quest rescuing Vandal.

“It’s a huge plantation that got taken over by some schmuck who calls himself the Baron. Word, is he buys slaves to run it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a ghoul like your friend or someone like us, if you can work in the fields, you’re his, but don’t ask what happens to people who fail the quota that week,” Stu added.

Gesturing, Rose asks, “Why haven’t the minutemen done anything about him?”

Sighing, Mac answers, “Aberdeen is in an area that are staunchly against them, if they so much as whiff them near it, you’re going to have a bad time.”

Be sure, the minutemen wanted to break up the Baron’s plantation and free the slaves, but with their status still as outsiders, it’s an uphill battle.

“The best thing they can do is have bans on what gets sold in the settlements they operate out of, but the Baron’s known to get unaffiliated settlements to buy from him with low prices,” Stu raises a finger.

As with business, once the settlements get comfortable with the low prices, the Baron inflates them, and makes it difficult for settlements to get it anywhere else except from him.

“You sure you wanna stage a rescue mission?”

“Got no choice.”

“I can respect that. Okay, you need equipment, well, the way things work around here’s the minutemen do sweeps in affected areas to look for survivors. It doesn’t pay well, but I’m sure they’ll be happy to let you keep the guns.”

Noting everything, Rose thanked the brothers before moving on with Courtesy and Max to get work from the minutemen.

Cassius was leading the group to do a sweep and he seemed surprised to see Rose and Courtesy wanting to help them.

“This isn’t exactly a brisk walk, we’ve been getting reports of raiders taking advantage of the storms,” Cassius warns about the dangers of the sweeps.

Affirming their intent to join, Cassius sighs as he notes that Max can help sniff out anyone buried under the debris.

“Just remember, they’ve been getting clever, so don’t be afraid to be suspicious finding people out and about,” Cassius added.

Outfitted with makeshift shotguns and some ammo, Rose and Courtesy follow the minutemen out on their sweeps in the affected areas.

Chapter Text

Out in the open with the sun hanging over them, Hal kept track of Rose’s Pip-Boy while floating weightlessly through the ragged road as Mal was ahead of it and Harold.

Throughout the land they see there was scars from the storms from last night, land torn up, abandoned buildings shredded and spread across the muddy fields, it looked like another war broke out, and Hal warns that this wasn’t the worst the spring storms can dish out, either.

Hal then speculates they probably won’t see raiders for a while, they’ve either been swept away by raging flood waters, tornadoes, or even too busy looting.

Assuming they haven’t been shot on the spot by angry settlers and the minutemen.

It’s a disgusting thing, but unfortunately, come spring, raiders will use the storms to their advantage, and Hal didn’t shed a tear when they are summarily shot for their looting.

Well, if Hal can shed a tear.

In the power armor, Mal sees the bleak world through the HUD and the tore up ground everywhere from the tornadoes coming down.

Some areas didn’t get hit directly by the tornadoes, but they were victims of the high winds that clobbered them brutally until there were pieces left lying around.

Makeshift barriers used to control flood water collapsed on each other during the night and there were piles of debris in spots that sunk into the mud-filled waters as they pass through to a ravine.

Going across a metal bridge made with scrap was no easy feat, but Mal and Hal managed to walk across fine while Harold hobbled across with his legs shaking from the uneasiness.

Only when he got across the bridge did Harold exhale sharply before they continued traveling south towards where the Pip-Boy signal’s coming from.

From Hal’s estimates they’ll be in the vicinity of the signal within hours and there wasn’t a chance of rain for today on its radars.

“Good enough for me,” Mal says as she trudges along as the power armor expels built-up steam.

Following its internal map, Mal guides them towards a path leading through a decimated town that had long been abandoned with no attempts to rehabilitate.

None of the buildings stood anymore, if there wasn’t a pile of debris, the only thing that remained was the concrete bases that lined the area.

There was nothing left telling them what the town was originally that even the HUD didn’t show it, either.

All that remained was piles of debris left to rot.

What happened to the inhabitants was anyone’s guess, but Hal suggests that if there were survivors of the war, they wouldn’t recognize the town if anyone showed them.

Not seeing any threats on either scanner, the trio took a brief break while Hal checked for paths quickest to where the Pip-Boy signal was coming from.

Marking the paths it found while transmitting them to Mal’s power armor, Hal chirps that if things hold, then it won’t take hours like estimated before.

Excited, Hal catches itself before saying something about what will happen after Harold reunites with Rose.

Quietly, Harold didn’t bring it up, instead letting his curiosity stew within him while he chewed on a snack bar.

Mal pops her shoulders as she sits on the ground with some tea and a sandwich at Hal’s insistence while she listens to the ambiance around them.

Quiet, faint animal noises as they emerged from their hovels after the storms passed, the buzzing of mutant cicadas as they take over what little debris they can land.

Faintly, there’s whooping noises coming from raiders traveling in the far distance looking for easy marks and decimated areas to loot.

Hal mentions that the minutemen would be out in full force dealing with the raiders getting too close to minutemen protected settlements.

While their intelligence is lacking, few raiders will attempt to attack the minutemen-controlled settlements during the spring seasons, and the many that throw caution in the wind for a chance at victory, well they will get a hoot and holler in before being systematically massacred, and all is well in the wasteland once again.

Nowhere near the scavenging parties, they’re not in danger of getting attacked by the raiders.

Once they finished their break, the trio was back on the road with the revised paths, and they saw more destruction before them.

A tornado had picked up a pizza sign in the shape of Saturn with a delivery vehicle zooming around its outer rings and tossed it miles from where it was until it landed in a crater in a twisted mess.

Saturn was sunken at the top, the rings sagging as the support wires snapped, and the delivery vehicle that was suspended was in a heap nearby.

At most ten tons heavy, but the winds picked it up as if it was nothing, ripping it free from the bolts that kept it securely fastened to the ground, and threw it like it was a paper airplane.

A disjointed mess left to sink in the mud pool, the Galaxy Pizza sign of yore is no more, and the memories of its existence further disappearing into the mud.

By the time the mud dries out, it will barely stick out, and become another fabric of the desolate backdrop.

It wasn’t the first nor last, as Hal notes.

Their journey took them to a settlement called Fleetwood.

It’s barely together, the winds did a number on it, but there were signs of recent reconstruction, so there was a chance it wasn’t abandoned necessarily.

On its scanners, Hal says there wasn’t anything indicating there’s people or animals present.

Though from curiously glancing around with its multiple eyes, Hal says that there were markings about people being here much more recent, prior to the storms, it suggests.

“Stay close to me,” Mal orders them as her voice reverbs through the power armor.

Acting as a shield, Mal walks forward as they travel through the settlement.

There’s no sign of raider activity or the raiders taking up in the settlement, no bone structures or people being cooked in open flames.

Still, Mal opted to remain cautious as did Hal as they kept alert for any potential threat hiding in one of the homes along the bumpy road.

Keeping Harold close to it as it acted as another shield with its weapons outright and prepped, Hal floats near him as its multiple eyes moved accordingly.

Towards the center, they see a massive fountain that has since crumbled and fallen into disrepair, further the water collecting at the bottom a rusty brown overflowing from the heavy rainfall last night as filters and the piping have long since failed from lack of maintenance.

Weeds stuck up through the cracks in the road in parts as they began destroying the concrete while spreading, Hal warns Harold to be careful since some patches of weeds might be covering up sinkholes or worse, and Harold didn’t want the risk of either breaking his leg or disappearing into the darkness below.

Keeping that in mind, he stays close by, and moves accordingly.

“Madam!” Hal stops in its tracks as the sensors started picking up something.

Seeing it on the HUD inside the power armor, Mal got into a defensive stance with Harold behind her and Hal joins her side.

Ready for threats, the two moved forward while Harold stays behind them.

Hal notes something moving on its scanners and Mal sees it in the HUD.

It’s moving fast, but they’re not sure what it is, and this being the wasteland, they don’t want to take a chance.

They hesitate when there’s audible barking in the distance.

Hearing this, Harold hesitantly peeks around the side of Mal’s power armor as he was curious.

In the distance, they see a German Shepherd trotting over the craggy road.

“A dog?” Hal became quizzical.

Seeing it, Mal was uncertain, before Hal stopped her from attacking it, noting that the dog’s behavior didn’t indicate it being a threat to them.

No signs of radiation burns or mange, it’s as healthy as a clam.

“Where did it come from?” Harold was perturbed.

Shrugging its multiple arms as it lowers its weapons, Hal musters, “Suppose it’s a question for its mum, good sir!”

Seeing it coming towards them, Hal and Mal weren’t sure what to think or expect, Hal certain that the animal poses no threats, and then they heard overlapping voices in the distance.

“Raiders?” Harold winces.

Listening, Hal ascertains that it didn’t sound like typical raider chatter.

“Max!” They hear someone cry out. “Don’t get ahead of us!”

The voices got louder as they get nearer and there’s two outlines in the distance.

“Max!” A woman calls out to the German Shepherd.

The dog stops in its tracks and tilts its head as it turns around before barking at them.

Harold’s eyes widened as he recognizes the outlines and he lets out a smile.

“Madam!” Hal chirps in realization as it recognizes Rose coming towards them.

In silence, Mal watches as Rose and a young man approaches with quizzical looks before Rose recognizes Harold as he steps forward.

Running towards him with arms wide, Rose nearly made him fall to the ground as there’s an impact.

“Mr. Harold!” Rose squeals with happiness.

Hugging him tightly, Rose nearly turned him blue before she was forced to release him as he modestly complains being unable to breath.

Giddy, Rose exclaims, “I knew you were okay!”

Patting himself down, Harold remarks, “As was I!”

Seeing Hal, Rose slowly glimpses to something she never saw before, and was initially startled before Hal told her that Mal was inside.

“What is it?” Rose asks.

Hal replies with a brief, “Oh, just a power armor.”

Barking, Max looked confused as Courtesy kneels beside it and rubs the top of its head as he asks, “How’d ya’ll do in the storms?”

Harold told him how they found a settlement with a vault they stayed in until the storms passed.

“A vault?” Courtesy’s curiosity peaks as Harold affirms before he remembers to give Rose back her knapsack.

Gleeful to have it returned, Rose gave him another bear hug as thanks, before Courtesy motions for her to tell them.

“Tell us what?” Harold raises his brow in confusion.

Gritting her teeth, Rose reveals that they were trying to get enough supplies to stage a rescue.

“A rescue, for who?” Harold was surprised.

He was further surprised when they told him it was for the bounty hunter.

“That dastardly bounty hunter?” Hal was in shock.

Slowly nodding, Courtesy explains how he was captured by slavers, and well, he felt it was only a kindly thing to help.

Chewing on his inner lip, Harold warns, “They could be long gone by now.”

The rainwater would’ve washed away their footprints and Max wouldn’t been able to pick up the scent.

“I know it’s a stretch, sir, but it’s not right. I know he kidnapped you two and has a bounty on… I’m assuming the woman inside that shiny thing, but this is beyond that,” Courtesy musters.

Speaking up, Mal sums with a deep reverb, “You want to rescue the bounty hunter?”

Affirming that Courtesy wanted to do just that, Mal initially told him, “Good luck.”

Intending on leaving as promised, Mal was stopped by Harold as he pointed out the bounty hunter could tell her who put the bounty on her.

Remaining hesitant and wanting to leave with Hal, Mal showed no warmth towards the idea of helping rescue the bounty hunter.

“Madam, we came all this way,” Hal brings up.

Mal huffs, “A deal’s a deal, Hal."

Chapter Text

Lady Luck was that kind of woman who would sneakily make things difficult for Vandal, but damn if he didn’t love her all the same when she worked in his favor.

Not the case right now, Lady Luck was leaving him out to dry, and it was abundantly clear that the minutemen were out of their elements expanding beyond the commonwealth.

His cellmate was one, so he had that to work with, and evidently the two sides of the law coin clashed with their differences.

When they weren’t squabbling about it, they were out in the fields chained together working, and already Vandal saw the ghosts of the past still living on with ghouls like him and people like the minuteman working the fields with guns trained on them by automated turrets set to go off whenever someone tries to run.

Disarmed and everything he had taken from him, Vandal was reduced to shackles and identifying clothing.

Under the harsh sun, he was out in the fields cutting different things to be sold on the market.

Anywhere from lettuce to tomatoes to tea leaves, name it.

Slave drivers were patrolling the paths with their weapons in tow, some using whips to force them to work faster while hurling harsh words and threats.

They get uptight when no one talked, and they all worked in silence out of fear of retribution for breaking the rules.

Vandal had the mind to shoot them on the spot, but they got Betty holed up somewhere on the plantation grounds, and everything guarded to the point that sneaking around would be impossible.

Among the “workers” as they try claiming he and the others were, Vandal toiled in the fields, and without the ability to sweat, it was horrible.

Long hours spent cutting and arranging different goods in the baskets until the slave drivers marched them away from the fields back to the servant quarters.

The meals provided for their work made gruel look like a world class dish the way it was served.

Offensive in its smell and taste, Vandal opted to reject the horrible dish, and instead contemplate on how to escape the hell he got himself into.

Automated turrets, slave drivers, name it, he was at a disadvantage.

Couldn’t even make small talk with the people beside him because of the guards watching their every move.

The only reason he even gets to talk to Toby the Minuteman was because they timed it to the point of knowing when a guard is near their cell.

Since being stuck like this, Vandal saw how even the raiders were petrified of being enslaved by the plantation.

The same people who would gleefully sell their own to plantations like this were scared witless.

Toby says that before his untimely capture, he accosted a couple of raiders who mentioned being afraid of being caught and sold to the plantation, for what reason they didn’t give, but it was frightening enough to them that Toby used it to convince them he would do it if they didn’t leave the minutemen-controlled area.

Karma, he guesses, got him for that one, hence his predicament with Vandal.

Once they had the time to talk while the guards were busied patrolling elsewhere, Vandal discusses the possibility of getting out of the plantation, sans being stripped to the bone by bullets whizzing in the air at warp speed and so on.

“I don’t recommend playing dead,” Toby warned him.

Someone tried, well, there’s a reason the fields look better than the outer area.

As to why the plantation owner never thought to turn the deceased into food for the remaining slaves, well, pragmatic reasons.

Even he figured out his slaves getting prion diseases would be counterproductive to his industry.

“Surprised you people didn’t put the squeeze on him,” Vandal pointed out.

Sighing, Toby says, “People in this state still don’t like us and Constantine doesn’t want to provoke them. Hell, it’s like that up in Kentucky and I hear it’s worse further down you go.”

From what he knows talking to other minutemen, the worst to patrol is Mississippi, where indignant residents cow them at every turn, and there’s fewer places they can patrol safely than in Tennessee.

It’s a miracle the movement got this far, to be frank with him.

“And people like me throwing wrenches in your little plans,” Vandal gestures.

Sighing, Toby remarks, “I don’t get it, we’re trying to help people, why are they treating us like we’re some kind of nuisance?”

They’ve been nothing more than patient with everyone they met, they’ve been more than an open book, answering all and any questions thrown their way, and yet they have no centralized authority at all in the south.

“Well, you see, Toby, history has been known to go in circles, and history also has a habit of letting things live on despite attempts stamping it out. It’s not as easy as it was up there getting people on your side, sure, but hopefully you’ll find the random innocent bugger who’ll gladly listen to your little sales pitch,” Vandal saw it.

Minutemen think they got it rough, sure, but people like Vandal who are subjected to suspicion and fear because of the feral ghouls that are known to attack without warning.

The minutemen will find a way to break the ice and become a staple in the south sooner than ghouls no longer being treated like they’ll turn feral at a snap. 

“Guess when you put it that way. How’re you holding up?” Toby inquiries about Vandal’s life as a ghoul.

Popping his joints, Vandal responds, “One beer at a time does it. Doing jobs here and there. One day at a time, whatever the hell that even means, anymore!”

Ever since he woke up with a headache from hell and realized what he became.

“There’s worse fates, y’know,” Toby reminds him.

Shrugging, Vandal adds, “Sure, either become a ghoul or some bubba’s chew toy. Then again, bubba tends to not be the brightest, might chew on me too.”

They quickly silenced as they heard guards approaching their cell once more and they pretended to be asleep.

Listening to the guards as they came through the doors, they’re talking to each other about the Baron’s guest staying on the plantation.

Not necessarily complaining about the guest being terrible, more or less afraid of him, whispering to each other that he was the Devil that came to the plantation in a suit.

Well-mannered to a fault, quiet, subdued, in a chaotic world of the wasteland, it’s insane to them that the guest hasn’t had a few loose screws loose.

Then again, someone like does sound they’d have a few screws loose.

Still.

“Gives me the creeps, how did the Baron meet him, again?” one of the guards asks the other.

Shrugging, the responding guard answers, “Hell if I know, hell if I don’t want to know. I don’t think the Baron’s so happy with him, either.”

The Baron ruled the plantation with an iron fist and had several slaves killed to make a point, instead this one guest seemingly made him quieter and even frightened.

Beyond what the Baron was known for, he gave the guest everything from expensive liquor to the best food one can find in the wasteland proper, something that doesn’t happen for anyone.

One of the guards speculates the Baron is counting down to when the guest is supposed to leave, which is sometime tomorrow.

Not recognizing the guest from anywhere, the guards were confused as to who he was, but not wanting to cause ire in the Baron, they silently checked the cells, and once they confirmed the slaves were quiet and not making a ruckus they leave to patrol elsewhere.

Once they’re assured the guards weren’t coming back through for some reason, the two men pushed themselves out of their cots to discuss the details.

“Who's the guest?”

“Dunno. The Baron has a habit of keeping that detail from us.”

“You ever seen him?”

“It ruins the illusion having guests watch us in the fields, but nah.”

“You know anything?”

“I work outside, you’d have to talk to someone who works inside the plantation.”

Blinking, Vandal asks, “Who?”

Pointing to a woman in the cell adjacent to them asleep in her cot, Toby says that her name’s Mama Minnie.

She works as a maid and entertainer for the Baron, and she likely encountered the Baron’s guest.

“Great, let’s get some answers,” Vandal wanted to awaken Mama Minnie from her slumber before Toby warned him away from the thought as he told Vandal that Mama Minnie worked long hours and would likely not be willing to divulge the information this late.

He suggests that Vandal wait until they all file in tomorrow night after the field as Mama Minnie would be more awake and willing to talk to them.

“I need a beer!” Vandal exhales sharply.

Toby quips, “Don’t we all, brother!”

Chapter Text

Next morning, Vandal was hard at work tending the fields with the rest of the slaves, he listened to the slave drivers talking to each other quietly and they weren’t fond of the Baron’s guest, either.

One of them said he had a cold aura about him, something the other slave drivers mocked, but conceding that the guest had something about him that made them shiver.

None of them knew how the Baron knows the guest or where he came from, but the fact he had a pristine suit seems like something of an anomaly in these parts, the fact he came alone without so much as someone guarding him or even a gun said a lot about his confidence.

No one ventures out into the wasteland without something or someone to back them up, just how it is, but the guest bucked the trend, and it alone was frightening.

As mentioned by the guards previously, the slave drivers felt as the Baron didn’t like the guest, but cowardly in sending him on his way hence forth, instead giving a princely treatment.

Why the Baron allowed him inside the plantation in the first place, none of the slave drivers were sure, but they doubt it was the Baron’s idea.

The Baron had his share of friends and what else, but he was always boastful about everything in his plantation, ever since this guest came inside, it’s been unusually quiet.

It’s rather concerning, something the slave drivers never thought was possible.

Still, they’re better off not getting involved, lest they see the guest themselves, and they didn’t want that happening anytime soon.

The slave drivers grew silent in their gossips, tending the slaves as they went around with razor sharp eyes watching every step.

Cutting okra with a scythe, Vandal watches their every move, and when they disappeared into the yonder going into different quadrants of the fields, he looks towards Toby as he stacks the giant okra into the cases.

“Sound like someone the minutemen don’t care for?” Vandal asks for thoughts on the mysterious guest.

Shrugging, Toby responds, “There’s a lot, but this one isn’t sticking out for me. You?”

Thinking hard, Vandal answers, “If he was someone, he wouldn’t be, now.”

Vandal had a habit of making sure problems didn’t fester and future problems stamped out.

With that, they continued their work in the fields, and as they did, they heard slave drivers getting angry with one of the slaves.

“Sounds like someone dropped dead,” Toby grimly says as he continued his duties.

Listening to the slave drivers shouting before growing quiet as a cart went by with a body laid out.

Toby says that the bodies go into a chute not far from the fields and the bodies are processed in seconds.

That said, if Vandal wanted to escape, that wasn’t an option.

Laboriously, the slaves worked until late at night when the slave drivers pushed them to their makeshift hovel where they ate their meals before being forced back to their cells.

Once the slave drivers were gone, Vandal’s eyes swiftly moved towards Mama Minnie’s cell.

It was still empty.

“She should’ve been back by now,” Toby blinks as he moved towards the bars.

Confused, the men didn’t know what to think, but they kept up the ruse they were asleep when the guards started coming around.

Around midnight the guards briefly disappeared before bringing someone down the dimly lit hallway to the cell.

“What she do?” One of the guards asks.

The other guard says, “Heard she broke a teacup in front of the guest as part of a routine. The Baron got pissed and gave the word. The fields for this one.”

Baffled, the inquisitive guard questions, “For breaking a teacup?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the previous guard says, “Spilled some tea.”

Once they put Mama Minnie in the cell, the guards take their leave.

Getting off their cots, Toby and Vandal went to the bars as they struggled to see through the bars.

“What did he do?” Vandal asks Toby.

Seeing Mama Minnie on her cot limp, Toby grimly says, “Turned her into a ghoul.”

As punishment for a perceived embarrassment in front of his guest, the Baron ordered Mama Minnie to undergo the transformation into a ghoul.

“For spilling tea?” Vandal mocked the Baron.

Shushing him, Toby exhales, “I hate it, too, but the Baron has all the cards, still.”

Gritting his teeth, Vandal had a lot to say about someone forcing people into becoming ghouls, but he forced it aside to get information on the Baron’s guest, and some ideas on how to escape from this southern horror story.

Clearing his throat, Vandal calls out to Mama Minnie, she hadn’t stirred, and Toby warns of the possibility that she is still out of it from the process.

While Vandal sympathizes with her, time was of the essence, and he gently prods Mama Minnie to stir from her slumber.

Hunkering down, Toby warns Vandal again that most people that survive the process tend to start screaming when they realize they’re not dead, and their misfortune just began anew.

“I understand, but I need the details,” Vandal insists.

Eying him, Toby musters, “Why you wanna know so bad anyway, shouldn’t you be planning some big escape?”

Pointing at him, Vandal responds with, “I’m a bounty hunter, it’s in my nature to be nosey. And besides that, like you said, we’re outnumbered and outgunned, so any plan I have better be foolproof, right?”

Never show his hand until he has a full house, all that.

“Fine, but you better be right,” Toby uneasily looks at him.

Many tried escaping this place, many never get far, and even if they managed to get out of the plantation proper, Aberdeen wouldn’t be friendly and even try to return them.

If it was easy, well, Toby wouldn’t be talking to Vandal about it, and the Baron wouldn’t be sitting comfortably all this time.

“We’ll get there when we get there. Hey, Ma, we need to talk!” Vandal calls out to Mama Minnie.

Finally, she stirs from her groggy state as Toby pretends to sleep, and she slowly moves around her cell.

With her doe eyes she groggily glimpses around her cell before she turns her head towards the bars as Vandal calls out to her.

“What happened?” She murmurs in confusion.

Frowning, Vandal responds, “Bad luck, I’m afraid.”

He expected her to scream her head off the moment she saw her reflection off the tin plate, which was a natural reaction, but Mama Minnie didn’t so much as make a squeak.

“Now, what do you want, sugar?” Mama Minnie groggily says as it became evident to Vandal that the extent of the transformation hasn’t begun setting in for her, yet.

Subtly gritting his teeth, Vandal inquires, “I hate to ask, but what do you know about the guest the Baron’s so scared of…?”

Rubbing her eyes, Mama Minnie asks, “Now, why do you want to know so much about him for?”

As he shrugs, Vandal says, “I’m a bounty hunter, it’s my bread and butter to be nosey.”

Lowering her hand, Mama Minnie eyes him before telling him that the guest wasn’t anyone the Baron knew initially.

It came as a shock when the guest arrived and the Baron wanted to close the door on him, but the guest got to talking with him, only then did things change, and he was allowed through the doors.

“Why would he hit up the Baron?” Vandal questions the guest’s motives and Mama Minnie shrugs as she explains that she couldn’t tell him if she wanted, only that he was a polite man.

Wore a nice suit compared to the Baron’s and he never raised his voice once.

“So, what about the tea spilling?” Vandal asks.

Frowning, Mama Minnie told him, “I don’t know what brought it on, but the Baron became increasingly squirrelly with the guest being around here, I think he just wanted him to leave.”

Thus, the Baron concocted a ploy of using Mama Minnie to scare the guest, but she says he was still present on the grounds, at least for another few hours.

“Wait, did this gentleman happen to be wearing glasses, too?” Toby stirs from his faux sleep as he overhears Vandal and Mama Minnie.

Nodding, Mama Minnie describes them as small round glasses before describing the man with attentiveness.

“Y’know, I got a report saying something about someone fitting that description causing trouble lately,” Toby raises his brow with interest.

Harkening back to his newer bounty, Vandal musters, “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling this guest’s one of mine, too!”

Chapter Text

Arriving on the outskirts of Aberdeen after getting help from Hal and guided by Max, already it stood out differently compared to previous settlements.

Made from tattered remains of cities and towns of wonder years, Aberdeen was primmer and more elegant, it stood out from the chaos outside the tall walls that were heavily patrolled by armored men with their guns trained on the ground for any hostiles.

The vantage points that allow them to peek over the tall walls were limited and the snipers were trained to focus on them since they would naturally be used by raiders.

Ground patrols kept moving around the walls and it made Aberdeen look more like a fortress than a settlement.

That was just the front of Aberdeen and the backside equally guarded.

“Well, if we try the front, they may not be welcoming, and might even shoot us on sight,” Hal floats weightlessly as it looks at Aberdeen from afar with the others.

Crossing his arms, Courtesy chewed on his bottom lip before mentioning, “Try from the back, they’ll still shoot us on sight.”

Digging a hole and going through a tunnel to try and subvert the obstacles would be impossible on account of the time it would take to dig a tunnel as well as radiation-soaked dirt and mole rat or cricket concerns.

Pragmatically thinking about the implications if they go guns blazing on the settlement to rescue Vandal, Courtesy didn’t want to risk it biting him in the rear as word spreads.

“Hm, suppose we could lure something to the front and get the guards whipped up in a frenzy, preferably something that won’t hurt them too badly but give a good fight long enough for us to sneak through, what do you propose, madam?” Hal twirls around to face Mal while she stands tall in the power armor.

Thinking long and hard, Mal says in a deep reverb, “Deathclaw. They got the ammunition to spare. It’ll keep them busy long enough for us to sneak through the back.”

As for the turrets and what else patrolling the grounds, Hal has refined its weapons to easily target and dismantle them without causing too much of a ruckus.

Checking his syringes, Harold says he has enough sedatives to take out the guards that’ll likely stay in the back during the distraction.

Once they rescue Vandal, it’ll be tricky getting back out the way they came.

“Sounds simple enough, how are we going to get a Deathclaw here…?” Rose asks as she checks her shotgun.

Hal chirps an answer, “Well, there’s a way to do it, but it won’t be pleasant.”

It and Mal done it numerous times to keep raiders away from their hidden bunker, the smell alone was enough to make raiders stay away out of fear of getting Deathclaws at their throat.

“Oh yeah, my pa uses musk to lure stuff out of hiding during hunting season,” Courtesy recalls similar tactics utilized before asking how Hal and Mal got the Deathclaw musk to use as a deterrent in the first place.

Twirling, Hal says, “Well, as a great literary master once said: don’t ask.”

Regardless, Hal has enough stored inside its chassis that it hasn’t been used for a while since the raiders learnt quickly to stay far away from the area the bunker was hidden in.

However, it warns it only has enough to spray once, and it wasn’t sure if it’ll be potent enough to lure an interested Deathclaw out of its hovel.

“Although there’s a possibility that it might not lure a Deathclaw, at all, these days of ours are strange,” Hal gave an additional warning about something else becoming attracted to the musk.

Still, it believed that they’ll have enough time to rescue Vandal and the unfortunate slaves and get out of there before whatever comes out of the woodwork gets through the front.

Formulating their plans, work began in using the collected musk as the lure.

With the power armor working to enhance the throw, Mal tosses the grenade as far as she can that it lands just out of sight of the guards, while the others began moving around to the backside of Aberdeen’s walls.

Silently, the grenade breaks open and an invisible stream of musk slowly arises from it, and the wind begins to carry it.

Following Max’s sense of smell, they see a large gate in the back where the Baron sends his packaged goods out to interested settlements across the state and beyond.

Heavily guarded at the front, the guards had spotlights turned on and bright checking every corner of the area.

Hidden from the spotlights, the group waited for the moment that something gets attracted by the Deathclaw musk.

Hal wasn’t sure if the plan would work as the musk collected was relatively old by now and admittedly fretted, they’ll have to do something else.

“Patience is a virtue, my pa always says,” Courtesy comforts Hal as he hid with it and the others.

Hal’s fears weren’t justified, and it started picking up movement.

On its shared sensors with Mal, Hal proceeds to warn that there’s something moving along the northern part of the area coming down towards Aberdeen.

Listening to the ambiance of the night, they hear chatter among the guards slowly turn to confusion and fear.

Eventually, they’re drawn to the front of the wall by the panicked shouting and the sounds of gunfire.

Alarms started to sound as something large and aggressive entered the area with the gunfire making it even more aggressive.

Drawn away from the back to fight, the guards left the gate unguarded, and using the time given the group hurries up to it with Hal firing holes in the security locks.

Forcing the gates open, Mal steps forward as a shield while Hal worked on blasting the automated turrets and what else would have detected their unauthorized entry.

Moving along the paths as they watched their steps, the group follows Max as the German Shepherd homes in on Vandal’s scent.

Alarms started sounding around them as guards panicked about the potential threat of breaking down the front gate.

“Hm, perhaps the age of the musk makes it more effective?” Hal gave thought.

Perhaps too effective.

Hurrying towards the locked door into the slave pens, Hal shoots the lock off.

Staying back with Mal as they kept watch for surprise attacks, it urged them to hurry inside.

Entering the hallway first while Max’s ahead of him Harold stays low to the ground while Max sniffs the ground.

Behind him was Rose and Courtesy while they kept watch for sudden movement.

The hallway opens and there’s a fork in the path while Max goes to the path on the right.

The hallway turned into cells and moving past them, Rose can see people too exhausted to notice their presence, and the conditions of their cells appalling.

Max kept moving until it stopped at a cell with its tail wagging.

Going up to it, the trio see Vandal’s cell empty.

“Where’d he go?” Courtesy questions his absence as he stood up with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Standing up with Harold, Rose checks the cell lock to find it picked open with a crude lock pick.

“He musta gotten out when the distraction started,” Courtesy guesses before suspecting Vandal going to steal back his belongings from lockup.

Chapter Text

Patience was a virtual, as taught by his sweet old grandmother, but even she knew when patience would inevitably run out, and that was when she hurls her old-world curses at the kitchen appliances!

Of course, her sandal couldn’t bust down a cell door if she tried, though with some tenacity and some help, Vandal did just fine get out of the cell with some long nails and a broken hook screw.

Freed from his cell with Toby beside him, the men went to work hunting down their belongings, and instantly the air around them changed, with Toby saying that something happened to cause the guards to stop patrolling the halls.

Getting closer to the staircase leading up, they can hear the chatter of guards becoming increasingly concerned before silence, and going up the staircase without decent weapons, the men braved a fight.

Opening the door, they didn’t see anyone in the elegant southern gothic hallway as they kept low to the ground while searching for their stolen possessions.

Toby was sure that the Baron already had them destroyed, stolen by the guards, or sold to help fund the Baron’s plantation, but Vandal wasn’t willing to throw in the towel until he saw it for himself.

Only when he saw proof Betty was gone, will he begin stalking the halls for the Baron, and strangle him personally until the Baron can remember what became of his gun.

“Once we get the Baron and his goons under control we can go back and rescue the slaves,” Toby says with renewed determination.

Snorting as he hunches low to the ground around the corner, Vandal retorts, “Under control? God, you people are hokey, you know that?”

Snorting back at him, Toby comments, “As opposed to you being the Lone Ranger?”

Snarking at each other, the men continue looking for the room where the slaves’ belongings were confiscated and processed, which took longer since the plantation was an intentional maze that only those with intimate knowledge would know where everything was, and Mama Minnie only knew so much being restricted to the parlor and the kitchen.

They stopped when they noticed guards dozing off in front of a red door.

Couldn’t be more blatant than that!

Working out the plan, they slowly walked towards the guards as they tried to catch some sleep before the Baron would come down from his grand staircase to yell at them.

Swift, the men overtook the guards and knocked them out.

Picking through their pockets, they found the keys and upon unlocking the red door, they dragged the unconscious men inside.

“Figured there’d be more,” Vandal found it obtuse that the Baron didn’t have plenty of guards going around the large mansion.

Quickly going through the unkempt stacks of lock boxes and trunks, Toby says, “The Baron didn’t think anyone would cause enough trouble to warrant the extra security, then again, he probably wants them close to him. Remember, that guest?”

If it was true about the guest, the Baron would want to keep his men closest to him in a bid of warding off the guest, though the more Toby thought about it, he quickly pointed out the Baron would’ve easily killed or had the guest killed by his men.

“Dunno, I’m told he has a silver tongue, might not worked out in the Baron’s favor,” Vandal wags his finger as he worked with Toby to locate their belongings.

Digging through the stacks of boxes, it almost felt hopeless, until Vandal finds his clothes.

With privacy afforded, he switched back, and as he sticks the hat over his bald dome, Vandal sees Toby wearing the standard minutemen outfit.

“They may have the weapons in a different lockup,” Toby suggests.

Sighing, Vandal irritably says, “Of course!”

Should’ve realized it wasn’t going to be that easy, and with that, the men sneaked out of the room and as they leave Vandal locked it from the outside.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Vandal tried to think of where the weapon lockup would be in the mansion before Toby stopped him from moving as they heard a commotion outside the mansion.

“Shit, we gotta hide!” Toby hurries with Vandal to find a hiding spot as the commotion would draw the guards’ attention.

Harsher in hindsight locking the previous lockup room, but they managed to find a different spot as they awaited the line of guards coming out of the woodwork.

Expecting a line of guards descending or ascending from wherever, the men wait with fear in their eyes, but there was nothing happening, and beyond the reinforced walls of the mansion, there’s Aberdeen guards shouting in terror at the appearance of a creature.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” Vandal was baffled before Toby reminded him, they needed to find the weapons lockup.

Not wanting to waste the time afforded with the lack of guards, the men pushed onward, and as they neared one of the large windows overlooking Aberdeen, they see the settlement’s guards shooting something large at the gate.

“What the hell’s that?” Toby winces as he sees something large raising its clawed hand trying to swipe at the guards as they desperately try to kill it.

Hard to see because of the distance, but Vandal grits his teeth as he says with a dreaded, “Goddamn Deathclaw!”

Alarmed, Toby exhales with fear, “Why is there a goddamn Deathclaw out there?”

Don’t know himself, but Vandal wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth with the opportunity this provided.

With the Aberdeen guards distracted with the Deathclaw and the Baron’s guards nowhere in sight, it’ll give them time to find their weapons and work their way back to the slave pens.

Getting out through the back will be a problem with the turrets and whatnot, but once Vandal has Betty back, he felt he can take on the challenge presented.

The winding hallways and confusing turns made things difficult for the men as they desperately worked together to find the weapons lockup, only when they saw someone on the ground did, they stop.

It was one of the guards bound and gagged.

Kneeling beside him, Toby checked him before saying he’s unconscious, and from careful examination, drugged, too.

“Was it the guest?” Toby wonders as he checks the guard to find his weapon and anything of importance missing from his person.

Glimpsing around, Vandal motions with his hand, “He was supposed to leave by now, wasn’t he?”

And obviously, it wasn’t one of the slaves, since everyone was accounted for when they escaped.

“Not a coup, what could it mean?” Toby was flabbergasted.

They got their answer when they heard something stirring ahead of them.

“Friend?” Toby turns his head towards Vandal.

Cracking his neck and knuckles, Vandal responds with a concerned, “Better hope so.”

Not something he expected trying to escape, but life was full of surprises, and if anyone was going through the effort of drugging the guards without harming them, then that’d mean they’re willing to talk, so there was that.

Don’t know who’d risk it all, but Vandal was getting his answers sooner than he expected when he heard barking and a familiar voice shushing.

“A dog?” Toby initially panicked before Vandal calmed him down by telling him that he knows who's behind the drugged men.

Standing up as he had nothing to fear, Vandal guided the perturbed Toby forward, and right on the money, Vandal sees familiar faces.

Courtesy and Max.

“Y’know, I had this prison break under control,” Vandal raises his gloved hand.

Weakly moving his hand, Courtesy says, “Well, we figured you’d need a little help. They’re bringing out the big guns!”

Crossing his arms, Vandal questions Courtesy, “Whose bright idea was it to have a Deathclaw come for a visit?”

He lowers his arms when Courtesy informs him that it was a plan concocted by Hal.

“Hal?” Vandal would’ve raised his brow had it not been burnt off his face at this and Courtesy affirms how Hal used a musk bomb to lure out a Deathclaw to act as a distraction while he and the others worked to free Vandal.

Shocked, Toby remarked, “You never told me you got a posse!”

Vandal corrects him by saying that he doesn’t necessarily have a posse, but he wasn’t going to argue against helping hands before asking Courtesy if he found the weapons locker.

Nodding, Courtesy pointed behind him as he informs Vandal that Rose found to weapons lockup, but it’s got a different security system that Hal’s used to dealing with and it doesn’t want to risk setting off the failsafe by shooting it.

None of the guards that Harold drugged had the key pass into the weapons lockup, so they think that it’s automated with something else like DNA, but they didn’t want to risk a chance of setting off the alarms.

Amazed, Toby asks Courtesy what Vandal was to him that he risked everything to break into one of the most heavily guarded places in the state before Courtesy explains how he thought it was the right thing to do.

“This is dangerous work, son,” Toby warned him.

Nodding, Courtesy asserts that he was aware of the dangers of staging the rescue, but he couldn’t rest knowing that Vandal was enslaved.

And seeing the decrepit state of the slave pens, he thought it was fairer to rescue the other slaves, as well.

“Makes a grown man weep! Come on, we don’t have time. If you people haven’t found the Baron, yet, then he’s gonna be madder than a rattler with us stopping around!” Vandal waves his hand and the three hurried back with Max guiding them.

Still working on the sophisticated locks, Hal remarks, “My word, for an unsophisticated man, he has quite a taste in security!”

Worried, Rose asks it, “You sure you can crack it?”

Floating weightlessly, Hal responds with a determined, “My madam didn’t spend sleepless hours rebuilding me for me to be incapable of rudimentary safe cracking, miss!”

Checking the remaining syringes he has, Harold worries about not having enough left to drug people if they kept running into more guards, before he turns his head to see the trio and Max walking towards them.

“Someone up there must really love you!” Toby remarked on seeing the group of people and a functional Mr. Handy risking their lives to free Vandal and the other slaves.

Shrugging, Vandal remarks, “I guess someone does!”

First of everything, he guessed!

Hearing his voice, again, Rose sharply turns to see him standing there with Toby.

“I take it rescuing me wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t.”

Courtesy came over to ask her and Hal how they were doing on time.

Her tone shifting, Rose expresses that she had easier time picking open lockers back in the vault.

Determined as ever, Hal was sure of its capabilities.

“One moment, my sensors are detecting a few wires that if I cut, I should be able to disarm everything!” Hal lifts its multiple arms as it fires well-placed shots.

One the smoke clears, the reinforced metal doors open, allowing them inside, and from there, Vandal went to work locating his beloved Betty while Toby searches for his rifle.

Moving through the aisles, Max sniffs around before sitting near a set of boxes and barks to get Vandal’s attention.

Going over to the German Shepherd, Vandal grabs the boxes and goes through them.

His eyes widened as he pulled out Betty and his belongings, Vandal exhales, “Okay mutt, you’re alright with me, now!”

Cradling the gun, Vandal hears Toby say he found his rifle, now they can work their way down and get out of this nightmare.

“The madam will be waiting for our return!” Hal floats out of the weapon lockup with Max following it and the others filing out into the hallway.

Curious, Toby asks about the Baron and Rose told him that none of them saw him.

“We only found a few guards, but other than that, I don’t know where he is,” Courtesy weakly gestures as Harold collaborates his account.

Baffled, Vandal remarks aloud, “Next thing you’re gonna tell me those whack jobs that tried kidnapping you two came from here!”

Hearing this, Toby became interested and questions what transpired since his capture.

When he heard Rose telling him about the antebellum wearing people, he flinches as he mentions how there was a noticeable decrease in slaves recently, but he didn’t think anything of it since it was a cruel place, and the Baron being merciless.

“Well, that explains a few things, but while this is great for exposition, time is of an essence!” Hal reminds them that the Deathclaw strategy won’t last long.

In agreement, they began retreating when they heard a scream from below coming from the bottom of the grand staircase leading up to the restricted area of the first floor.

Taking charge with his Betty and Toby beside him with his rifle, Vandal went forward as he wanted to investigate the scream.

Trained for anything to happen, he came around the corner when he saw someone slumped over the marbled floor.

Motioning his hand to keep the others back while he and Toby investigate the person on the ground.

It’s a risk, but Vandal needed to tie off every loose end, especially for something like this.

He stops short of a man wearing regal clothing scratching at his head as his hair began falling off in heaps.

“That good for nothing snake!” Vandal hears the screaming man shout.

Stepping forward, Toby remarked, “Well, I’ll be damned!”

It was the Baron.

Clawing at the heaps of hair with his hands latent with boils, the Baron curses the man who did this to him.

When he hears footsteps, he turns his head, exposing Vandal and Toby to the extent of his deformation.

His skin slowly sloughs away exposing a familiar ghoulish tint underneath, the skin around his mouth burnt away exposing his yellowed teeth.

Karma has the habit of rearing its head like that.

“Well, well, look at that, Toby, we got ourselves one fresh ghoul!” Vandal snorts at the sight.

Mocking the Baron, Toby remarked, “The face only a blind Deathclaw would see!”

Growing at them, the Baron stood up and as he did, the skin on his face began drooping further until it fell on the ground below, exposing the irritated green.

There’s a change in the Baron’s demeanor from anger to animalistic as he tries to lunge at the men before he was shot to death by the two.

On the ground dead, the Baron’s reign ended, but the men didn’t have much of an answer what happened to him other than the implications.

Still, while they wanted to find the answers, their focus was fleeing from the mansion, and they did just that as they regrouped with the others.

Falling back, they returned to the slave pens where Hal overrode the controls allowing all the pens to unlock automatically while Vandal and Toby riled the sleeping slaves from their deep slumbers.

Raising their voices, they saw the slaves stir and become quizzical before they’re urged to get out of their cots, that the Baron’s dead, and they had to get out of there while there’s time.

Whipped up in a frenzy as they realized their nightmares were over, the slaves follow the group out of the slave pens into the fields where they’re guided by Hal towards a carved path out of Aberdeen from the back courtesy of Mal unleashed torrential bullets when the guards started coming back around after dispatching the Deathclaw.

Fleeing into the unknown without looking behind, the slaves ran for their lives while thanking the group in their strained breaths.

“Took you long enough!” Mal sways her BFG as she turns around to look at the group through her HUD. “Come on, Hal, we got work to do.”

She wasn’t getting convinced into helping Rose and the others yet again, this was enough for her, and she made it clear before they started.

Hal floats forward as it chirps, “Of course, madam, work’s never over!”

Raising his voice, Vandal stopped Mal and Hal from leaving, and Mal was quick to bring up that Vandal was at a disadvantage fighting her for his bounty, and if he valued his life, he’d leave it at that.

Gritting his teeth, Vandal waves his hand as he musters, “You think I got this far making boneheaded decisions? For fucks sake, woman, even I know better than stick my head in a mole rat warren! Someone wants you bad enough to pay 300k caps for you, alive. Mind telling the class who’d pay that much?”

Chapter Text

Staring him down in the power armor as she held her BFG, Mal listened as Vandal told her about the hefty bounty that came his way, and how the stipulation was that she needed to be taken alive.

“If you value your life, you’ll forget the bounty, and get the hell out of dodge,” Mal warns him, though in the power armor’s reverbs, there was something underlying her warning that wasn’t entirely about her wanting him to forget the bounty completely, something else.

“I can’t forget, honey, that’s not my style,” Vandal shakes his head. “Who’d you piss off that they’re fronting that much for your recovery?”

He heard a blunt, “You won’t get paid.”

Evading his questions, Mal made it clear that if he attempts to collect her for his bounty, he won’t be even a stain on the ground.

Raising his arms, Courtesy raises his voice as he commanded attention while trying to keep the peace between Mal and Vandal by pointing out that they can argue about it all they want, but they’re still in the middle of the plantation fields.

Seeing his point, the two glowers at each other before they fled into the night with the others.

The group didn’t stop until they got somewhere safe, and when the coast was clear, Toby says that he needs to return to the Southern Minutemen Institute to give his reports about what he witnessed and gave Rose an easy path to Memphis.

“You sure you can’t stick around?” Courtesy gestures as he sits with Rose and Harold and Max at his feet.

Shaking his head, Toby responds, “I’ve been cooped up in that hell for too long, they probably think I’m dead.”

However, he promises that if there’s ever an opportunity, he might show up to repay the kindness given in freeing him and the other slaves.

“Aberdeen will be a no-go for the foreseeable future,” Toby then added as he pulled on his drab long coat.

Though with the Baron dead, he wasn’t sure what’ll happen to the settlement, but he can’t say he’ll shed a tear if it falls apart with their main industry falling apart at the seams overnight.

Shaking Vandal’s hand as he thanked him for the help, Vandal snorts, “Not bad for a minuteman.”

Toby retorts, “Not bad for a bounty hunter. You sure you don’t want to change careers?”

Snorting again, Vandal remarks with dry sarcasm, “Can you imagine my pretty self-getting involved with your little group? What are my peers gonna say about me when they find out?”

Sighing, Toby musters, “Shoulda expected that. If ya’ll need anything, the minutemen will help you.”

Waving them goodbye, Toby leaves to make his return trip.

“What are you going to do, now?” Harold asks Vandal as he pulls on his gloves.

Focused on his gloves, Vandal answers, “If the lady’s right, someone’s tryin’ to screw me out of a paycheck.”

Can’t have that, now.

Which.

Turning his head, Harold wonders, “Did she leave already?”

He didn’t hear her or Hal.

Rose and Courtesy were working on a fire to cook them something to eat while Max lay on the ground with its ears perked.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she ditched, ya’ll, already,” Vandal shrugs as he cracked his knuckles.

Eying him, Harold asks him what he will do if he can’t get the money from the bounty if Mal was right, and Vandal told him that he has ways of getting it out of people that owe him.

Stopping for a moment, they hear Hal worryingly calling out for them, not far from their makeshift camp, and found Hal panicked as it floated near a collapsed Mal that climbed out of her power armor.

Running ahead, Harold kneels beside her as he asks Hal what happened.

“She wanted to leave, and I said we should wait until morning, but she was rather insistent. Then she says she needed some fresh air and got out of the power armor and then she… collapsed,” Hal sputters as Harold checks Mal.

From what he sees with limited light, Mal pale in the face, and the cause of her condition being the wound she received back at the store becoming infected.

Stubbornly, Mal wouldn’t let him check her wound and when he asks Hal about checking it on his behalf, Hal responds how Mal wouldn’t let it, either.

“Damn it, Mal, why wouldn’t you just let me check?” Harold exhales as he and Vandal worked to pick Mal up from the ground and carried her back to the camp where an area was cleared.

Resting her on the spot, Harold had Courtesy boil water while he checked her wound.

Vandal and Courtesy stood guard with Max’s ears moving as it listened to the ambiance of the nighttime.

Undoing the bandages, he sees the clear markings of an infected wound, no doubt being in the power armor for a long period wasn’t letting it breathe, and Mal’s inability to trust him or let Hal check her wound further exasperated it.

Pulling away the bandages, Harold stops as he sees Mal’s arm completely.

In the open fire, he sees numbers tattooed into Mal’s arm.

655321

“Didn’t you use a stimpak?” Rose causes him to hide the tattoo from her as she brought clean bandages over to him.

Affirming that he did, Harold sighs as he expresses concerns that there’s diluted stimpaks mixed in with the non-diluted variants, and luck would have it that he picked one.

Using Hal, he sterilizes the infected wound and with Hal’s attentiveness and the others helping, Harold worked to stabilize Mal and fend off the infection.

“Hal, do you have some antibiotics?” Harold asks it as it floats next to him.

Taking it as an insult, Hal mocks the thought it would leave any behind given the prowess of copperheads.

“Please, I need some,” Harold urges it to give him some.

Grabbing one of the syringes from its inner chassis, Harold has Rose hold Mal down in the event she reacts to the injection.

“Is this diluted?” Harold asks Hal as he prepped the syringe.

Hal responds as if Harold insulted it, “Heavens no! What sordid thing to suggest!”

Sighing, Harold finds the vein in Mal’s arm and promptly sterilizes the spot.

Sticking the needle into the vein, Harold injected her with the antibiotics while Rose held her down.

Once every bit of the antibiotics was injected, Harold stops the bleeding and cleans her injection site with a rag soaked in boiled filtered water provided by Hal.

Working with Hal and Rose, Harold exhales as he sterilizes his hands once again as Hal confirms Mal was stabilized.

“Oh madam, for your modesty, you are quite stubborn!” Hal laments how Mal risked a severe injury from withholding her wound from them to check.

Pushing up his glasses, Harold states that tomorrow they can move Mal.

“Can you get the power armor?” Harold inquiries about Hal’s capabilities.

Affirming with a weightless twirl, Hal affirms that it was able to do just that, as it was part of Mal’s life work ensuring the power armor would never be taken by anyone.

“Okay, we’ll leave at the crack of dawn. There’s a settlement not far from here we can stop off at. I don’t think she’s going to be happy waking up, so you know,” Vandal returns to them with Courtesy and Max in tow.

During the night, they each ate and took turns checking on Mal, and once Hal confirmed Mal hadn’t changed, Vandal encouraged them to sleep.

It was hard to sleep out in the middle of nowhere hidden by the rocks and the fear of curious creatures or raiders investigating the area, but Hal dutifully guarded them and its owner.

He doesn’t know how long it has been since he closed his eyes, but Harold woke up from his sleep and went to check Mal.

He checked her fever, and it went down noticeably.

“Da…” Mal murmurs in her unconscious sleep. “Where…?”

Raising his brow, Harold listens as it sounded like Mal was calling out for someone in her sleep.

Who exactly, he doesn’t know, and eventually, Mal stops talking in her sleep.

Chapter Text

Hiding inside a cramped air duct, a young girl wipes away her tears as she quietly sniffles to herself after having yet another horrible experience with children her age bullying her mercilessly by excluding her from almost everything. 

Not a crayon tossed at her head or a sharpened pencil as bullies opted to do, they made sure she was never a part of anything.  

It wasn’t just her that got the blunt end of a stick, either. 

Other children like her were also being bullied the same way. 

In school, her and the other bullied children had their classes in the basement of the vault while the bullies had classes on the ground floor. 

Never had they interacted with the other classroom, and it was probably for the best with how the bullies worked. 

Excluded from birthdays, games, what else, children like the young girl dealt with it for their parents’ sake, but it was too much for the young girl to take today, and she found comfort hiding in the vents of their vault since no one would look for her there. 

And worse, there was nothing done about it despite attempts by the children bringing it up to their parents and their assigned teacher, and it led to them simply suffering quietly while trying to find ways to cope with some finding bottles of hidden alcohol. 

Their Overseer was hardly present as it is and the other adults simply ignored them when they tried bringing up their plight with them when all failed. 

Cradling herself, the young girl wished she was elsewhere, anywhere but here. 

Young as she is, the young girl recognized that something wasn’t right with their situation, but helpless at the same time trying to change it for the better. 

All she could do was hide in the air duct. 

It was cool, the air was pushing past her, and she didn’t worry about being pushed or shoved to the side by one of the bullies. 

Rubbing her eyes, the young girl decides to move to a different air duct as it gotten colder, and she only had her vault suit with a tiny star stitched on the lapel.  

Crawling through it, she ended up finding herself in a room forbidden by the Overseer from entering with books and what else. 

With no reason to care about the consequences, the young girl went through them. 

Some were difficult with the words being incomprehensible to say or read, but the young girl had nothing else to do, as the other children wouldn’t have let her play with them, and her father worked hard to support them. 

Her curiosity pushed her towards the computer and through a mere guess managed to unlock it. 

Though she got into the computer, everything was incomprehensible to her, that she couldn’t understand a word in any of the emails, that she moved back to the books. 

Eventually, she fled into the air duct when she realized the time and didn’t want to get caught in the forbidden room. 

Crawling through the air duct, she eventually found her way to the vent that she crawled into, and slowly pushed her way out of the air duct. 

Gently lowering herself down, the young girl wipes herself down and fixes the vent cover. 

As she does, she heard a man clear his throat, and instinctively turned around to face her disapproving father. 

“Young lady, what have I told you?” 

“I’m sorry, daddy.” 

“I heard about today from the other parents, care to give your side of the story?” 

“They never let us play with them, daddy, and they never want us around.”  

“You can’t just throw a baseball at Billy!” 

“He always throws it at us!” 

Seeing the pent-up frustration, her father sighs and comforts his daughter, “I know it’s difficult, now, but I promise, it will get better. Henry told me the Overseer wants to send teams to the topside. Do you know what that’d mean?” 

Thoughtfully shaking her head, the young girl hears her father explain, “We’ll be able to move out of here. I’ll make us a new home, sweetie. You’ll have your own room to your lonesome and everything.” 

Seeing the doubt on her face, her father holds her hands together as he asserts his promise that he will find them a new home. 

“It’ll be okay, sweetie,” he smiles before leading her away from the vent. 

Humming to itself as it went around a makeshift room as it tidies everything with one of its hands outfitted with a duster, Hal periodically stopped to check on the sleeping Mal as she remains in and out of consciousness while recovering from the infection.  

Harold attentively came by multiple times checking up on her before Hal shoos him off as it notes the warily man hadn’t slept a while since they arrived in the settlement of Burton Hills.  

Capable of keeping an eye on Mal until Harold got a good night’s rest, Hal didn’t skip a beat as it floated around the room. 

Stopping for a moment to check her vitals, Hal transcribes the vitals for Harold to look over when he inevitably returns to check on Mal. 

Rose and the others lingered around the settlement waiting for Mal’s recovery, but Hal kept them away as it insists the room be restricted to only it and Harold. 

“Don’t worry, madam, your power armor has been safely stashed, when you recover it will be waiting for you. I’ve made sure the performer doesn’t get any ideas, he has been inkling to try getting into the power armor since we got here, oh but don’t worry, he’s failed every time!” Hal assures the sleeping Mal. 

Ever since they arrived at the settlement, Courtesy had been inching to mess with the power armor for curiosity's sake, and every time Hal had some free time to check on it, it chased him away. 

It can understand Courtesy marveling it, since he never saw anything like it before, but Hal was programmed to keep trouble away from the power armor and its master. 

Unable to be in two places at once, it had Rose keep him away from the power armor, or else it’ll resort to shocking him relentlessly. 

Since then, he learnt to stay away from the power armor. 

Vandal, well, he stuck around despite Mal’s threats, and Hal made equally sure he didn’t try to kidnap her in her weakened state. 

Oh, it was a struggle for Hal floating around keeping things together that it may as well fall apart at the seams! 

Adjusting a painting on the wall, Hal twirls around when it hears stirring coming from the bed, and Mal’s eyes opening.  

Groggily she moves her head, her matted brown hair stiffly moving as she glimpses her surroundings.   

“Madam! I knew you’d pull through!” Hal twirls in excitement as it floated to her side. 

Happily, it informs her that with help, her condition improved considerably. 

“Where the hell am I?” Mal mumbles. 

Hal answers with a lengthy, “Burton Hills, madam. That dastardly bounty hunter helped us find it. The good sir has been able to find some medical supplies from the local pharmacy. I have been keeping your power armor safe, madam. It remains 100% optimized.” 

Rubbing her eyes, Mal pushed herself up from the bed as she felt the blood rushing from her head, and the tingling sensation went down her spine as she adjusted to being awake fully. 

“Oh, madam, where are my manners? I’ll retrieve you some nourishment!” Hal chirps as it eagerly leaves the room to do just that as it warns Mal away from leaving her bed. 

Left alone, Mal looks down at her bandaged arm. 

It didn’t hurt as much as it did before, the pain was dulled by medicine Harold and Hal collected, and groggily Mal touches it as she notices the bandages went down further from where her cut was, and as she looks at the bandages Hal returns with a tray. 

“Some fresh tea and some light scones, madam!” Hal triumphantly exclaims as it came around the bed with the tray. 

Adjusting herself, Mal watches as Hal gingerly rests the tray on the bed with the tea hardly moving in the teacup and the scones remained evenly stacked. 

Encouraged to eat as she hadn’t eaten for over 24 hours, Mal took a sip of the freshly brewed tea and bit into one of the scones. 

Checking her vitals, Hal chirps, “Oh, madam, you had me frightened!” 

Slowly chewing on the scone, Mal groggily says, “Just a flesh wound, Hal, come on, I’m a big girl.” 

Groaning, Hal reminds her, “Madam! You were at risk of blood poisoning!” 

If not for Harold and Hal’s attentiveness, things would be quite different, and Hal shuddered at the thought of losing its owner, lamenting that it wouldn’t know what to do with itself if things took a turn for the worse. 

Sipping the tea, Mal apologized for giving Hal a scare before Hal laid it thick, “If you’d just let us look at your arm, madam!” 

Barely flinching, Mal musters, “I’m sorry, okay? It’s a habit.” 

Hal retorts, “A deadly habit, madam!” 

Their conversation was stopped when someone entered the room, and Hal turned its body towards the person. 

His blue eyes widened, Harold remarks, “You’re awake!” 

Mal immediately retorted, “Nah, just getting ready for my nap!” 

Going towards her, Mal can see that Harold has new clothes and a new pair of glasses.  

“How is our patient?” Harold asks Hal. 

Hal gave the detailed report as Harold put on a pair of stethoscopes Hal found for him 

Adjusting the fitting, Harold encourages Mal to prepare for simple breathing exercises. 

Further encouraged by Hal, Mal sighs as she follows Harold’s instructions as he listens to her heartbeat. 

Feeling the cold stethoscope against her back and chest, Mal grits her teeth as she took deep breaths on Harold’s command. 

Pulling the stethoscope off his ears, Harold gave his verdict that Mal was breathing normally, and her heartbeat was within normal limits. 

“I told you my madam was stronger than she looks!” Hal twirls with delight at the news. 

Looking down at her simple garb, Mal inquires the whereabouts of her clothes, and Hal assures her that when she admitted that it took care of her clothes and personal effects. 

“How are you feeling?” Harold asks her. 

Picking up a scone from the plate, Mal responds with a dry, “Peachy.” 

Chapter Text

Having spent time in Burton Hills while Mal recovers from her infection, Rose has poked around the corners, talked to different people, and looked everywhere close by that she can reasonably see.

Courtesy surprises her with some drinks he procured from a soda shop with Max following him closely.

“I got you strawberry,” Courtesy hands her the cup with the straw in the shape of a rocket.

Thanking him, Rose walks with him as they drink their sodas and along the way they begin talking.

They continue their jaunt around the settlement when they spot Harold talking to Vandal.

Unable to hear what they were saying as neither wanted to be spotted, Rose and Courtesy stayed back as they watched it unfold with Harold getting heated with Vandal and becoming increasingly irritated with Vandal before handing something to him.

Holding it in the palm of his hand, Vandal studies it closely before saying something to Harold, and that was that as Harold walks away from him.

“What was that about?” Rose wonders.

Shrugging, Courtesy suggests, “Maybe Mr. Harold’s trying to keep him from taking Ms. Mal?”

Thinking it over, Rose shakes her head as she points out, “I don’t know, I never saw Mr. Harold act like that before.”

Shrugging, Courtesy responds, “Gee, I don’t know then. Not like we can’t ask him.”

And with Rose still sore with Vandal, obviously they couldn’t ask him what Harold wanted, thus they were at a loss for words.

Moving away from their hiding spots with Max in tow before Vandal spotted them, they went around in the opposite direction before finding themselves back to the inn where Mal was resting.

Upon arriving, Hal greeted them to tell them how Mal regained consciousness and is doing better, she will need time to recover but other than that, her infection has cleared.

“I suppose you’ll want to see her before you leave for Memphis,” Hal assumes before Rose informs it that she intended to stay around.

Confused, Hal motions with its multiple arms how Rose was determined to see her task through, and Rose gave her reasoning.

“Something’s going on and I can’t just leave,” Rose gestures. “The people that tried to kidnap me, the bounty on Mal, my dad always told me if I feel something’s wrong, I shouldn’t leave it.”

While she wanted nothing more than to return to her vault, Rose felt this was more important, and while Hal commends her growth since leaving it, it warns that this was beyond her scope.

Undeterred, Rose proclaims that she wanted to see this through, and her father would understand.

“My madam is in no position for visitors,” Hal refuses to let either Rose or Courtesy see Mal as one of the eyes moves to see Harold coming towards them.

Hal gave a status update, and Harold thanked it as he went by without a word to Rose, something unusual for him.

Watching him disappear into the inn, Rose frowns and Courtesy wonders what Harold and Vandal said to each other, before Hal shoos them along as it didn’t want them to bother Mal while she still recovers.

On their own and with questions, they take their leave as they discard their empty soda bottles.

Left to their own devices, the two and Max were at a lost.

“What do we do?” Courtesy wonders.

Chewing on her inner lip, Rose exhales, “Well we can’t ask Mr. Harold and Hal won’t let us talk to Mal. We don’t have a choice.”

Realizing what she meant, Courtesy follows her with Max trailing behind them as they seek out Vandal.

He was at the settlement’s bar drinking and when he turned his head, he noticed them standing adjacent to him.

“What do you want?” Vandal asks them as they came near him as he rests his beer bottle.

Noticing the looks on their faces, Vandal instantly got an idea why they were there.

The moment he told them it was business, and he couldn’t discuss it with them, Rose protests this, causing Vandal to retort how Rose wanted to reach Memphis, before she told him that she wanted answers.

Gruffly, Vandal waved her off, but stubbornly, Rose refuses to leave without an explanation.

“You may think I’m just some dumb vault dweller, but I know when somethings wrong, and those freaks are a symptom of that, aren’t they?” Rose gestures towards him.

Crossing his arms disapprovingly, Vandal warns her that this wasn’t something she should be getting involved with, and that she’s no longer on his radar.

“And before you plead for that broad’s freedom, it’s been settled,” Vandal raises his finger towards her.

Harkening back to Harold, Rose asks, “How’d you get paid?”

Staunchly, Vandal refuses to tell her and warns her again that this didn’t involve her.

“Well, you made me involved when you kidnapped me and Mr. Harold, and I’m certainly involved when those freaks tried to kidnap us!” Rose felt Courtesy hold her back as she grew heated with Vandal.

However, the ghoul remained calm, and brought up how Rose’s story wasn’t so unique that she could push for answers whenever she wanted.

It didn’t work like that out here, maybe it did in the vault she was form, but not here.

“Look, I’m not after the broad anymore, I told you that, and I’m not gonna bother ya’ll, again. So, take your blue and yellow ass out of here and get going, little girl, Memphis is that way,” Vandal points with his finger in the direction of Memphis.

Chewing on her inner lip, Rose points out, “We saved you, didn’t we? Shouldn’t you be a little bit thankful?”

Rubbing his lobe, Vandal groans as he tells her that he and Toby had everything under control, before Rose used a bit of luck and energy to point out how Vandal and Toby wouldn’t make it out of there alive without their distraction.

“Good lord, little girl, I let you off easy and here you are about ready to chew my ears off. I got some bad news there. Fine, what crawled up your ass?” Vandal grew rude as he finally concedes to Rose’s requests.

“What was Mr. Harold talking to you about?”

“Same thing you were, about the broad, he wanted to know who issued the bounty. I didn’t want to tell him, bounty hunter confidentiality, but he kept insisting, so I said to him if he wants to know so damn badly, he’d have to pay the bounty himself.”

“I thought people can’t do that.”

“It’s at our discretion. Besides, I was hoping someone would. I got a bad feeling about the bounty and that broad got me thinking.”

“So, who issued the bounty.”

“Henry Schultz.”

“Who is he?”

“Dunno, I just do the jobs, little girl.”

“Where were you supposed to bring her?”

“Just has coordinates on the paper. Probably a rendezvous point. Don’t matter, now. Broad’s free to go wherever the hell she wants.”

Curious, Rose prods how Harold paid for the bounty, but Vandal wouldn’t tell her, just that it was worth breaking the bounty over.

“What are you going to do, now?”

“Ah, I got my other bounty, sonofabitch really did a number to the Baron, deserved, but I don’t have a good feeling about this one, either.”

Call it superstition, but Vandal survived this long not to make mistakes, now.

Chapter Text

Unable to be stuck in bed any longer, Mal climbed out of it, and while her legs needed time to adjust, she managed to find solid footing while the next injection of antibiotics went through her body.

Already Mal felt some of the side effects such as numbness around the injection site and mild tiredness.

Hal made sure she had food and tea to keep her hydrated and stave off the worst of the side effects from the antibiotics.

Up and about, Mal rubs her eyes and as she does, she hears someone coming through the door.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Harold inquires.

Lowering her hand, Mal expresses, “My legs were falling asleep. Need to move around, anyway.”

After all, it would be bad for her health to stay in bed all day.

Sighing, Harold shakes his head, before he tells her that she didn’t have to worry about Vandal trying to collect his bounty on her, anymore.

“I have Hal, I ain’t worried,” Mal points out that she didn’t need to be.

Eying him with suspicion as she sat down at the table adjacent to the bed, Mal questions Harold’s intent after he tells her he paid Vandal off with something more valuable than caps.

When she asks what exactly that is, Harold reminds her of what he said about being at the encampment for a time before he left.

“I told you about factions that wanted the power armors for themselves… the encampment was one of them,” Harold sighs.

Curiosity in her amber eyes, Mal questions what faction Harold belonged with before he faked his death, and he lets out a sharp exhale, “They’re an offshoot of an old faction that been systematically destroyed in the commonwealth during a war between them and another faction. They managed to survive by keeping their heads low and even went far as renaming themselves. I only found out what they were by chance and…”

Trailing, Harold shakes his head as he exhales once more, but Mal acknowledged that he defected afterwards by using the cover of raiders attacking the encampment.

“I heard of bounty hunters finding jobs like that being caviar to them, but I don’t get why you pulled that card for me,” Mal found it questionable Harold would give up his only ‘ace’ to cancel out her bounty.

Frowning, Harold tries to claim he was only paying her back for gifting him the medical books, but Mal retorts that they weren’t priceless like information.

Suspicion still in her amber eyes, Mal questions what else Harold did, and he answers with a question.

“Do you trust me?”

“We’re in a post-apocalyptic nightmare where people and things want to either eat you or use you as toothpicks.”

“…”

“But I guess I can cut you some slack, you saved my stubborn ass.”

Harold proceeded to ask her where she was from, and she hesitated before asking why Harold wanted to know.

The side effects of the antibiotics made the realization dull as she glimpses to her bandaged arm.

Gritting her teeth, she turns her head away from Harold as she says with restrained fury, “If not for the painkillers and antibiotics, I’d smack you dead center for that!’

Holding his hand up in defense, Harold calmly asks her about the tattoo.

Moving her arm away from him, her dulled emotions made it difficult for her to express her disdain for it, and Harold broached, “Were you from a vault, too?”

Scoffing at him, Mal tries to mock him, but the painkillers made it difficult, and the antibiotics weren’t helping.

“I’ve been honest, Mal,” Harold tries to persuade her to change her mind.

Recoiling, Mal retorts how everyone and their mothers were known liars when the cards were down in the Wasteland, before Harold asks about her hesitance being in the McGavock vault and her accessing one of the computers while there.

Staring at him with dulled anger, Mal tries to say, “So, what if I was?”

Harold leans forward as he reveals that he was aware of what she was doing on the computer.

“You stay out of my business, and I’ll let you keep yours, how’s that?” Mal tried to scare him off, but having lived in the Wasteland long as he did, Harold wasn’t afraid by the attempt.

Remaining calm as he dealt with her hesitance, Harold pointed out that Mal was in Tennessee for a reason and the bounty that was called on her didn’t materialize out of nowhere.

“What are you angling?” Mal demands to know.

Harold outright asks her, “Who is Henry Schultz and why did he put a bounty on you?”

Watching her expression change from dull stubborn to confusion, Harold could tell that this was a name that resonated with her.

“Did you think it was Heinrich that did it? Was that why you were sure the bounty hunter wouldn’t get paid if he turned you over to him?” Harold bluntly asks her.

Getting up from the table quickly, Mal utters a low, “Never say his name, again.”

Seeing vivid anger in her amber eyes, Harold had the confirmation he needed.

“Please, Mal, I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you helped.”

“…”

Calming down, Mal tiredly rubs her eyes as she grits her teeth while contemplating what Harold said to her, before she exhales sharply once again, and admits with bitterness, “He was our overseer. Supposed to be if he was ever actually there. Always gave orders to the others to dole out to the rest of us. Happy?”

Never once did Mal see her overseer, always giving orders through notes that were given out to certain people, but nothing more than she thought he never existed.

“Is that why you’re out here? To find him?” Harold inquiries Mal’s intent.

Mal wouldn’t give him an answer and when he asked about Henry Schultz, Mal reveals that he was someone from the vault, too.

“Why would he put a bounty on you?” Harold blinks.

Shaking her head, Mal sighs, “I don’t know.”

But that would be revealed in time when she found him and Heinrich Krausser.

Harold stresses that Mal shouldn’t rush nor go about this the way she is doing as he worries about her getting hurt or worse.

Against the thought, Mal states she can handle it herself, that Harold was better off finding a settlement.

“This doesn’t concern you or the Girl Scout,” Mal tries to wave him off.

Their conversation stops when they hear a commotion outside the window.

Going up to the window, Harold peers over to see a group of what looked like bounty hunters with weapons that they would normally never have access to because of accessibility and costs associated.

Bursting through the doorway with fear in its eyes, Hal squeaks, “Madam! Good sir! We need to evacuate!”

Turning his head, Harold quickly asks about the situation, and Hal quickly told him how bounty hunters on the payroll of Aberdeen wanted to find the culprits behind the death of the Baron.

“Where’d you stash the power armor?” Mal wanted to use it against the bounty hunters before Harold stopped her as he urged her not to get into the power armor until she’s better.

Hal then admits that when the bounty hunters started coming into the settlement that Courtesy… managed to circumvent the countermeasures in the power armor.

“He what?!” Mal’s eyes illuminated with anger as the news reached her dull mind.

Chapter Text

A scene out of a western, there was an even line of men wearing leather long coats and hats with their hands clutching their respective weapons while the leader of the bounty hunter came forward with a declaration to the settlement that if they valued their lives, they would agree to hear him out.

“We are looking for the murderers of one Baron Dutch van Langenkamp, we do not wish to cause unsightly harm to your beautiful settlement, but we will not hesitate to do so if need be!” Bo hoarsely shouts as he commanded attention by the weary settlers as they looked at him.

Everyone stopped in their spots as the bounty hunters held their guns out as they made it clear they weren’t going anywhere without the people responsible for the death.

Uneasy, the settlers stepped back before one cracked how the Baron deserved to die for the crimes he committed before they’re pulled inside a building by another settler.

“Do you even know who you’re looking for, you old coot?” Another settler briefly spoke up before disappearing into the gathered crowd.

Spitting chewing tobacco on the ground, Bo responds with, “We’ve been given the description of the culprits.”

Reaching into his belt, Bo pulled out a folded sheet and opened it for all to see.

Highly detailed, these were drawings of Rose and the others.

“How the hell did anyone see us?” Rose grits her teeth with Courtesy beside her in shock as he sees a picture of himself.

Shaking his head, Courtesy wonders, “You don’t think it was one of the slaves, do you?”

In disbelief, Rose remarks how it couldn’t be a slave that went back to Aberdeen to tell the authorities, but the more Rose thought about it and the time she spent on the topside, she wasn’t sure herself.

Pulling on her arm, Courtesy pries her away from her spot as he fled with her somewhere the bounty hunters wouldn’t see while they tried to find Vandal.

Thankfully he had just come out of a bar when they ran into him.

“Heya, Vandal, we got a problem,” Courtesy tries to remain calm.

Eying him, Vandal asks what problem, and Rose told him how Aberdeen hired bounty hunters to find the Baron’s killers.

And those implicated killers would be them!

“How the hell did anyone see us, we didn’t walk out front!” Vandal gritted his teeth before Courtesy asked what they should do.

Time was of the essence and Vandal told them they should hide before Rose worries about Harold.

“If he’s smart, he’s ducking down with the broad and her toy robot,” Vandal urged them to hide while he tried to come up with a plan that wouldn’t make things go from bad to worse.

Doing just that, Courtesy flees with Rose and Max to the one place that came to mind.

The hidden storage unit that Hal stashed the power armor in.

It was the only spot Courtesy could think of that the bounty hunters wouldn’t initially search through, and he worked with Rose trying to find a solution to their problems while Max stayed by the door guarding it.

Looking at the power armor, Courtesy got an idea, but Rose tries to talk him out of it, saying that it would be a bad idea, and might make things worse.

“I think we’re past that, now, Rose,” Courtesy gestures. “They’re not gonna leave until they tear up the whole damn town!”

Chewing on her full lips, Rose expresses concern about Courtesy using the power armor as she reminds him that Mal would not allow anyone except her to use it.

“Well, we can’t exactly get to her, okay, how do I get into this thing?” Courtesy adjusts his purple top hat before going up to the power armor.

Unsure if this was a good idea, Rose can feel the air charged with fear as the bounty hunters would be sweeping through the settlement looking for them.

“Ouch!” Courtesy felt shock as he tried to touch the power armor.

While Courtesy tries to figure it out, he’s stopped when someone bursts through the wooden doors in blind panic and guns raises with Max barking at them.

In nasally French, Hal threatened to annihilate any bounty hunter who attempts stealing Mal’s power armor.

Raising his arms over his head, Courtesy shouts, “Hal! It’s us!”

Lowering its arms, Hal remarks, “What are you two doing here?”

Gesturing, Rose exhales, “Mal can’t use the power armor and well…”

Aghast at what she’s suggesting, Hal remarks that Mal would never let such a thing happen, before Courtesy told it that they needed to do something or else everyone was going to have a bad day.

Whimpering, Max further added to Courtesy’s point.

“I don’t know, my madam was insistent that no one else but her can use it…” Hal thoughtfully rests one of its arms on its round chassis as it thinks.

Using his wits, Courtesy convinced Hal to tell him how the protection on the power armor worked, and it resulted in Courtesy making educated guesses while Rose helps keep an eye on what was happening outside.

It took dozens of shocks, but Courtesy manages to unlock the power armor to Hal’s astonishment as it quivers in fear that Mal was certain no one was able to circumvent the safeguards.

“You sure you can handle it?” Rose frets as Courtesy takes off his hat.

Looking at the exposed interior of the power armor, Courtesy admits, “Don’t have a choice.”

He hands her his trusty hat and steps into the power armor.

Soon as his arms and legs slotted through the holes and his body naturally pulled inside, the power armor sealed him inside.

Seeing the world through the power armor, Courtesy was amazed, before Hal cleared its digital throat to get his attention.

Giving a rundown on the power armor and its functions, it can see most of the words it says confuse Courtesy.

“Oh, madam isn’t going to be happy about this!” Hal frets before it stresses Courtesy to be careful with the power armor as he slowly moves around in it with the BFG swaying in his iron grips.

“What are you going to do with it?” Rose gestures as she watches him move around while acclimating inside the power armor as she keeps Max close to her.

Courtesy gave a reasonable answer with his voice reverberating through the power armor, “Well, if they see this, maybe they’ll run off?”

Unsure about the plan, Rose follows Hal and Courtesy out of the hidden storage unit.

Hal insists that Courtesy learns the functions of the power armor correctly, else it would risk lives lost and worse, before Courtesy assures him that he just wants to use the power armor to scare off the bounty hunters.

“Miss, you probably should hide,” Hal turns its body towards Rose.

Blinking, Rose asks about Harold and Mal.

Assuring her that it will retrieve them, Hal warns her that she needed to be ready to run, so she best has her belongings collected.

It predicts them having a rough night ahead when the smoke clears.

“You can help him with the power armor, right?” Rose inquires Hal’s extent with it, and it replies that it can see everything Courtesy can and more.

Beginning it to help Courtesy, Hal assures her that it will, after all, Mal would not want the power armor to be damaged or stolen.

“She would decommission me herself if I let that happen!” Hal exclaims.

Heavy footsteps dulled by the dirt below, Courtesy slowly makes his way towards the center of the settlement.

Upon reaching it, Courtesy sees the bounty hunters starting to move through the settlement, and once they see the power armor emerging from the corner, they stop in their place with their eyes focused.

“What in the fuck is that?” One of the bounty hunters' winces as he recoils at the sight of the power armor.

Bo shouts a knowing, “Looks like we have disturbed the peace, haven’t we?”

Standing tall in the power armor, Courtesy lets out, “Leave ‘em alone, they didn’t do anything to you.”

Scoffing, Bo retorts, “We are simple men trying to do our jobs, now then, who the fuck are you?”

Stiffly moving his neck, Courtesy only says, “Fly in the ointment. I thought bounty hunters didn’t have anything but the clothes on their back?”

Scoffing at him, Bo explains how Aberdeen was the most prosperous place in the state, they could afford the premiums requested by Bo and his gang.

“But enough of that, which one of you is it?” Bo demands to know which of the wanted people behind the Baron’s death they’re dealing with.

Unable to shrug, Courtesy replies, “You got eyes, you can guess that, can’t you?”

Chapter Text

With the power armor reflecting in the sunlight, Courtesy demands the bounty hunters leave the settlement, but the bounty hunters mocked him instead as they made it clear they weren’t leaving without their marks, and the settlement not being associated with the minutemen meant that Courtesy couldn’t rely on them, either.

“You must not value your life if you’re taking it up with me,” Courtesy dryly remarks.

His arms outstretched, Bo regales his and his gang’s lore, before telling his gang to give Courtesy a taster of their prowess.

The barrel of the BFG started spinning up as the bounty hunters opened fire with the bullets pinging off the power armor with little effect.

Realizing the escalation, the curious settlers flee to safety and those looking on from windows quickly disappear.

Seeing the V.A.T. System online and ready for use on the HUD inside the power armor, Courtesy waited until the men were out of ammo for the time being to try and dissuade the bounty hunters from connoting, but Bo remained stubborn.

Unable to sway them, Courtesy was forced to defend himself against the bounty hunters.

Using the V.A.T. System, Courtesy opens fire and systematically disarms them of their weapons while non-fatally injuring them.

Falling on the ground screaming in pain, the bounty hunters held their hands whist trying to hold their bleeding legs.

The BFG’s barrel slowly stopped spinning as smoke pillars from the holes as Courtesy calmly asks the men if they had enough, and hearing their screaming affirmed this as he moved away from them.

Leaving the men to their messes, Courtesy retreats, and there waiting for him with a scowl on her face was Mal with Hal floating beside her.

“Get. Out,” she orders him.

Seeing the anger on her face, Courtesy was going to oblige just that, before Rose appears to warn Mal and Hal that there’s more bounty hunters on their way.

Vandal believes Aberdeen gotten word from a snitch and they’re going out of their way wanting everyone’s heads on pikes for singlehandedly destroying their industry.

Who that could be, he didn’t know, only that they needed to leave, and quickly.

Her scowl disappearing, Mal curses as Hal arrives to prod her to follow it as Harold and Vandal were waiting for them with Max.

“This ain’t over,” Mal huffs at Courtesy before she follows Hal as it frets while floating across the dirt ground.

Arriving at a hidden backlot with a pulled back fence, they see Harold and Vandal with everyone’s belongings collected.

Seeing Courtesy coming towards them in the power armor, still, Max barks at him in a worried tone.

“Don’t worry, little buddy,” Courtesy calls out to Max with his voice deeply reverberating as he slowly walks forward.

Fleeing into the wasteland, Vandal led the group on paths he knew would be less travelled.

While they’re on the lonely roads, they talked.

“Did we really upend their entire business?” Rose asks aloud and told by Vandal how Aberdeen thrived on slavery to the point that it supported them into complacency.

Unable to shake his head, Courtesy wonders, “I’d figure they’d have a rainy-day fund.”

Snorting, Vandal retorts, “They did, the bounty hunters.”

With nothing else to support their lavish lifestyles, the citizens of Aberdeen had a rough reckoning when the morning came.

“Why would a slave turn us in?” Harold wanted to know.

Shrugging, Vandal suggests, “Maybe they didn’t have a choice, could’ve been recaptured, hell, they been a slave so long they don’t know any better.”

Whatever the case, they needed to keep moving and find a minutemen-controlled settlement where they had a chance to collect their thoughts.

It’ll be difficult with his bounty hunter status, but Vandal knew that it was trouble not doing it.

How they’ll deal with Aberdeen sending bounty hunters after them without resorting to killing them softly, Vandal wasn’t sure, but he doubted a representative of Aberdeen will listen to reason after what they done.

Walking alongside Max, Rose was in deep thought as she processes her inability to deliver the parcel to her contact in Memphis with the bounty hunters after them.

Unsure what to do, Rose chews on her bottom lip while Vandal guides them through his tried-and-true paths.

“Once we get somewhere safe, you’re out of there, got it?” Mal made it clear with Courtesy as he walks with confidence in the power armor.

Giving her assurance, Courtesy asks her where she got the power armor from, since he never saw one up close before, and Grissom talked about them more than once.

“Found it in pieces, whoever had it was food long after me and Hal got there,” Mal replies.

Courtesy couldn’t flinch but he squeaks, “One of those brown bears?”

Shrugging, Mal answers how she didn’t know which bear did, other than it left the power armor in tatters, it was a miracle she and Hal scrounged enough of the pieces and resources to rebuild it.

“From our analysis, even with our modifications, there’s no chance it can handle another attack,” Hal warns Courtesy.

Gulping, Courtesy sheepishly says how the minutemen have been doing work keeping the roads clear, before Hal reminds him how even the most prepared minuteman can fall to an attack by one.

Mutated to have thicker hides and resiliency to even well-placed grenade shots in their faces as well as their bite force being strong enough to bite through the plated power armor, the brown bears have become ubiquitous to the words ‘dangerous’ and the phrase ‘no hope for survival’ if encountered in the worst conditions.

Chortling, Vandal remarks, “Even a bounty hunter can tell you that you’re better off waiting for your mark to make the mistake of hiding out in one of their caves. If you’re lucky, they’ll learn quick and run right out into you, and if you’re not, well, that’s why clauses exist.”

It’s a known thing that people who commission bounty hunters like him on jobs are told the chances of an idiot getting himself eaten by a mutant bear.

Since Vandal makes it a habit of not endangering himself, if a mark ended up in the belly of the beast and hadn’t made their way out, he’d find a proof of the kill in the way of something identifiable.

But he sure as hell won’t attempt fighting one of the mutant bears in their caves for a chewed-up bone.

“What if they say you’re lying?” Harold points out that unscrupulous people would find ways of fibbing their bounties as deceased for easy money.

Exhaling sharply, Vandal rants about them giving him and other “honorable” bounty hunters a bad name, but he stresses that majority of the time, they take their craft seriously.

“Not very well from what I can gather,” Mal snorts.

Acknowledging Bo and his gang, Vandal sighs how the word was being lessened by people like them.

Whatever the case, if Aberdeen had the money to afford the weapons used, they can afford even more dangerous people to hunt them down when the word gets back about Bo and his gang’s failure.

“Hm, well, I can safely say the power armor isn’t substantially affected by the weapons used in the gunfight. However, if Aberdeen is pressed enough, I shudder what they have in their arsenal!” Hal quivers as it worried about the settlement going off the deep end trying to capture them.

Sheepishly, Rose asks, “They’re not going to like, start a war trying to get us, right?”

Thoughtfully thinking, Vandal explains the probability that Aberdeen knows better to cause an outright war with the other settlements, but with their industry permanently disrupted, vengeance and vindictiveness will blind them.

It’s hard to say what the whole settlement’s thinking, but the further away from it the better they are for it, that said, they better get a move on while there’s still sunlight.

Eventually, they come across a settlement controlled by the minutemen, Meharry, like a disheveled caravan, they entered through the entrance.

Before Courtesy got any ideas, he was ordered to go with Hal to hide the power armor, and Hal’s threats of causing electrocution was enough to force compliance.

Vandal took an opportunity to leave the group to talk with the minutemen about Aberdeen.

He figured it was only fair and it might help their chances while hoping to find a solution.

Entering the only inn, Rose went with Max up to the counter with Harold and Mal trailing behind her.

Ringing the bell, Rose waits, and eventually the owner came over to speak with her about getting rooms for a few nights.

Pure luck would have the owner think she was Harold and Mal’s daughter, complimenting her looks, before giving a discount on their rooms.

Forced to hold her tongue as it was better than paying the exorbitant price initially offered by the owner, Mal put on a convincing smile, before she leaves to find her shared room with Harold.

“I didn’t sign up playing parent, y’know!” Mal hisses when they were away from prying eyes and ears.

Grimacing, Rose sheepishly brings up, “At least we got a discount?”

Groaning, Mal hears Harold say that they used the tactic before to get a discount, only causing her to shake her head in disapproval.

Though she can’t deny it helped them.

Chapter Text

“This is 69.3 and you are listening to the one and only Moose! This just in, I got some reports from the Southern Minutemen Institute about an incident down in Aberdeen. One of their own thought dead has made a reappearance and he comes with news and collaborated by the other minutemen on the road. Aberdeen’s main and only industry is in shambles and the Baron dead. Irreparable damage and from what the minutemen are saying, it’s not looking good for Aberdeen,” the Moose prattles about the newest set of news that came to his desk. “More, there’s reports that because their trades have been halted, settlements that relied on Aberdeen’s products are scrambling to secure products elsewhere, there’s been a reported gunfight regarding two rivaling distributors out near Knoxville. Anyhow, minutemen-controlled territories are expected to increase manpower to deal with the blowback of Aberdeen’s fallout. In other news, the weatherman says there’s just rain soon, but as your old friend Moose says, always watch the skies above and keep your eyes open. You’re listening to the Moose on 69.3, where classics live on, forever!”

From that point it switched to music and Rose switched off the radio as she turns her head to face the others as they sat at the table with their plates of food and Max nearby with its own bowl of food.

Holding a can of oil with a bendy straw sticking out of it, Hal tried finding a silver lining to their situation by saying, “Well, at least the increased presence of the minutemen will keep those dastardly bounty hunters away, er, no offense, sir.”

Shaking his head with his hand around a cold beer bottle, Vandal warns, “Just cause the Boy Scouts are out in full force, don’t mean shit. If they want us, they’re going to find us one way or another. Getting to Memphis from here might be your only chance, little girl. Once you get to Memphis, you’re safe, ‘cause those Elvis idiots don’t like “riffraff” causing problems.”

Contrary to common belief, Elvis impersonators hate nothing more than people causing problems in Memphis, especially unscrupulous bounty hunters.

Ask him how he knows that.

Chewing on her lips, Rose asks him, “What about the guy who killed the Baron?”

After taking sips from his beer bottle, Vandal tells her that he plans on going after him.

Once they deal with Aberdeen’s finest.

“What are we supposed to do, we can’t simply keep disabling them with well-placed shots,” Harold frowns as he thoughtfully poked his pile of mashed potatoes with gravy and peas.

Even if that was the plan, it would take weeks if not months depending on how much caps Aberdeen had on hand to supply to the bounty hunters.

“Bankrupting them might be our only chance, good sir,” Hal suggests the plan on ruining Aberdeen financially to the point it was no longer feasible to pay for bounty hunters.

And as backed up by Vandal, bounty hunters aren’t known IOUs.

Speaking up, Courtesy wonders how they’re supposed to bankrupt Aberdeen.

Her hand under her chin, Mal suggests, “We tell a sweet lie.”

Everyone looking at her, she proceeds to elaborate by explaining how Aberdeen is paying the bounty hunters, well, what if the bounty hunters hear something they don’t like and drives them back to Aberdeen, not with them in tow, but with vengeance.

Slowly nodding, Vandal remarks, “Yeah, if they think Aberdeen is swindling them and can’t pay, that’d get them off our backs.”

Thinking, Rose asks, “How are we going to do that?”

Chuckling, Vandal tells her, “Well, we have two tools at our disposal, little lady. Toby owes us and them minutemen are hooked into the radio.”

With the power of perception and some convincing it will make Aberdeen’s week far worse than it already is.”

Having gone to the minutemen the moment they arrived, Vandal learnt what was already broadcast on the radio from Minuteman Charlie, however he was less than forthcoming about Vandal.

Especially, using the radio for unauthorized broadcasts.

So, Vandal challenged him to call out to Toby, get him to collaborate with Vandal’s tale, since evidently Toby made sure they weren’t broadcasted over the radio.

It’s been a while since they’re having dinner right now and all, but hopefully when they go back to the station, he’ll be more receptive to their idea.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Courtesy worries about the plan.

Adjusting his hat, Vandal says with confidence that with the minutemen helping sell the lie and their correspondents, the bounty hunters will have no choice but to believe it, even if they aren’t fond of the minutemen.

Realistically, it wouldn’t be surprising if Aberdeen was hoping the bounty hunters don’t come to collect.

Sure, Aberdeen gave some expensive weapons to the bounty hunters, but as said, money will run dry sooner or later, and Aberdeen knows this for a fact.

The only guaranteed Vandal has is that they won’t try to get raiders involved.

“Once they tell the sweet lies, we’ll just wait a bit and see what shakes out,” Vandal points with his beer bottle before he takes a swig.

It was a plan.

Dinner concludes and everyone returned to their rooms.

“I need to check your arm,” Harold reminded Mal as they went to their shared room.

Gritting her teeth, Mal acknowledges this as Hal floated behind them.

Entering their shared room set up with two separate beds, Mal sat at the end of hers as Harold pulled back her sleeve.

Undoing the bandages, Harold studies the cut with Hal beside him.

Concluding that it was doing better, he then says to Mal to let it breathe, now.

Which meant she can’t use the power armor.

“For how long?” Mal gestures towards him.

Mentally counting, Harold tells her, “It’ll probably be a week or so.”

Scoffing, Mal remarks, “Could just find a genuine Stimpak and be back in business!”

Hal then calculates the chances of them finding one with the prevalence of diluted Stimpak on top of them looking indistinguishable to normal variants.

… As well as the chances some are fraudulent copies that if used can cause worse effects.

“Alright, fine, I’ll play nice. Country boy better keep his paws off it,” Mal grits her teeth before Harold thanked her for her consideration.

Come morning, they filed into the station where Vandal played his cards, and Minuteman Charlie admits to him that Toby backed his claims.

“You don’t want the bounty hunters tearing up settlements looking for us and you don’t want bloodbath from us defending ourselves.”

“What are you angling, bounty hunter?”

“I’m just making a suggestion of spreading some sweet lies and letting the rumor mill do the talking.”

“Even if this works, what about Aberdeen?”

“They made their beds, didn’t they?”

It was cruel, Vandal knows, but Aberdeen had it coming.

Even the minutemen can’t deny that.

Sighing, Minuteman Charlie asks, “Can you live with yourself doing this?”

Pointing at himself, Vandal retorts, “I’ve been living with myself for over 200 years, I think I can handle this one time, sheriff.”

Conceding, Minuteman Charlie patched him through to Toby, from there Vandal gave the rundown on how to nip the influx of bounty hunters and Aberdeen in the bud for good.

It won’t be pretty, but it was better than having to deal with confrontations constantly.

“I’ll get the boys to start passing it around, might take a bit before it picks up steam. Ya’ll safe?”

Affirming that he and the group were, Vandal admits he wanted everything to go back to normal.

Something Toby can agree with before he then warned Vandal about possible super mutant sightings.

“A colony of them down here, now?” Vandal inquires.

Answering with a no, Toby informs him that minutemen have been seeing them walking goose step and otherworldly almost.

Something unheard, Toby knows, but the minutemen don’t think a colony had migrated from the north.

He can’t explain it, but he urged Vandal to be careful on the road, to which Vandal cracks, “10-4, good buddy.”

Chapter Text

It was a waiting game for them, hoping that the plan works and the bounty hunters would set their sights back to Aberdeen, Rose spent much of the day looking at her Pip-Boy’s screen as she sees the distance from here to Memphis.

She promised her father she would get his parcel to Mercurio Benton, but the man with the silver tongue, the man who issued the bounty on Mal, a whole conspiracy in front of her that she couldn’t leave behind.

“Dad, am I doing the right thing?” Rose showed doubt as she sat on the end of her bed looking at the bobblehead.

Rubbing her eyes, Rose imagines what he would say to her in the situation like this.

Follow her heart.

He would understand.

Lowering her hand, Rose couldn’t help but wonder how long Mercurio Benton would wait for her to conclude this conspiracy.

He probably thought she was dead already.

Somehow got into touch with her father and told him.

Shaking her head, Rose hopes, “Please still be there.”

Maybe she can use the communications Mercurio uses to get in touch with her father to let him know that she was fine, and he would see her, again.

Barging into the room with its tail wagging, Max playfully runs up to the surprised Rose.

Rubbing its ears, Rose coos as she notices something in its mouth.

Almost like it wanted her to have it, Rose reached out to retrieve a red rose.

“Aw, is this for me?” Rose asks inquisitively.

Barking, Max wags its tail and Rose thanked it with a head rub before looking at the flower closely.

The thorns neatly cut off, the stem thicker than her fingers, and two large leaves pillow the large red bulb.

As she marvels at the rose, she hears footsteps as someone calls out, “Max! Bad boy! Come back!”

Barging into the room, a disheveled Courtesy berates Max for stealing the rose from him, and only mid rant he noticed where he was standing as his copper eyes rises when he notices Rose.

Turning redder than the sun-dried ground, Courtesy babbles as he pulls off his trademark purple top hat. 

Apologizing to her for barging into her room like this in his babbling, Courtesy watches as Rose got up from her bed with the rose in hand.

“Where did you find this, anyway?” Rose inquiries about it and Courtesy sheepishly tells her how he found a rose bush and without thinking took one from it.

He never really got to touch a rose before, so he accidentally pricked his fingers on the stem, but a little know-how with a knife trimmed the fingernail-sized thorns.

Of course, Max got it into its head to steal it from him.

“I guess you’ll want it back, then?” Rose held it outright for him to reach before Courtesy babbled how she should keep it, else Max would take it from him, again.

Hugging him tightly as thanks, Rose marvels at the flower, and as she does, she stops when she notices Vandal standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

Visibly annoyed, Rose pulls away from Courtesy before asking Vandal why he was there, and he replies how he got word back from Toby that the bounty hunters were moving back towards Aberdeen after the word spread like fire that they were crossed.

From his estimation, Vandal says Aberdeen will be a crater come tomorrow.

Which meant for them, they are off the hook as far as the rare chance they meet someone from Aberdeen that survived the nasty fight that will surely ensure between residents and the bounty hunter.

Adjusting herself, Rose inquiries about them going after Vandal’s mark.

Holding his hand up, Vandal urged, “You and Prince Charming get yourselves to Memphis. This ain’t something you should be getting involved in. You talk game, little girl, but this ain’t the game you want to involve yourself.”

Resilient to the idea of Rose joining him on the hunt for his mark, Vandal remarks how Rose had a change of heart considering how she hated him when they first met.

“Like I said sir, I have the right to know what’s going on,” Rose affirms her intent seeing this through though Vandal doubted her still.

Raising his hand, Courtesy asks, “Do you even know where this feller’s going?”

Snorting, Vandal retorts, “You’re talking to the finest bounty hunter in the south! I can find him.”

All he needs is a good whiff and pointing him in the right direction.

Shaking his head, Vandal sighs as he leaves to check on something, leaving Courtesy and Rose to discuss the matter more, alone.

“Are you sure about this, what about your pa?” Courtesy frowns.

Once more affirming her intent as she tells him her father would understand, Rose asks what Courtesy wanted to do.

Chewing on his lips, Courtesy admits that he wasn’t sure, but if Rose was insistent on seeing this conspiracy through, well, it would be un-gentlemanly of him not to offer help.

Hugging him tightly as she thanks him, Rose releases him as she kneels to ask Max for its opinion on the matter.

Wagging its tail, Max woofs, and Rose thanks it as she rubs the sides of its head.

Elsewhere, Vandal tracks down Mal as she had taken the bounty paper on her to study the coordinates with Hal beside her.

“Where did he want me to take you?” Vandal asks out of curiosity.

Not raising her amber eyes, Mal delegates the answer to Hal, to which it replies with, “It would seem to be coordinates for… a factory.”

Hearing the hesitance in Hal’s voice, Vandal wanted to know more about the factory, and Hal musters with a wary, “It’s in a controlled territory. My madam is correct, even if you did capture her, you were never getting out of there, alive!”

Crossing his arms, Vandal demanded more information from Hal, and with Mal’s permission, it told him that the factory belonged to a faction that regarded ghouls like Vandal as anything but untoward and would’ve likely shot him on the spot the moment he arrived with Mal in tow.

“So, I made the right call then,” Vandal summarizes.

To which Hal affirms as it floated weightlessly.

Stopping for a moment, Vandal then asks which faction controlled the territory out of curiosity as he pointed out that there were a lot that didn’t take kindly to people like him.

Thoughtfully thinking as it hones its sensors, Hal responds, “From my internals, this faction goes by the name… C.A.I.N. Cain? What an unusual name for a faction. I dread for any faction called Abel!”

It then asks Vandal if he heard of any factions with that name, but Vandal responds how it didn’t ring a bell, before he turned towards Mal to ask why Henry would want her brought there.

“I don’t know,” she only says before burning the paper with the candle in front of her.

Scratching the side of his head, Vandal then tells Mal how Rose was intent on seeing the hunt for his mark through.

Can’t help but commend her tenacity despite the obvious threats, but he couldn’t help but wish she went on her way to Memphis like she intended before getting wrapped in this.

“Stubborn is stubborn goes,” Mal shrugs.

Groaning, Vandal remarks with a candied, “You have no idea! I could tell her there is a circus of deathclaws and she’d still want to go! And here I thought vault dwellers couldn’t even be naiver!”

Still, help is better than no help.

“She knew the risks coming out of her vault, we warned her plenty, can’t do much more than that,” Mal deems.

While she had a point, Vandal laments how it was supposed to be an easy job for him, and here he is, now.

“No job ever is,” Mal reminds him.

Stepping through the doorway with a tray of sandwiches he made with what was available with some drinks and found a premium can of oil for Hal, Harold comes over to the table as he sits it down.

Reaching out with its eyes shimmering for the can of oil, Hal chirps a thank you.

“I told you; you didn’t need to fuss over me,” Mal shakes her head.

Eying her, Harold didn’t shy away from asserting his authority as her doctor and urged her to keep up with the regime of food and drinks.

Seeing Vandal, Harold asks him about Aberdeen, and Vandal told him how Toby says that it will be a crater come nightfall given how mad the bounty hunters were about being swindled.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving for your bounty, then?” Harold asks him.

With a look in his eyes, Vandal answers, “It got a little complicated, the little lady still won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She and Prince Charming are gonna be down here with their spiel. I’d ask you to talk to her on account to the people here think you’re her dad, but I guess that won’t work, either.”

Chapter Text

“What a small world, after all!” Vandal’s dark eyes widened as Harold reacted to him talking about the faction that owned the factory where he was supposed to take Mal after her capture.

Visibly shocked, Harold sat near Mal with Hal asking if he needed tea brewed to settle his nerves.

Unevenly, Harold requests some, and Hal chirps that it won’t take long to boil the water as it floated away to the kitchen.

Mal was equally interested as she turned her head to face Harold as she asks him, “What did this factory manufacture?”

Certainly, they weren’t manufacturing power armors, though Harold admitted that when he was with the faction for a short time, they were trying to maximize their supplies in the hopes of recreating power armors.

He only found out from overhearing some of the members and further confirmed their intent when he poked around when no one was looking.

Though, after raiders attacked the encampment, he worked in, the factory would likely be heavily guarded by rightfully paranoid members.

“And from what I remember, right, Enclave aren’t friendly towards anything that isn’t “pure” so how would this guy get through the front door?” Vandal questioned the type of person Henry Schultz is that he can afford an audience with an Enclave remnant without his head shot off.

Frowning, Harold informs Vandal how C.A.I.N was very much willing to shoot those “pure” on the spot for whatever reason, out of paranoia of being discovered by an enemy or other reasons he didn’t know about, and when asked how he knew this, Harold heavily sighs as he explains how he came from a vault, one of the tenets of purity in their eyes.

When he happened upon a hunting party from C.A.I.N during his travels, they initially wanted to shoot him on the spot believing he was impure, but once he endeared himself to them, they tested his blood under the guise of checking his health, and even when it passed for muster, they regarded him with suspicion until their desperation for a doctor blinded them.

“I heard rumors that Enclave got into it with a vault dweller, probably a holdover unless they think you can take a magical pill,” Vandal shrugs.

He doesn’t know the validity of the rumors, but given the remnant was willing to shoot someone on the spot, even though he passed their tests as “pure” there was likely some truth to the rumors.

Still, Henry needed to be someone they were willing to overlook their prejudice to a degree, and Vandal turned towards the only person with the information.

“If I still had a nose this be the part where I say I have a nose for this kind of stuff, so spill it broad, who the hell is this guy?” Vandal gestures.

Humming as it returned from the kitchen with a tray of prepared tea, Hal chirps as it sets the tray down in front of Harold, before it notices the uncomfortable look on Mal.

Incisively, Hal poured Mal some of the tea, and as she took the teacup into her hand with the steam rising, Rose and Courtesy wandered in with Max in tow.

They unnoticed the uncomfortable look on Mal’s face and when Rose asks what was going on, the three stopped.

Sharing looks with each other, the three silently discussed with each other, and Harold uncomfortably tells her that they were talking about the Enclave.

“Enclave? I thought they were gone, weren’t they?” Courtesy was confused as it resonates with him.

Confused, Rose asks, “What’s the Enclave?”

Motioning her to sit, she does with Courtesy next to her as it was explained to her the origins of the Enclave down to how there’s a bounty for any remnants lingering around the Wasteland.

“They’re not fond of anyone who isn’t from a vault, but even then, they’re not fond of anyone who doesn’t fit through their narrow views, if you catch my drift,” Vandal gestures.

Slowly nodding, Rose then sheepishly asks Vandal what they have to do with Vandal’s mark.

His dark eyes subtly moving towards Mal, Vandal answers, “I have a funny feeling this whole thing’s more interconnected than a continental breakfast. So, how’s it, you mind sharing with the class?”

As Hal poured her more tea, Mal grits her teeth as she admitted to him, “You’re looking for Henry Schultz.”

Tilting his head with curiosity, Vandal inquires, “And where do you know him from?”

Getting information from her would be akin to dentistry on a Deathclaw, Vandal cut back on his questions and focused on Henry being capable of talking people into killing each other.

Shaking her head, Mal was genuinely confused as she responds with, “I don’t know how.”

Confused, Vandal grew irritated by Mal’s caginess, and she sharply reminds him how quickly Hal can make quick work of him before he pulls out Betty from its holster.

“Mal, it’s obvious that we have something in common, here,” Harold slowly reaches out to her as he tries appealing to her. “If he can control super mutants, what else can he control?”

Evidently, he was involved with C.A.I.N in some way and with super mutants thrown in the mix, it looks like the Enclave remnant was attempting a comeback.

“He also clearly knows you’re still breathing, and willing to pull a fast one for your ass, so spill it already,” Vandal grew insistent that Mal no longer keep her secrets.

With Henry’s affiliation with the Enclave remnant While causing deaths with just words and lulling a prominent figure to his doom, he was a threat, and it goes beyond a simple bounty job.

Gritting her teeth, Mal forced herself to say, “I didn’t know he was even alive until you told me.”

She hadn’t seen him in years, Hal attesting to this, but with them attentively keeping their heads down and covering their tracks, she doesn’t know how he figured out she was alive, either.

“Why would he put a bounty on you?” Mal hears Rose asking her with curiosity in her hazel eyes.

Shaking her head, Mal affirms that she didn’t know why, and clearly seemed confused and hurt.

Courtesy winces as he wonders, “You don’t suppose he’s making his way back to the factory, do you?”

It makes sense that he would be returning to the factory with the intent that Mal would be captured and brought to it by Vandal by the time he arrived, something Vandal noted as a strong possibility given that Henry can handle going up from Aberdeen.

And given what they know, Henry might’ve already put the factory under his control, and with the sudden prominence of super mutants, it was looking rather grim what the factory was turned into.

“If this is true, Toby and the minutemen need to know about it,” Harold frets about the super mutants expanding from the factory and the minutemen being unprepared.

Fixing his hat as he stood up, Vandal agrees as he says that his bounty has increased in priority, and with Belmont blessing him with the choice of Henry being brought back to him dead or alive, all it’ll take is a good shot in the face.

He stops for a moment to look at Mal.

As he moves to the doorway, Vandal leaves Mal with this, “Ask yourself how long you gonna keep with your secrets, darlin’, ‘cause it’s clearly working out for you so far.”

Left in silence, the remaining four looked at each other, before Mal stood up and left the table with Hal dutifully following her.

“Mr. Harold, I never seen you this scared, before,” Rose notes Harold’s hands growing jittery as the conversation went on about the Enclave remnant producing super mutants.

Coughing, Harold admits the thought the remnant had been continuing with their plans even after the raiders attacked their encampment sent shivers down his spine.

“Rose, I insist you and Courtesy head to Memphis,” Harold reached out to her. “You want no part in this, you have no idea what you’re up against.”

Shaking her head, Rose affirmed for a third time her intent seeing this through.

“Oh my god,” Courtesy had a sudden realization as he pulled off his trademark purple top hat.

Looking at him, Rose asks what was wrong, and he says with a lump in his throat, “My pa sometimes gets massive orders for steel. I never thought about it much. I think he might’ve unknowingly supplied them with processed steel.”

Work was never over for Courtesy’s father, and he took requests from verified people and places all the time.

So long as he was paid the amount requested for his services, all was right.

However, the more Courtesy thought about it, the more sinister this became as his father had requests for processed steel that exceeded the normal amounts he was used to manufacturing and producing.

“They’ve been careful about letting anyone know about their existence, they would’ve used faked names, paid people, anything to cover their tracks,” Harold reaches over to calm Courtesy as he panicked.

Chapter Text

“Goddamn super mutants, now the Enclave, as if we didn’t already have enough problems!” Toby laments over the radio as he spoke to Vandal about their troubles.

Sighing, Vandal stresses, “I didn’t think it’d turn out this way either, but it’s the only thing that makes sense, hell, wasn’t the word that they wanted to turn everyone not pure in their eye into a mutant?”

Affirming that was the case, Toby stresses over the implications before Vandal refocuses him on the matter at hand.

“Our leader has some pull, maybe he can get word out to the Brotherhood, maybe it’ll be enough to get them to send their men down here,” Toby exhales sharply.

Miffed, Vandal remarks, “I didn’t think ya’ll had that kind of pull to get them on board with this!”

Chuckling, Toby corrects him.

“Ah, someone from the main branch in the Boston area rubbed elbows with a chapter in D.C. and it snowballed from there. We’re not exactly friends, but they’re willing to bend an ear here and there. I’m not sure how long it’ll take for them to mobilize, if there’s even a branch down here, they can call on, but if what you’re saying is true and what we’re seeing here, they’ll probably jump at the chance to finish the job for good,” Toby summarizes. 

With active threats of super mutants spreading through Tennessee and possibly beyond and the remnants of Enclave still active, surely the Brotherhood of Steel will want to see their destruction.

Unable to tell Vandal if there was a chapter in the south on account of the Brotherhood’s penchant for secrecy, Toby hoped that there was a chapter that can mobilize quicker than the one in the D.C. area.

“Why couldn’t it just have been another day at the office!” Toby groans as the realization hits him like a sack of bricks and a nuke.

Comforting him in his own way, Vandal assures Toby that they’ll stop the remnant before it gets comfortable.

If anything, the Brotherhood ought to have realized that a remnant of the Enclave surfaced but wasn’t sure about its whereabouts until now.

“I hope you’re right. What about your guy, is he affiliated with them?” Toby moved on to another question he had.

Shrugging, Vandal responds with uncertainty, but given how Henry was a silver tongue master, it wouldn’t surprise him if Henry talked them into working with him whether they wanted to or not.

“Any word how this man’s doing it?”

“Unknown at this time, my only lead is a broad who doesn’t like sharing, but uh, just make sure your guys don’t approach men wearing nice suits and round glasses out on the road by themselves without a scratch on them.”

“Affirmative. Where do you think he’s going?”

“Dunno, maybe back to the factory, I’m not sure. I threw a wrench in his plan, so we’ll see if those changes anything. Stay safe, brother, I hate where this is going.”

“You, me, both, brother. I’ll holler if I hear anything.”

“We’re moving on from here, but if I find a sheriff or one of your guys, I’ll try to call ya.”

“I’ll make sure our guys know to let you use the radio. Hold on, before I let you go, one of my buddies just gave me something. One of our spotters just found some dead bounty hunters.”

Confused, Vandal inquired more detail and Toby’s description gave grisly insight into what happened to them; however, the destruction of their remains was done postmortem. They’ve all shot each other from what it looked like, and it also looked like someone went through their pockets as the bounty hunters’ possessions were left out in the open.

“Houston’s good at tracking and identifying and he said he only found one pair of footprints leading away from the scene. But it doesn’t make sense, everyone was accounted for,” Toby sounded confused before he stopped himself. “You don’t think…”

Finishing his sentence, Vandal grimaces as he says, “I think so. Where were they found?”

Toby read off the sheet he received and said that the bounty hunters were found nearly 12 miles from the settlement Vandal was staying with the others.

If not for the budding fear creeping up through Vandal’s spine, he’d be impressed the bounty hunters made it that far despite Courtesy giving them a once over with the power armor, but then believing Aberdeen went back on its word gave them motivation.

If he had lips, Vandal would be chewing on them, as he urges Toby to keep him posted, as Toby affirmed, he would do so before their conversation ends, and fear creeping through Vandal.

Leaving the building, Vandal returns to the inn, and calls everyone back to the table whether they wanted to or not.

“We leave now,” Vandal urges everyone to collect their belongings from their rooms and file out of the inn at once.

Seeing the urgency on his face, not even Mal could talk her way out of it.

It wasn’t smart on Vandal’s part getting everyone to leave with him in the middle of the night, but with Henry well-aware where they were staying after using his silver tongue to get the bounty hunters to talk, probably had a few super mutants with him to force their hands, Vandal didn’t want to risk Henry bringing super mutants into the settlement.

It’s a possibility this would happen regardless of whether they stayed or not, but Vandal didn’t live this long to risk getting caught with his pants between his legs.

With Toby as his only minuteman contact, Vandal hopes that no matter where they ended up in a bid to distancing themselves from Henry, he could at least use this knowledge to gain access to the minutemen radios if he needed them.

Betty closes to him, Vandal exhales sharply as he guides the group into the night, and eventually they stopped at an abandoned cabin where they sat around a fire with Hal providing them with tea.

“You worked with them; they ever say anything about the Brotherhood?” Vandal questions Harold since he was his only insight into the remnant.

Shaking his head as the fire crackles, Harold answers with, “I wasn’t permitted to knowing a lot of things, when I found out what they are, if they had anything on a Brotherhood chapter down here, either I didn’t see it, or it doesn’t exist.”

Sighing, Vandal adjusts his cowboy hat.

“Maybe there is a chapter down here, they’re just real quiet about it. They probably took pages from the remnant’s books and are keeping their operation a secret,” he said.

Thinking it over, Courtesy wonders if they’d been ordering processed steel from his father’s mill, too, and Vandal told him that it was a possibility.

“What’s the difference between the two?” Rose was confused.

Explaining to her the details he knew, Vandal gestures while telling Rose about the Brotherhood of Steel and their different chapters.

“I personally don’t like ‘em either, but if it’s whether who sucks the least, it’s them,” Vandal sighs before taking a swig of the tea.

Curious, Rose asks why he wasn’t fond of the Brotherhood, either, or Vandal elaborates why.

“Sure, we don’t deserve shiny new toys on account what happened over 200 years ago, but nothing good ever happens to a faction hoarding all that tech. Believe me, little lady, I’ve seen a lot of shit to know it’s true,” Vandal points at her.

Whether they have a point or not, Vandal views the Brotherhood of Steel as hypocritical.

“But, if it means the remnant can’t get a foothold, it’s worth having the Brotherhood be involved,” Harold reminds Vandal.

Urging them to get some sleep since he wanted to get a move on before daybreak, everyone found a corner to sleep in.

Listening to the crackle of the fire as he tries to sleep, Harold ended up waking up half an hour after the others went to sleep, and as he got up, he notices Mal awake as well.

“Does your arm hurt?” Harold instinctively asks her.

Shaking her head, Mal told him it was fine, she just couldn’t sleep.

Fair enough.

Seeing the others asleep around them with Hal in hibernation mode, Harold took the time to talk to Mal about Henry.

“He was from my vault, fine,” Mal angrily gestures.

Eying her as the fire reflected in his glasses, Harold asks her about Henry’s role in their vault.

Subtly turning her head towards Vandal as he sleeps in a rocking chair with his hat over his face and snorting through the felt, Mal tells Harold, “Whenever the overseer gives assignments, he’d be the one that tell us. He was just… one of the people working in the vault.”

Scratching the side of her head as her hard helmet bobs, Mal remembers Henry with clarity.

“Your overseer periodically left your vault?” Harold inquisitively asks about Mal’s past.

As she shrugs, her long coat crumpling, Mal responds with, “He usually went topside and gave the rest of us grunt work. I only saw him once and that was a photo.”

Curious, Harold asks about Henry’s relationship with Heinrich, and Mal told him how Henry was always squirrelly whenever their overseer gave him orders.

“Oh no, I know what this is, you’re fishing,” Mal eyes Harold with suspicion.

Admitting that he was, Harold states that he wanted to know what Mal knew since it was relevant to their situation, and if they needed to worry about another person.

Mal remained adamant until Harold convinced her that he had nothing to gain from this.

“I don’t know where he is, okay. I hadn’t heard from him in years,” Mal swats the air angrily. “He might as well be at the factory for all I know.”

Tilting his head, Harold brings up the probability that Heinrich forced Henry into putting the bounty up for Mal given what they know.

Thinking it over, Mal shakes her head.

“Mal, please, what was your vault’s experiment?” Harold softly asks her.

Shifting in her spot as she adjusts her legs, Mal shows hesitation before Harold brought up her tattoo.

“I don’t know how this’s related.”

“Mal, Henry has gotten people killed and he himself has killed. If there is something in your vault that caused him to do it, we need to know.”

“There was nothing in that hellhole other than old history that deserves to be buried and forgotten, okay?”

“Mal…”

Gritting her teeth as she kept her voice low, Mal tells Harold, “Anyone with a tattoo like mine got treated like crap. Anyone who didn’t get treated like kings and they knew it. That’s all I remember.”

Evident that Mal still withheld information from him out of sense of protection and fear, Harold chose not to press on the matter, else Mal would shut him out, and he tried to keep the peace between them the best he could until they went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Early morning, Vandal woke up and ushered the others from their sleep.

Collecting their things and stamping out the fire, the group was back on the backroads.

“Don’t get comfortable in there,” Mal reminds Courtesy as he walks inside the power armor.

Assuring her that he wouldn’t, Courtesy couldn’t help but marvel at how the power armor still worked despite being torn apart by one of the mutant bears and bounty hunters open firing on it.

A shrug, Mal remained modest about it being a successful reconstruction and Hal playfully chides her for her modesty as it chirps with reverent humor about the process.

It calculated that Mal drank enough tea to go from one end of Tennessee to the other end during the time it took to get the power armor back into shape before gallons of tea after trying to figure out how it works.

“Where do you think it came from, the Brotherhood or C.A.I.N?” Courtesy asks with his voice reverberating in the power armor.

Hal notes that in the state the power armor was found in, neither it nor Mal could be sure what faction it longed to originally, but whatever the case, the faction wouldn’t know it missing with the work they did masking whatever signals it still transmits.

“Either way, they can kiss my ass if they expect me to hand it back,” Mal made it clear that she intended on keeping the power armor to her lonesome.

Hal then chirps, “Possession is only 1/10^th of the law!”

Though, if Hal had to guess the power armor’s origins, it noted how it pinged the remains near the border of Arkansas and Missouri.

If the power armor had come from the remnants of the Enclave, then it had been recently manufactured, but it would have some troubling implications regarding how many power armors the remnant created with the factory they procured.

Most of all, how they’d react to one going missing.

“With how gun-ho they are about things, it’s probably expectant someone would get eaten,” Mal swats the air.

Hal concedes to her point.

“My map indicates there’s a settlement not far, if the bounty hunter would like to make a pit-stop,” Hal then calls out to Vandal.

Turning his head with an exasperated look on his face, Vandal remarks, “Vandal! Van-dal! I got a name, y’know!”

Apologizing for the perceived slight, Hal explains that it was only doing what it was programmed to do, nothing more.

Sighing, Vandal shakes his head, and he then asks about the settlement that Hal sees on its internal map.

“Mhm, it’s called Lick Skillet, an odd name for a settlement, if I’d say!” Hal sounded amused at the name of the settlement.

Nodding, Vandal tells the group they’ll make a pit stop there, then figure out the details

Coming up with a plan is what Vandal does on the job, this was no different, but it was, since he never had to consider the possibility of an Enclave remnant circulating and a man who can control people with words, alone.

Well outside his wheelhouse, Vandal knows, but toppling an Enclave remnant would be not only a net positive for the Wasteland as a whole, but a pricey payout for his service, too.

Having the group might just make the odds more tangible for him to do the job, not something he expected to happen to him, but his mother always told him never to look at a gift horse in the mouth.

Oh, Betty, what did your Vinny get himself into?

Over the horizon, the sun slowly rose above the dunes and crags as it illuminated the skies with the orange haze.

“So, we’re all clear, we’re on the same page, right?” Vandal turns his head.

Overlapping voices, Vandal hears the same answer, everyone wanted to see this through, even though it threw a massive wrench in Rose’s plans.

Sighing, Vandal warns the possibility of death, destruction, so on, but the overlapping voices refuses to be deterred.

“Lunatics!” Vandal mutters under his breath.

Then again, so was he.

The sun shined brightly above as they arrived at Lick Skillet.

Hal floats beside Courtesy as they went to hide the power armor for the time being while the others got their bearings.

Smoke pillars from the smokers and grills as people cooked large cuts of meat, the smoke carried the scent of hickory and what else, and already made the group’s stomach rumble.

Vandal encouraged them to get something to eat, as they’ll need it, and so they found an outdoor place lined with grills.

“Visibility is a bit of a tossup, madam,” Hal thoughtfully says as it follows Mal and the others to a large wooden table with benches for seats while the smoke drifts in the light breeze.

Making his way with Hal after hiding the power armor, Courtesy sat across from Rose as the others took their spots.

A woman with an updo haircut came by with handwritten menus and handed them out before talking about the drinks they served.

Obviously, Vandal went with beer, and the others gave their responses.

Returning after briefly grabbing their drinks, the woman got their orders and left once again.

“Okay, after this, we’re going to Hohenwald,” Vandal decides.

Looking at him with curiosity, Rose asks what was in Hohenwald and Vandal responds how it was a settlement that he was familiar with.

While it wasn’t affiliated with the minutemen, either Vandal had some pull in this settlement that he can use their radio.

“Hm, the minutemen are using encrypted airwaves, you sure you can patch in?” Hal inquisitively asks Vandal.

Pointing at it, Vandal responds with a dry, “If I can’t do it the o’ way, you can help me with it, bot.”

“Hm, are you sure they won’t mind me squeaking in, it is rather unorthodox for a Mr. Handy unit like me to siphon those radio signals. Especially when I don’t think I was given the proper sign-off,” Hal points out before Vandal shushes it.

Regardless of how it might look, they have a way of getting word out to the minutemen and Toby.

Arriving with their food and refills, the woman divides the plates and drinks before heading off to tend to the other patrons at the other tables.

Encouraging them to start eating since time was of the essence to make it to the settlement, Vandal worked on his new bottle of beer while the others ate.

They’re going to need every bit of energy they can get.

Finishing the last of the tater tot from his plate, Courtesy stacked the empty plate in the center of the table while Rose paid for the meal.

Retrieving the power armor, Courtesy rejoins the others, and Vandal guides them onwards to Hohenwald.

Slowly, the sun moves across the sky as they took the back roads that Vandal knew about as Hal kept its internal sensors honed on anything out of the ordinary.

Taking breaks every now again, the group managed to dispatch any lingering mutant animals or insects that the minutemen missed.

Copperheads felled with swift shots from Betty and the power armor’s BFG, ants and what else were no match for Hal’s well-placed laser beams cutting through their hardened exoskeletons.

Max got some fights in as the intrepid German Shepherd fought off some raiders trying to attack the group in a surprise raid but were no match to the maws of the German Shepherd biting through their leather armor before being finished off by Vandal and Courtesy.

Rose practiced her shooting at Courtesy’s behest by using the shotgun on mole rats that burrowed out of the ground after sensing their presence.

Getting used to the kickback after finishing off the eighth mole rat, Rose was dumbstruck at how she managed to keep her aim steady for so long.

“Hah, little girl’s aim came through, after all,” Vandal chuckled.

Harold remarks, “You’ve improved, very well, Rose!”

Modestly, Rose expresses that she was only guessing with her shots, before Vandal hammered into her head that she couldn’t guess with her shots.

Still, he was impressed at her improvements, before giving her advice on how to aim and fire the shotgun.

No reason other than he didn’t want Rose to accidentally “shoot her eye out” so to speak.

Courtesy encourages her to take Vandal up on his offer, since every bit of help would be useful.

So, Rose learnt from the self-proclaimed best sharpshooter in the south.

Using the Wasteland as a training ground, Vandal gave pointers and Rose learnt techniques.

“If you keep this up, little girl, you’ll be the new Oakley!” Vandal chuckles.

Sitting on the steps of an abandoned house with a caved-in roof beside Mal as they watch Vandal teach Rose how to properly aim and handle the kickback of the shotgun with Courtesy practicing combat commands with Max, Harold sighs as he feels the breeze hit the side of his face.

“Girl Scout and country boy are going to be fine, old man, they’re stubborn,” Mal says to him, causing Harold to turn his head with his brow raised.

He echoes with a confused, “Old man?”

Shrugging, Mal brought up, “They keep thinking you’re her dad, hell, they think I’m her mother, too.”

Unable to correct people as they’re benefiting from the discounts, the two effectively masqueraded as Rose’s parents, which would be tasteless to some, but in the Wasteland, they have no choice but to take every advantage they can, especially when their options are limited.

“I’m not that old!” Harold raises a finger. “You’re no spring chicken, either!”

Chuckling, Mal retorts, “Still younger than you!”

Chapter Text

The sun slowly started setting as the group made progress towards Hohenwald and along the way, Hal picked up a line of storms coming into the area in a few days, and from what it gathers, there are chances for large hail and unforgiving windstorms.

“Tornadoes?” Vandal asked it.

Checking the sensors, Hal responds to the possibility given the unpredictable weather.

“Crap, okay, keep me posted, bot,” Vandal sighs.

Spring showers bring tornado warnings!

Time was not on their side this day, as the sun starting to set despite their efforts of getting to Hohenwald forced the group to stop for the night around a makeshift campfire.

Sitting around the fire, the group ate what they had on hand with Hal happily providing them with freshly brewed tea.

“Never saw a bot like you so obsessed with tea before!” Vandal couldn’t help but comment on how Hal attentively made them fresh tea along their journey without missing a beat.

Chirping, Hal explains how it always loved tea, even before it was untimely destroyed.

It’s become an entrenched part of its AI.

“I can make different teas at their most optimal flavors with 100% accuracy!” Hal twirls in place as it confidently tells Vandal.

Jokingly, he asks if Hal can also make beer, to which it responds with a ‘no.’

Remembering the bottle of wine it procured in McGavock, Hal then mentions its ability to keep items cooled, and with its condensers, they’ll never run out of fresh water.

Perfect for tea!

Shaking his head, Vandal remarks, “With some changes, you can be a floating brewery, bot!”

Once everyone had their fill of food, they prepared for bed, a Vandal urged them to get some sleep, since like before they’re leaving at dawn.

It’ll be the last hurdle before they make it to the settlement, hopefully there’ll be good news when Vandal reaches out to Toby and the Minutemen.

Once he sees all but him and Mal asleep and snoring, Harold checks Mal’s wound with the fire being his only light, and he informs her that it was getting much better.

“I can get back in the power armor, now, right?” Mal asks him while eying Courtesy as he slept with his purple top hat covering his face.

Frowning, Harold insists Mal not rush things, and she retorts how she wasn’t willing to let Courtesy get comfortable using the power armor.

Harold assures her that she will get the chance of using her power armor, again, but he didn’t want her wound becoming reinfected from not being able to breath inside it.

Seeing her agitated, Harold insists that it was for her own good.

Sighing, Mal shakes her head as she listens to the fire crackling before them, choosing not to argue with Harold over it.

After all, Hal can electrocute Courtesy if he gets too comfortable wearing the power armor for her.

Going to sleep soon after, they’re awakened by Vandal as they’re ushered to get ready and leave their camp.

Dealing with the Wasteland usually causes trouble along the way, the group continues following Vandal’s guidance, and he eventually sees the settlement not far from them.

He warns how the settlement can be rough around the edges, to which Mal retorts how she can help sand them down.

“Most of all, little girl, they love to mess with newcomers like you, so don’t get ahead of us, now,” Vandal warns Rose of the dangers of the settlement.

Par course, but so long as Rose stays close to the group, she won’t be bothered, and if someone tries their luck, well, Rose knows the rest.

Slowly nodding, Rose does just that as they made their way through the settlement.

Already, Rose saw three fights break out, one turning into a gunfight, but Hal protected her from any stray bullets by using its body as a shield.

One of the last bastions in the state for the rough and tumble, it’s rough enough that minutemen can’t breach it without turning into Swiss cheese, but not rough enough that Vandal can’t handle dealing with the unscrupulous people that made it their home.

He was certain that Henry wouldn’t have made it through here without getting it in the head the moment someone saw him, it was that kind of place, so Vandal felt they had a chance to get somewhere in this conspiracy.

Smoke of different kinds was wafting through the air that it was nauseating.

The breeze helped alleviate the smell as Rose stayed with the group as Vandal led them through the settlement as he said someone would be at a building with something eye catching.

Whether they would be willing to help is a different matter, since they go way back, and well, history being history, things just don’t seem to settle.

“You make it sound like there’s going to be a shootout!” Hal squeaks as it floats behind with fear in its multiple eyes.

Waving his gloved hand, Vandal assures it that it won’t get to that point, all he needed to do was get someone to see things his way.

Countering with a deadpan remark, Hal responds with, “Oh, I’m going to see that light, again!”

Pushing up his glasses, Harold asks about Vandal’s contact, and learns that he and Vandal go way back.

“I shot his pa,” Vandal says without a twinge regret in his voice.

Raising her fine brow, Rose asks him, “What did he do?”

Casually shrugging, Vandal reminds her that he was a bounty hunter.

His contact’s father had a habit of incurring debt with the wrong people that when it got too high for their liking, they hired Vandal to collect the payment one way or another.

And from then on, his contact hasn’t forgiven him, but that’s beside the point.

“Mojave?” Mal asks with a vague interest.

Making dinging noises, Vandal confirms that he was hired by a casino during his time traveling to what was formerly Nevada.

Assuring them nothing will happen, Vandal sees silent doubt on the others’ faces, before he asserts that he didn’t earn his reputation for nothing.

“Madam, if you and the others may, you might want to get behind me,” Hal suggests.

As Vandal reaches the front door, the others line behind Hal as it bodies them with its hands raised.

Raising his voice as he knocks on the door, Vandal calls out a man, “Hey Linda! Linda! You in?”

Recoiling briefly, Hal remarks with a surprised, “His name is Linda?”

It went on the defense when the door swings open and someone steps out with the shotgun pointed directly in Vandal’s face with fire in his beady eyes as Linda shouts, “I told you what’d happen if you came back here, boy!”

Seeing the rage on Linda’s face, Vandal calmly talks to him while the others watched from behind Hal as it kept its weapons honed on Linda.

“You got some nerve coming here!”

“Shut up old man, I need your radio system.”

“The hell you do!”

“You want to deal with the shit show bubbling?”

“What shit show?”

“The kind that’s bad for business for you among other things.”

Seeing doubt on Linda’s face, Vandal sighs as he explains further how he needed to contact the minutemen.

“You’ve gone mad!” Linda shrieks as he accuses Vandal of becoming feral.

Shushing him, Vandal asserts that he isn’t becoming a feral ghoul, and that unless Linda wants to resolve the issue of bygone, he better let Vandal use his radio system.

“What do I get from it?” Linda haggles.

Rolling his eyes, Vandal answers with a dry, “If you’re lucky, a seat next to your idiot pa, now move.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not sure this is rudimentary sound,” Hal shows uncertainty in its tone of voice as wires stuck out the side of its chassis as Vandal hooked it into Linda’s radio system.

Chuckling at this, Vandal pointed out that Hal was a one-stop bot, that this should be old hat for it, only for Hal to correct him by saying that it never done anything like this before and shows doubt in its capabilities.

“Come on, you can open locks, you can wire into their radio,” Vandal gestures towards Hal.

Pondering this, Hal remarks, “I don’t think shooting open locks is the same as wiring me into a radio system!”

Compelled by Hal as it pointed out that she wouldn’t want anyone else but her to do it, Mal sat in front of the computer terminal as she typed different commands with Hal giving her updates.

“How’s a broad like you get so good at this stuff, anyway?” Vandal comments on how Mal was focused on the task at hand.

Not even turning her head subtly to look at him, Mal responds with a curt, “Surprised a ghoul like you ain’t good at it, figured you would with all the time on your hand.”

Chuckling, Vandal informs her that he was never good with computers, even before he was a ghoul, but that said, he was willing to overlook the subtle jab at him, since he cast the first stone.

“What else are you gonna do out here? Can only knock over a raider camp so many times,” Mal shrugs as her fingers glided across the black shiny keys as the green text flew across the screen.

Snorting, Vandal admits, “Yeah, it gets boring after a while.”

Hitting the Enter key, Mal watches the line of text flowing, until it tells her that Hal had a connection with the minutemen com link but warns Vandal that there was a chance they could knock Hal off as a suspected enemy.

“Once they hear my beautiful voice, they won’t hang up so quick, can I rez Toby, now?” Vandal gestures.

Given the go-ahead, Vandal grabs the receiver and uses it.

Calling out to Toby, Vandal made his intentions clear for everyone listening in.

Filtering the commotion as it's coming through the static, Hal muses that Vandal gave the minutemen a scare hearing an unauthorized voice.

Hal warns that they’re trying to cut it off, but Vandal urges it not to let it happen while he calls out for Toby to respond, but Hal further warned Vandal how keen they were.

“Don’t lose the connection, bot!” Vandal points at it.

Doing its best to avoid just that, Hal kept ahead of the minutemen while Vandal continued calling out.

For a moment, Hal started buzzing a mess of numbers at an unrecognizable speed as Mal rushes to manually switch connection ports.

“Fzzzt… fzzzt… bzzzzt…” Hal sputters while Mal made emergency changes to the setup while Vandal held the receiver in his hand.

Sticking the last cord into a different input, Mal hears a man calling out with a confused, “Vandal, that you, brother? Call back.”

Holding the receiver up to his mouth, Vandal responds with, “One and only, sorry ‘bout that, it’s not the best setup, but it does the job.”

Chuckling, Toby remarks, “Since when were you good with rewiring the radio?”

Shaking his head as he stifles his chuckles, Vandal shorthand it as a friend owing him a favor, to which Toby called him out, before showing relief that Vandal and his group were okay for the most part.

Super mutants were moving along west and middle Tennessee, the minutemen were dealing with them earlier, but they proved to still be the most feared mutants in the Wasteland.

“We know where they are coming from, yet?” Vandal asks him.

Sighing, Toby answers, “Nah, my boss thought they’re coming down from Kentucky, so he called up there to a few minutemen settlements, but they haven’t seen an increase presence from the mutants outside the normal population. If they’re coming from somewhere, it’s somewhere in Tennessee.”

Gritting his teeth, Vandal then asks about the Brotherhood of Steel, and exhales with relief as Toby informs him how they contacted an agent working for the Brotherhood.

“He won’t tell us if there is or isn’t a chapter somewhere in the south, classified information he says, but he thanks you kindly for the information you gave him about the remnant. Guess they were investigating a possible remnant activity,” Toby relays what his superiors learnt.

Still, the Brotherhood has probable cause to intervene, so that ought to be good news, but the super mutant having an increased presence was causing concerns that the Enclave remnant had begun revitalizing the FEV project.

“They can’t have much of a chance sending us into an early grave, do they?”

“Dunno, brother, all I know’s that the Brotherhood are ramping up their whirlybirds. Wherever the FEV lab the Enclave remnant is working out of, it’s somewhere in the state.”

“Coulda it be in Belle Meade?”

“Maybe, I always heard spook stories ‘bout it. That’s in middle Tennessee, that much I know, but I gotta wonder, why now?”

“Now’s any time for them. When’s the Calvary supposed to be here?”

“I know as much as you do, brother. If you managed to hack into our radio com, maybe you can try theirs.”

“Nah, if I asked that, I’d be disintegrated on the spot.”

Remembering Henry, Vandal inquires if there was any progress made locating him, to which Toby responded that he didn’t hear anything from the other minutemen.

Still, he promises to tell Vandal the moment he gets word about Henry’s appearance, and admits he hoped that a super mutant took a chance and bit Henry’s head off for their sake.

“It’s never that easy, you know that, okay, I’ll let you go before they cut us off, sorry ‘bout that,” Vandal apologized before saying how he may not be able to a connection to Toby for another spell.

His tone of voice changing, Toby warns Vandal against leaving the settlement he was in.

“Might be safer for you to stay put, these things are getting too comfortable for their own good,” Toby urges him.

Sucking air through his teeth, Vandal asks what else happened since their last transmission and as Toby was talking, static started cutting in.

Working to resolve the issue, Mal and Hal worked rerouting whatever they could to help keep the connection clear, but the static worsened, and the radio went dead.

Holding the receiver with a dumbfounded look, Vandal asks aloud, “What the hell?”

As confused as him, Hal responds how it didn’t know what was happening, but from its sensors, it indicated a strong storm front coming in from the west might’ve been the cause.

“The wind speeds are approximately 30mph and slowly increasing up to about 45mph, they will be in our area within a day or two. My sensors indicate straight line winds and thunderstorms. Nothing suggesting tornadoes or even localized ones, but I wouldn’t rule it out,” Hal gave the forecast for the storms.

Sighing as he slaps the receiver back on the hook as he walks away from the table while Mal unhooks Hal from the wires, Vandal boldly asks Mal, “Okay, broad, you better level with me right here and now. Is he responsible for the uptick in super mutants?”

Undoing the last wire and helping Hal close its chassis, Mal grits her teeth as she answers, “He can’t have made them this quick, even with a revised FEV.”

It might’ve been the Enclave remnant’s doing.

Pointing at her as she and Hal go to the door, Vandal asks aloud, “But he would condone them doing it, huh?”

Stopping as she opened the door, her face turned away from Vandal, Mal only says, “You better hope you know what you’re doing.”

She was gone with Hal leaving Vandal cursing under his breath as he fixes his hat.

Chapter Text

“Hm, this is something, innit Max?” Courtesy glimpses Max happily eating a plate of pork while its tail wagged furiously in happiness.

Waiting for Vandal and Mal made him hungry, so Courtesy and Max searched for something to eat, and to their credit, they found the least seedy place in Hohenwald, and the food was good!

The owner was someone who would shoot him on the spot if he couldn’t pay, but he was a good cook to his credit.

Using pork procured from legitimate sources, as the owner had experiences in the past dealing with “strange meat” that kept circulating in an area he was before he moved into Hohenwald, he proceeded to use what he can get his hands on, including muscadine that survived the Great War, and has turned into even larger variants through decades of mutations and re-cultivation by settlers.

With six seeds the size of gum balls from different variants, Horace used them to cultivate and spliced unique variants that he warns Courtesy how he deals with thieves attempting to steal them.

That said, Courtesy got the hint well.

Turning his budding culinary skills into a trade since travelers and what else always needed something quick to eat. 

Certainly, easier than being a bruiser for a caravan, Courtesy can see the heavy scarring on Horace from his table.

Chewing on a fried tortilla filled with spiced pork and a sauce made with the muscadine acting to cut the smokiness and some chow to add tanginess, Courtesy wasn’t against a career change.

Hell, he might as well consider his options since he’s been away for days at this point, his tour days just might be over with how long it’s been, and people aren’t known for patience.

“Found him, Mr. Harold!” Rose finds her way towards Courtesy after spotting him.

Trailing behind her as he fixes his glasses, Harold joins them at the table as Courtesy shows them his and Max’s meals.

“You’d think it’d be too much, but it ain’t!” Courtesy glows as they took their spots at the table.

Horace came by and immediately gave the same spiel he gave Courtesy before getting both Rose and Harold’s orders.

“You hear from them, yet?” Courtesy asks the two.

Shaking their heads, both responded with the same answer.

Frowning, Courtesy wonders what they are going to do, where are they supposed to even go from here, and Harold assures him that they’ll receive an answer in time, they have no choice but to wait.

“There hasn’t been an incident, so I’d like to think they’re still civil with each other… I hope,” Harold sucks air through his teeth.

Chewing on his fried tortilla shell filled to the brim as it begins crumpling and falling on the plate below, Courtesy asks between bites what their thoughts are on the situation.

Seeing Harold silently sitting with a subtle look, Rose prods with, “She talk to you about him?”

Shaking his head, Harold tries to say it was against doctor-patient confidentiality, before realizing Rose saw through him.

“I’m only a medical doctor by trade, but if I had to guess, she legitimately didn’t know he was even still alive.”

“So, what about the whole… thing?”

“It isn’t my place to talk about her business and… I rather not test her patience.”

“Mr. Harold, why won’t she just tell us?”

“It’s not any easier for her, Rose. If we keep prodding, she’ll keep shutting us down, and that’s not getting us anywhere.”

With that said, Horace returns with their orders and asks Courtesy how he likes his.

Mouth full, Courtesy mumbles as he gestures with his greasy hand before Horace got the picture.

Elated Courtesy likes his cooking, Horace encourages him to order some desserts, suggesting him his chocolate chess pie.

Courtesy tries to give an answer, but Horace got the idea, before he moved on from the table.

“Good lord, can’t go a settlement without a bite to eat, huh?” Vandal makes an appearance.

Sitting down at the table, he hears Harold asking him in a hush tone what he got from the attempt.

Groaning, Vandal remarks, “Broad’s getting on my nerves with this mystery shit!”

If not for the conspiracy and what else, Vandal admitted he’d shot her by now out of annoyance.

“What about Toby?” Courtesy mumbles as juice rolls down his suntanned chin.

Confirming that with Hal’s help, Vandal got into contact with Toby, and the news wasn’t good.

Super mutants, lots of them now, and Toby urges them to stay in the settlement for now.

“What about the Brotherhood?” Rose asks about them.

Shrugging, Vandal answers with what Toby told him, which he adds that they’re likely keeping it on the down low as to not draw attention.

Secretive as the Enclave, no one knows but the Brotherhood what they’re thinking, and they all had to hope the Brotherhood had their interests at heart.

“Where’s Mal and Hal?” Courtesy asks Vandal.

Groaning, Vandal angrily gestures as he tells Courtesy that he doesn’t know, but at this point he just wants a beer.

Horace happily obliges with a tray of beer bottles after catching sight of Vandal.

Once Horace was out of earshot, Harold wonders what they’re supposed to do about the super mutants, and Vandal responds how they’re in a rough part of the state, that the mutants would be pressed getting through the entrance.

“What about the Centaur?” Harold presses about them.

Opening the first beer bottle, Vandal told him that Toby never mentioned anyone seeing them, but he wouldn’t rule them out.

Seeing the confusion on Rose’s face, Vandal warns how super mutants sometimes have “pets” that help them hunt for victims.

Malformed from decades of radiation and God knows what else, they’re not the type of mutants Rose wants to face, especially without the proper equipment, as they’re known producing dangerous levels of radiation in short ranges.

Depending where Rose goes in their new world, they can be vastly different depending on what went into their malformed state.

Not something she wants to think twice about as Harold urges her not to let the thoughts fester.

“My pa talks about them being all weird like, do you think they remember what they were before… you know?” Courtesy recalls the stories his father told him growing up about some of the mutants in the Wasteland.

Giving it a thought, Vandal responds to the improbability that the Centaur has any humanity left after constant exposure to radiation.

He hopes at least.

Harold gives a similar response.

“Super mutants are a different story. Sometimes they can remember who they were, sometimes they’re brutes with hammers, it varies,” Vandal shifts topics. “When I was doing stints in the Mojave, they were even invisible!”

Thankfully, that population had seen a sharp drop, which was great for people in the Mojave who didn’t want to have a heart attack before getting pummeled by that variant of super mutants.

Given what Toby told him, Vandal didn’t think the wandering super mutants in Tennessee had any memory of their former lives, but if they did, well, it’d be a waking nightmare for them.

A fate worse than becoming a ghoul, if he can be honest.

“Where are they coming from?” Harold wanted to know, and Vandal told him what he and Toby think.

Scratching the side of his face, Courtesy mentions all the ghost stories of Belle Meade he heard over the years, the same ones Vandal did but pointed out that people who saw Belle Meade from a distance would spot the mutants sooner than later.

“All I know is, we’re staying put until me and Toby figure something out. We’re safe here, okay, you’re looking at the meanest sons of bitches this side of the state, if those things come looking for a meal, they’ll be eating lead. Got it?” Vandal reinforces his decision for the group to remain.

Agreeing with it, everyone continues eating while Vandal drank his beer, and after the conclusion, they were escorted to a no-ask inn that Vandal situated them in upon entering the settlement.

Splintering off to their rooms, the group disbands for the night as it starts to set in throughout the Wasteland, and with the rugged exterior of Hohenwald, Vandal hoped it would be enough against the super mutants, but he’d be foolish to be blinded by his faith in the alcoholic settlers with the shortest tempers he’s ever seen.

Knocking on Mal’s door, Harold stood by and waits for her to come, in the back of his mind he worried that she’d left them without a word, but subtly relieved when the door opens and an irritated Mal stares at him.

“What do you want?” Mal blinks.

Harold tells her that he wanted to check her arm, but she told him that Hal checked already, and that she didn’t need his doctor’s visit.

“Besides that, Hal scrounged up a genuine stimpak, I’m all in the clear. Country boy can kiss his grits if he thinks he can stay in my power armor,” Mal waves her hand at Harold.

As he frowns, Harold then asks if he can speak to her, and she glares while asking him what else he wanted to fish from her.

“I’m not your enemy, Mal.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Please.”

“…”

“If you didn’t want to help us, you’d never help Rose fix her Pip-Boy and have Hal operate on me.”

Seeing her internal dialogue playing out, Harold watches as she opens the door for him, and he enters her room.

“Five minutes, go,” Mal boorishness shows as she follows Harold as Hal boils her tea in the background.

Turning around, Harold bluntly asks her, “Was your vault working on a revised FEV?”

Seeing Harold staring at her, Mal grits her teeth before answering, “No.”

Quizzical, Harold gestures for more context, and Mal informs him that her vault didn’t have expansive labs or anything supporting the theory.

“Trust me, pal, I’d know what the hell’s down there, and I never saw a vial of that shit even before I knew what the hell FEV is,” Mal shakes her head.

Raising his brow, Harold remembers Mal telling him about her overseer leaving the vault with regularity and her tone of voice when she hears his name, but she couldn’t confirm her former overseer’s role in the uptick in super mutants.

“Besides that, your old friends would have the means of making their own,” Mal waves her hand.

While Mal wasn’t wrong, Harold brings up that with the Brotherhood working on exterminating the rest of the remnants throughout the Wasteland, none of the remnants could engineer a new strain that quickly, even with the best optics.

Seeing Hal subtly keeping time, Harold uses what little he has to broach, “Mal, please tell me the truth, I won’t say anything the others, you can trust me. Why are you searching for your old overseer?”

He sees a pause in Mal as her amber eyes dropped to the ground and the boorish Mal losing steam as she exhales sharply.

“Because he knows something, okay?”

And Hal dings, indicating that Harold’s allotted five minutes are up, thus his conversation with Mal could not go any longer.

Chapter Text

Sleeping soundly with the bright red rose in a Nuka Cola bottle on the nightstand next to the Vault-Tech bobble head, Rose snores as the only white noise she has was the ambiance in the background as the night scene overtakes the settlement.

Occasionally, she stirs from her sleep whenever there’s a gunshot in the distance due to poker games gone wrong, but once Rose hears the whooping noises of the enforcers overtaking the disturbers of the peace, she falls back to sleep.

In her dreams, Rose sees herself back in her vault, her father there happy to see her, her friends hugging her tightly as they ask where she’s been, and everything going back to normal.

Like a distant memory, Rose acclimates back into being the vault dweller she used to be before her father had her leave on her quest.

Back to teaching the classes, no fear of the topside and the underlying nightmares lurking, it was peaceful for Rose not having to keep her head on a swivel.

Despite the joy Rose has in her dreams, sadness slowly overtakes her as she realizes that Harold and the others weren’t among the habitants, and when she asks her father about them, he tells her that in her own words, that Harold and the others chose to remain on the topside.

When she asks her father about seeking them out, he becomes miffed at the thought of Rose leaving their vault after going through the journey of bringing the parcel to Mercurio.

“Why would you want to leave, you’re safer down here than up there,” her father argues.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Rose musters, “But dad, they’re the reason I got this far.”

Her father further argues, “Rose, they made their choices. You belong down here, not up there.”

Insisting that Rose stays below in the vault with him and the others, her father assures her that her newfound companions were safe, and as Rose contemplates this, she’s roused from her deep sleep when a loud droning noise wakes her.

Rubbing away the crust from her eyes as her groggy mind slowly catches up, Rose bursts from her bed as everything around her started rattling with picture frames falling on the ground in a crash.

Instantly, her rose from Courtesy falls from the nightstand and on the ground with glass flying in all directions.

The Vault-Tech bobblehead falls with a thud and the head popping off the spring clattering somewhere in the room.

Forcing herself to walk, Rose hurries out of her room to see Harold staring at her with worry in his blue eyes while people pushed past him.

“Are you alright?” He quickly gestures while talking loudly for her to hear over the droning sound.

Nodding, Rose shakily asks, “What’s happening?”

Clattering coming from an adjacent room, Courtesy hurries out with fear in his copper eyes as he groggily bellows, parts of his mind still asleep, “The aliens are here!”

Whining with its tail behind its legs, Max barks with fright as Harold calms it down.

Harold turns his attention to Courtesy as he calms him, too, while the young man’s mind wakes up fully.

Scattering voices as more frightened people emerge from their rooms in different state of dress as they flee down the stairs, they push against Rose and the men leaving them to press against the walls.

“What’s happening?” Rose turns her head towards Harold.

His back pressed against the walls as he watches people running down the stairs as the floors continue rattling as the droning echoes throughout the area, Harold shakily answers, “Vertibird!”

Unable to tell her what it is, Harold encourages her and Courtesy to follow him down to the ground floor, before Rose insists on going back inside her room for her knapsack.

“Rose, we have no…” Harold tries to stop her, but Rose stubbornly pushes her way back into her room.

She emerges with her knapsack on her back and her weapon in hand.

With her parcel safely with her, Rose follows the men and Max down the stairs as people stood out on the front porch of the inn watching the Vertibirds flying through the darkness.

“Fuck me running!” They heard Vandal push his way past the frightened people to locate the three. “I guess they brought out the big boys!”

Frightened, Rose asks, “What should we do?”

Thinking on his feet, Vandal grits his teeth before saying, “I can’t contact Toby right now, but hopefully this is a good sign. It’s the Brotherhood, they spared no expense. With them in the area, the super mutants are in for a bad time. Other than that, we ought to be fine.”

Having seen the sigil on the side of one of the Vertibirds flying over the bright neon sign for a strip club, Vandal knew that the Brotherhood were taking this seriously.

His joy at having the Brotherhood becoming involved quickly turns to fear as it would mean the Enclave remnant wouldn’t be too far behind having realized they’d been found out and working on their tactics.

With the Brotherhood now in the state, it could go either way, with the remnant using guerrilla tactics to disrupt them and the Brotherhood deploying their own armies in retaliation.

It would have further worsened if the remnant had power armors manufactured.

It could become a war zone within weeks and with the storms ramping up even more quickly and deadlier as the extended season comes closer to an end, it will be bloodshed on an unprecedented level that even nauseates Vandal.

He turns his head as he catches sight of Harold moving away from the group attempting to find Mal and Hal since they weren’t in their room.

Following behind, Rose went with Harold, and Courtesy sheepishly asks if it was okay for him and Max to go back to theirs as Courtesy wasn’t dressed completely.

Eying him, Vandal grunts as he gestures with his thumb, and Courtesy enters the in with Max following him closely.

“Zip up your pants next time, boy! This is a rough settlement, not a despicable one!” Vandal warns with a drawl as Courtesy completely disappears into the inn.

Shaking his head, Vandal adjusts his hat as he turns his attention to the missing Dynamic Duo as he silently refers Mal and Hal.

Finding the hidden shack where the two hid the power armor, Vandal spots Harold talking to an annoyed Mal as Hal floats beside her.

“The moment I saw their asses in the sky, we came out to check. You can’t trust either ‘em not to have boots on the ground!” Mal angrily swats the air as Vandal missed a bit of the conversation between her and Harold.

Exhaling sharply, Harold admits how he worried about her when he didn’t find her and Hal in their room.

Shaking her head, Mal remarks with latent sarcasm, “I didn’t know making sure my property didn’t get seized would cause an irrational response, did you, Hal?”

Floating weightlessly, Hal chirps, “Hm, no madam, this is a new one for me!”

Beside him, Rose spoke up as she tried to get Mal to see Harold’s side.

Rubbing her eyes as Hal suggests they not continue this conversation longer than it needed as they required rest for the morning ahead, Mal flatly says, “Look, if I was going to ditch, ya, I woulda done it the moment Hal said I was cleared. That good enough for you?”

Getting involved in the budding discourse, Vandal brought back the peace and led them all back to the inn where they stayed until morning came.

Everything calmed down throughout the night when Vandal was able to get some sleep himself and when he stepped out of his room adjusting his hat, he made his way downstairs.

Gossip came in all forms; Vandal hears people talking about the vertibirds coming through the area late last night going in different directions using the cover of darkness.

One gossiper noted that they’re taking a chance doing it in the darkness, as they shared Vandal’s concerns about the storms getting worse as the season reaches its peak.

“I was already apprehensive about them minutemen, now they’re here, too? Damn Yankees.” Vandal hears a gossiper show concerns about the Brotherhood being in the state.

Someone next to them mentions how the Brotherhood would bring order to the state by force, whist the minutemen attempt working with settlements.

“Like I said, damn Yankees,” the gossiper swats the air.

Adjacent to them, another gossiper but this time a woman mentions how the Brotherhood were better than a faction she’s familiar with in the Mojave.

“My pa worked the river transporting goods for them. Whenever he got contracted, I’d hide until he came back. Can’t say I shed a tear when those assholes finally got theirs. Karma’s a bitch and she made their Caesar hers.”

Her point was that there were worse factions to have inhabited the state, and she would rather put up with the minutemen and the Brotherhood over the horrors she faced when she lived in Nevada.

Chapter Text

“Gooood morning Tennessee! I know ya’ll heard them birds in the skies last night, the Moose certainly did. What are they? Where did they come from? Why they gotta wake up the Moose when he’s trying to get some shuteye? Folks, I reached out to the o’ Minutemen for comments, and they ain’t talking. The leader told me it’s nothing to be alarmed about and the situation is under control, so don’t go shooting wildly in the skies. The Moose would like to impart some wisdom, folks, I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life, and trust me, I’ve been to Bristol. The Minutemen have been doing some good in the state since they’ve made their way down here, if they say there’s nothing to worry about, then there’s nothing to worry about. Anyhow, I got some bad news. The weather’s not looking great. That storm front that was supposed to hit us collapsed and while that’s usually good on some days, it’s feeding into the newer one coming in from the west. Chances are high for strong storms for all this week. Keep dry, keep your eyes on the skies above ya’ll. Oh, but before I let, ya’ll go, I got a message to broadcast. Usually, I don’t take requests outside music, but the Moose obliges when it’s for a good cause,” the Moose began his morning broadcast as people emerge in the daylight while the radio echoes throughout Hohenwald. “To my daughter, I know it’s tough out there on your own, but I know you’ll make it. If there’s anyone too stubborn for her own good, it’ll be you. Folks, it makes a grown man weep reading this, and Rose, I hope this message finds its way to you.”

Hearing the message sent by her father, it made Rose near jump for joy hearing it and she thoughtlessly talks into the handheld radio adjacent to her, “Don’t worry dad, I’ll be back before you know it!”

And once she does, she’ll happily regale everything she did on her own since she left the safety of their vault, and more!

“I didn’t know your pa knew the Moose!” Courtesy found her as he munched on a breakfast sandwich.

Following him with a bone in its mouth, Max was unable to bark as it kept its canine teeth around the bone.

“Do you think the Moose can send my dad a message for me?” Rose asks him.

Thinking it over, Courtesy answers with a thoughtful, “Well, you’d have to go east towards Nashville and ask, that’s where he operates. The minutemen upgraded his equipment a while back, you used to not hear his radio station very good out here until, then. They figured he can convince people to stay cautious during bad weather.”

It wasn’t the answer Rose wanted, but Courtesy dared not lie to her in a bid to spare her feelings, it would just make things worse as his father taught him.

“Guess that’s out unless I can convince someone with the minutemen to let me use their radio,” Rose sighs as she walks with Courtesy and Max.

Comforting her, Courtesy assures her that once everything settles down that she’ll be able to send her father a message.

They walk along Hohenwald as the denizens were out in full force, all talking about seeing the Vertibirds last night, and the implications of their presence.

Most argued about what faction controlled the Vertibirds while others proclaimed that they would shoot them on the spot.

It got heated enough that Courtesy quickly led Rose away with Max following behind them as the shouting got louder with people brandishing their guns.

Unsurprisingly, there was a massive shootout that was quickly quashed the moment the Hohenwald enforcers got control of the situation.

Some screams rung out, but quickly silenced by overlapping shouting, and that was that.

Without flinching, everyone else in the settlement went about their day, and everything calmed down.

“How long are we going to be stuck here, for?” Rose sees people punching each other over debts and bad bets as she stays close to Courtesy and Max.

Watching men throwing their punches as people around them started making bets on who won the fight, Courtesy answers how Vandal won’t say until after he talks to Toby.

“With them super mutants getting out of control, you sure you still wanna do this?” Courtesy wearily asks her. “Vandal and Mr. Harold weren’t kidding, they’ll kill you on a good day, chew you on a bad day.”

Affirming with a nod as her ponytail stiffly bounces, Rose insists on seeing this through, as she brought up how she came this far, thus she didn’t have a reason to turn back, now.

“Dad always told me to do the right thing,” she states. “I may not be experienced against super mutants, but I’m still alive, that accounts for something, right?”

Weakly gesturing with his hand, Courtesy responds with, “Yeah…?”

Remaining supportive to Rose, Courtesy and Max walks with her through Hohenwald where they listened to the chatter throughout while people milled near open bars.

On their lips other than alcohol and nicotine were the speculations on the event last night, with some speculating war.

Scattered speculators wanted to know how and which it’d benefit them the most.

Close to Courtesy, Rose asks the possibility of war breaking out between the Enclave remnants and the Brotherhood in Tennessee.

“I don’t wanna lie to ya, Rose, but they’re not good bed fellows for a reason,” Courtesy admits to her.

Slowly nodding, Rose thanked him for his honesty.

Trying to keep her spirits high, Courtesy brings up how the Brotherhood decimated the Enclave before, that the remnant doesn’t have the resources compared to their counterpart.

“Desperation makes for dangerous situations,” Rose points out how the remnant easily can turn violent when pressed by the Brotherhood.

Admitting she wasn’t wrong, Courtesy urges Rose not to stress over the situation unless necessary.

Taking deep breaths, Rose asserts Courtesy was right, that she would get nowhere worrying about something that hasn’t happened, yet.

Still, preparing for the inevitable was better than waiting, something Courtesy agreed with.

They turned their heads when Max started barking and saw Vandal walking towards them with a look on his face that was hard to discern whether good or bad.

“Did you get into contact with Toby, again?” Courtesy braved asking the question as he stood with Rose.

Gritting his teeth, Vandal confirms he got Hal to work with him on reaching out to Toby, again.

Instinctively, the two noticed his tone of voice wasn’t relief that the weather cleared enough for the radio system not to crash, instead it was stress and underlying fear.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks him as she watched him rub his nonexistent nose.

Lowering his gloved hand, Vandal reveals how the minutemen are picking up a major storm brewing in the Midwest that hasn’t collapsed after destroying settlements at a time with confirmed casualties in the hundreds.

They think the storm may collapse at any time since it has been over the Midwest for a few days already and Toby admits that it’s not looking good from what he saw on his side.

Could miss Tennessee and only impact the surrounding states with Tennessee only getting heavy rain and thunderstorms, but the minutemen hesitated to give a definitive answer.

“How’s it different than the other storms?” Rose asks with curiosity.

Telling her how he’s seen the results of storms like this come through the state, Vandal warns that this was one of season’s finales.

“These storms make ten-mile monsters every time,” Vandal exhales sharply.

When asked about the estimate when the storm will reach the state, Vandal answers what Toby told him.

It’s moving slowly after making its mark in the Midwest, there’s still a chance that it can collapse, but if it strengthens after crossing the river, then it’ll hit in spurts in a matter of days.

And if the storm crosses the Cumberland, it will reinvigorate once again.

“But enough of the weather. Toby got some intel for me. The Brotherhood’s knocking off the super mutants as they come and taking ‘em back to their lab to see what’s what. Apparently, they share similar qualities that they’re not sure what to make of it,” Vandal recalls the details as Rose and Courtesy listen attentively.

Toby couldn’t tell Vandal more as he didn’t want his superiors to overhear him revealing the restricted details over the radio, but he got the picture.

“What about us?” Rose questions what Vandal had in mind seeing gears and cogs turning behind his dark eyes.

Exhaling sharply, Vandal says, “Brotherhood’s too busy with the remnant. Toby says there’s a chance our friend slips through the cracks during this and they can’t delegate resources chasing him. Our only chance putting this dog to rest’s the broad, but she won’t say shit.”

Having made a good point that Vandal had a bounty on Henry, Toby encourages him to put a group together to go after Henry themselves while the minutemen manage the aftermath of the growing conflict.

“But I thought you were the big bounty hunter in the south, you just needed a whiff,” Rose questions him.

Sighing, Vandal acknowledges this before elaborating, “Things are different when I have to watch my ass, little girl.”

Chapter Text

The day turns into night in Hohenwald once again and only a handful of people were shot today, something Vandal notes as a slow day for the settlement, but with the excitement of the Vertibirds flying overhead the other night it was expected, and everyone regrouped at the inn while Vandal worked on what they’re doing, since staying in Hohenwald for so long can only do them good, before they’re inevitably caught up in the chaos that breaks out once a while.

A known phenomenon that he himself went through more than enough to keep track like a meteorologist, Vandal can tell there’s another chaotic event brewing, with moonshine of questionable quality flowing like the iridescent rivers, one spark, and that’s that.

Even though the chaos will eventually be forcibly subdued by Hohenwald’s enforcers, Vandal has seen this phenomenon up close and personal to know that there will be property damage and physical harm doled out amid the chaos.

Rather take his chances, Vandal wanted to move the group somewhere else with less trigger fingers, but it was contingent on where the elusive Henry headed, since Vandal has a job to do, and with things happening, he had some self-doubts about where to begin.

Hinging on the only person with the information being difficult and having equipped Mr. Handy ready to blow Vandal away on the spot, he opted for an easier way of getting what he needed.

Catching the littlest things interacting with people, Vandal tracked down Harold as he readied to go back to his room for the night and talks to him about being the Trojan horse Vandal needed.

“Hypocrite,” Vandal was quick to say.

Looking at him quizzically, Harold asks what he means, and Vandal brought up how Harold doesn’t walk like he says.

“I know what hypocrisy means,” Harold eyes him.

Snorting, Vandal retorts, “What she been telling you behind our backs?”

Shaking his head, Harold answers, “She hasn’t been forthcoming with me, either.”

Once again, Vandal snorts, before he raises a finger and looks Harold in his blue eyes while saying, “Want me to run that back to you, I think I can recreate the scenarios.”

Hitting his lip, Harold asks, “What do you want?”

Vandal stresses for information regarding Henry.

“I’ve been alive enough to know that the remnant becomes a chicken with its head cut off if we take out the main proponents. Find Henry, maybe we can slow it down long enough; the Brotherhood can deal more damage. And I can collect on my bounty,” Vandal made it clear.

Since Harold has been talking about it with Mal, he’d have better luck convincing Mal to stop being stubborn, and Vandal was quick to remind him how it would be his duty as a doctor to help anyway he can, especially when it's something serious like a man who can convince people to kill each other with only words.

Exhaling sharply, Harold broke down and said, “I’ll talk to her.”

Thanking him for seeing it his way, Vandal lightheartedly tells him how if things go south, he’ll personally see to Harold’s proper burial.

He meant it seriously, but Harold silently scorns him before walking away from him.

“I’m not seeing anything on my radar suggesting it’s gone, madam, believe me, I’m quite thorough. The data might be old, but I’m sure it’s not that old,” Hal thoughtfully says as it floats beside Mal while she was arms deep in its chassis fixing and arranging wiring after Vandal had Hal help him reach out to Toby once again.

While she carefully reinserts wires, Mal sighs, “Keep me posted, Hal.”

Affirming with a chirp, Hal giggles as Mal finishes inserting wires and other electrical components before shutting the chassis door.

Patting down her clothes, Mal sighs as Hal twirls in place before it confirms that everything is working as it should.

“Madam, if I may, this is certainly unlike you,” Hal proceeds to note how tense Mal has become since they left their hideaway in Arkansas.

Her almost succumbing to an infection from her wound certainly didn’t help as the frightful Mr. Handy points out how Mal was fortunate Harold helped her when he did, else she might’ve been another face in the irradiated dirt.

Worse, how she acted around people who merely wanted to help her, bringing up the differences of watching her back, and almost paranoia.

“I’m sorry, Hal, I know… I just… I can’t help it, okay?” Mal exhales sharply as she admits to it how she regrets her actions.

Holding one of its hands towards its chassis as it ponders, Hal inquires more about Mal’s reluctance to let anyone help her and her persistence in travelling this far despite the hurdles ahead.

Something it known her for since she found it in the rubble.

Sounding hurt, Hal further brings up how despite everything it done for her, Mal never said much about herself, just the bare minimal.

“It’s not easy,” Mal states.

Acknowledging how being in the Wasteland meant Mal would be tight lipped, Hal reminds her that they’ve been rooting around bandit camps for years, now.

Exhaling sharply as she’s unable to argue against Hal’s points, Mal reaffirms that she had good reasons for not telling Hal everything, and she hates herself for even telling Harold anything.

“With the Brotherhood and the remnant beginning the early stages of war, I’m afraid secrecy will get you nowhere, and even be a hindrance, madam,” Hal saw while Mal put up the tools used on it.

As she stuck the wrench back into its cutout, Mal exhales, “What do you want me to do, Hal?”

Thinking it over, Hal says, “Could always start with a name, madam. You never told me it.”

All Hal ever got from it were the three words Mal told it, but never more than that.

Lowering her head briefly, Mal admits, “I don’t really…”

She was stopped when Harold found her to tell her what Vandal told him about the plans.

“I figure I let you know beforehand,” Harold scratches the back of his head as he watches Mal fix the tuff of hair under her hard hat.

Sighing, Mal thanked him for the heads up, before she caught a look from Hal, and left with Harold looking at her quizzically.

Gritting her teeth, Mal briefly closes her eyes before she forcibly tells Harold, “I’m… we’re tracking him.”

Recoiling, Harold echoes her words, and she affirms with a nod how she and Hal were tracking Heinrich.

“But with the storms… I’m not sure how good the data is,” Mal musters.

Slowly nodding as he listens, Harold asks about Heinrich’s role in the remnant, and Mal briefly exhales as she says, “When I… was in the vault, I got into trouble more often than not.”

It allowed her access to things that would normally be restricted to people like her, but with her age at the time, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing, but she remembers enough to tell Harold how she saw different maps for areas on the topside.

No clue what they were for and why they were in the vault on the only computer terminal, but from what she saw since being on the topside herself, Mal guesses they were satellite images.

“I guess I just thought it was a heads up where he’s been so the others know,” Mal shrugs.

Her former overseer was never there, it was a miracle the vault didn’t fall apart sooner, but somehow amid his constant absence, the vault survived long enough that the young intrepid Mal escaped it using the knowledge she was forbidden learning.

As for the fate of the other people in her vault, Mal grows uncomfortable as the memories flooded back to her.

Though it’s been years since she left her vault, the vivid imagery of everything coming together pulled her back to that day.

“There’s no one else from my vault. Just us,” she softly says.

Quietly listening to her, Harold waits for her to finish before telling her how she would need to tell Vandal what she told him, and she snorts at the thought before Hal lightly chides her.

Cursing under her breath, Mal agreed to tell Vandal the information, but wasn’t happy about it.

Using Vandal’s need to find Henry as a silver lining, Hal encourages Mal to see it that way, since they need all the help they can get, and in this situation of theirs, they couldn’t be further picky with what they have in front of them.

Chapter Text

“I told you, there were no labs in the vault. I’d remember if it did. No one wore white coats,” Mal glares at Vandal while she talks to him. “Not to mention, I’d be chewing on you if it did have FEV tanks!”

His arms crossed as he listens to her, Vandal brings up, “If your vault isn’t a FEV testing ground, then what the hell’s the experiment?”

Exhaling sharply as she ran her hand through her messy hair, Mal explains, “A social experiment, like any other ones you hear about. Shitty all the way down.”

She left it at that, but she insists she wasn’t keeping anything from Vandal this time around, and she would remember any ominous green substance being escorted around her vault.

“Okay. Say I believe you, why now?” Vandal questions her.

Shrugging, Mal answers with a sigh, “I don’t know. Maybe the remnant was too small to make any waves back then and only got big enough because of him. Either way, they’re still sore about the Brotherhood kicking their teeth in and they have new super mutants to make noise.”

Gritting his teeth, Vandal wonders if the remnant is using tornadoes and other natural disasters to spread the FEV without detection.

“I know there was that cure some years back, but if they modified the FEV to counter it, then suffice to say we’re fucked,” Mal rubs her eyes.

Pacing around, Vandal went down a mental laundry list before outwardly concluding that if they find Heinrich and Henry, then they can force the men into telling the Brotherhood the countermeasures used against the cure.

“But if Henry can talk us to death, then we’re in a bide,” Vandal sucks air through his teeth.

Her amber eyes falling to the ground, Mal exhales how she doesn’t know how he does it, before Vandal brings up the possibility that Henry had it all along and Mal simply didn’t remember because he made sure of it.

“Our overseer was the only one who left the vault. No one else was allowed except him,” Mal shakes her head before Vandal counters how Heinrich could’ve brought something back from a trip and given it to Henry without anyone realizing.

Briefly closing her eyes, Mal then says that when she got up to trouble in her vault, nothing else stood out to her, so if Heinrich gave something to Henry, she didn’t see it.

“Even if the remnant managed to come up with some new weapons, why haven’t there been other instances of someone being talked into eating their own gun?” Mal throws up her arms in frustration.

Equally frustrated, Vandal struggles to come up with an answer, only to come up with a blank, and musters instead, “Maybe we just didn’t hear about it because it’s all background noises. Hell, people talked computers to death all the time, maybe it slipped through the cracks without us realizing.”

Frowning, Mal admits he had a point as she struggles with him coming up with a response.

“Look, we can sit here bitching at each other or we can go on the offense. Start from the top,” Vandal rubs his dark eyes as he wanted to find something they can use.

As he does, Mal tells him, “Whatever those locations were, they’re probably not there anymore. It’s been a while since I saw those maps. And people have a habit of blowing stuff up.”

Since they’re low rung on the scale, the Brotherhood weren’t going to help them with identifying and checking to see if the maps were still valid.

“Where’s your vault, maybe they cycled back there?” Vandal suggests the possibility before Mal quickly denies the idea of Heinrich and Henry returning to their vault.

When pressed for answers, Mal states that if the men went back, they wouldn’t be here today.

“Okay. They’re not fussed going back, but they certainly wanted me to capture you, so why is that?” Vandal raises his gloved finger as he wanted to know.

Her drab leather crumpling as she shrugs, Mal responds the same answers she told him before, but Vandal brought up how improbable it was for the men to realize that she was still alive without preconceived notions, and given how Mal was standing there with aforementioned prior knowledge given, it was evident.

“You must have really pissed your overseer off leaving your vault that he held a grudge against you for this long,” Vandal summarizes.

How they came into the knowledge of her survival, neither were sure, but given Mal’s tendency to raze raider camps with Hal for supplies, Vandal theorizes someone slipped away without the two realizing, and incidentally bumped into one of the men.

With Henry’s tendencies, that raider’s long since turned into bone dust.

“Unless someone else came out of your vault, I have no other idea,” Vandal throws up his arms.

Affirming there was no one else from her vault, Mal was at a loss, too.

Wracking their brains, Vandal suggests Mal try and replicate the maps she saw, how even if the locations were long gone, it was better than nothing, and Mal sighs as she does just that.

Floating in with tea and beer for Vandal, Hal announces its presence.

Thanking it as he reaches for his beer, Vandal inquiries about the others, and Hal mentions that they’re antsy to leave Hohenwald since the infighting amongst its denizens started worsening.

“It’s cyclical. Don’t worry, we’re getting ideas where to go from here,” Vandal assures Hal as he pops the top off the beer bottle.

Floating weightlessly, Hal motions with one of its arms for Mal to take a cup of tea, and she does.

While she drank from her cup, Hal was asked by Vandal how capable it was with deciphering maps.

“Oh, I’m quite good with maps. Deciphering might be tricky, but I’m quite stubborn. My madam programmed me so!” Hal chirps.

Pointing to Mal, Vandal told Hal what they discussed, and as it listened Hal twirls as it asserts that it will do whatever it can to help for a good cause.

“Good, because we need to get out of here sooner than later. You got two hours,” Vandal leaves them with his beer bottle in hand.

Chapter Text

“Need more water, miss?” Hal chirps as it floats beside Rose while she and the group move through the Wasteland.

Fixing her knapsack on her back, Rose accepts, and Hal produces a bottle of fresh water for her before asking the others if they wanted some, too.

All but Vandal, who wanted beer instead, opted for a bottle, and with that, it tells them that it will be a bit before the condensers produce enough water for the inner tank.

“Should start producing beer, too,” Vandal suggests Hal.

Miffed, Hal remarks, “Well, that might be fine for you, but expelling used hops from my chassis would be a chore!”

And that doesn’t account for cleaning the chassis extensively to avoid sugar crystals from forming clumps, too.

Waving his gloved hand, Vandal suggests Hal, “What about an upgrade?”

Pondering it, Hal remarks, “I don’t think the madam would be too fond of putting in the effort just so you can have beer on tap!”

Visibly annoyed, Vandal tries to make an argument for the upgrade and the possibilities of future upgrades beyond having a steady beer tap.

Overhearing the conversation as Vandal kept bringing up potential upgrades, Mal steps in to warn Vandal that if she finds any unauthorized upgrades done to Hal, she will gladly shoot him on the spot.

Pointing to herself, Mal states with a deep reverb from inside the power armor, “I’m the one who upgrades my bot!”

She then brings up how Vandal wouldn’t been good at doing anything more than pushing buttons, both physically and metaphorically.

“That hurts, you know, I can do pretty good with basic button pushing!” Vandal recoils.

Checking its internal map, Hal says they’re still miles away from the chosen location, before giving a weather forecast about a potential storm forming in the coming hours.

“Thunder, lighting, very, very frightening!” Hal summarizes.

Harold asks the estimate when the storm will arrive in the area and Hal told him it would be after dark, if its instruments are correct.

“What if this isn’t the right place?” Rose spoke up as she walked with Courtesy and Max beside her.

Vandal assures her that even if it wasn’t where Henry or Heinrich held up in, there’d be clues as to where they might’ve gone afterwards.

“I told you, it’s been years,” Mal warns him.

Adjusting his hat, Vandal reminds her that he is a bounty hunter worth the caps for a reason, even if there’s only bedrock, there’s still a chance something useful remains.

Unable to shake her head, Mal instead sighs, and slowly walks across the wasteland as the power armor left deep indentations in the ground.

Much cooler than before, it was a relief for the group, and with the heavy clouds above slowly moving through the area, it further kept them cool as they walked through a narrow pathway that was least travelled.

It was around the afternoon when they stopped for a moment’s rest, Hal happily provided them tea… and another beer for Vandal as they ate from their supplies brought along for the long haul.

With Max laying at his feet chewing on a Brahmin bone, Courtesy sticks his fork into a pouch of biscuits and gravy with sausage as he converses with the others around a makeshift campfire.

“Okay, once we get up here, we ought to have a vantage point,” Vandal went over the details as Hal checked its internal map and compared where they are to where they’re going.

Assuming it wasn’t outright rubble and not littered with death bots and what else, Vandal expects something tangible.

He doubts that Henry will be there, but it would be a nice bonus if he was, though getting him in a position where no one was at risk getting killed by words alone is a different story.

Thinking to himself as he drinks his beer, Vandal listens to the others as they talked to one another.

“Um, I know there’s a story out towards Dickson County about a banshee and the Bell Witch’s a real famous one,” Courtesy thinks hard about the ghost stories he procured over the years from talking to people that came through the settlement.

Snorting, Vandal rouses as he retorts that he heard about the banshee stories himself and how they’re hogwash on account that the Banshee was only depicted during harsh winters.

And banshees were only really depicted in Europe, never in the United States outside terrible horror movies which further made it apparent the banshee story was that.

“They even claimed there’s a wendigo down here, too!” Vandal shakes his head.

Baffled, Rose asks, “What’s a wendigo?”

Equally curious, Courtesy wanted to know as well, and Vandal explains what they were.

At the end as he tosses the empty beer bottle to the side, Vandal tops it off with a cautionary, “Wendigo were always allegories, but we’re in a weird world now, with them cannibal freaks out there, who knows, right?”

Not sure if his Betty can handle open firing on a Native American nightmare like that if pushed, but Vandal can safely say he can handle a cannibal.

Gesturing as she’s ringing an invisible bell; Rose asks about the Bell Witch scaring people with a bell.

Shaking his head as he chuckles, Courtesy tells her, “Nah, it’s a real place out east of here. She haunts a cave, they say, and she caused terror on a family for years even beyond the grave until they all died.”

Baffled, Rose asks about why a witch targeted only that family.

Scratching the side of his sun kissed cheek, Courtesy answers that he heard different stories about why the witch took affront to this family.

One was that she was a jilted lover to the head of the family and the other that she was a scorned woman who was rejected and took her anger out on the entire family.

“All I know is, she can have that cave. They’re too scary for me,” Courtesy swats the air.

Whining, Max tepidly shakes its tail before Courtesy comforts it by telling it that the Bell Witch was only a story.

Nothing more.

Though, like Vandal said, this was a weird world now, that anything was possible, and that only makes it more terrifying.

“I remember back when that the main fixtures were aliens, Bigfoot, Nessie, some guy that jumped out of a plane. Can’t believe most of those stories still exist!” Vandal marvels at the hardiness of the old stories from time before the bombs.

Pushing up his glasses, Harold brings up that while it has its obvious flaws, the human spirit can be ever more surprising.

Agreeing with him, Vandal remarks how he wouldn’t be surprised if there were truths to those old stories but couldn’t help wondering if legends like Nessie were still amongst them in secret or died to the bombs.

“Hm, if I may, sirs, there’s always a possibility that the Great War gave birth to these creatures and spirits thought to be “hogwash” as the bounty hunter says. Centuries of radioactivity guarantee that what could be a grain of salt can become an entire pillar of salt,” Hal gave some perspective.

To which it adds, that like stories that formulate and change throughout history, so would the unknowns that were either inspired or were always there in the backdrop unseen that were given a new lease on life by the bombs.

Either way, it’s a terrifying though given what Hal has listened to for the past hour.

Once everyone finishes their meals and cleans up the campsite before they continue their journey through the Wasteland.

With the size of their group, most of the mutants stayed clear of them, and those that still attempted to attack were subsequently destroyed.

There weren’t any raiders that stalked the path, which was surprising for the most part, but given the air heated up and the clouds blackening above them, the raiders took warning of the approaching storm and hunkered down for the night.

Finding a safe spot to weather the storm led the group to another abandoned gas station that was formerly occupied given the makeshift barriers nailed to the walls That have since been rotted from exposure.

Getting inside took no time with Hal shooting the locks off the only way inside.

Mal went into the gas station first and once she cleared it, everyone else followed inside while the wind started picking up with thunder in the distance.

“We’re only fifteen miles from the site, don’t know what’s there, so be on your guard,” Vandal glimpses between them.

Hal hasn’t seen anything indicative of a stronghold, but given what they’re dealing with, this can go in any direction, but there’s unwavering confidence from Rose and it causes Vandal to shake his head with disbelief that despite them getting involved in this, despite everyone’s attempts warning her away from it, Rose remained determined to see it through.

He couldn’t help but respect it, but he’d be foolish not to show concern that Rose was setting herself up for a rude awakening.

Securing the only entryway inside, the group started hearing thunder rumbling closer as the storm started making its way through the area, they heard the heavy rainfall soon after.

“My sensors indicate a chance of hail, given the fortification of the gas station, we have a good chance of avoiding getting hit. Which is a good thing, because it will be a terrible headache!” Hal chirps as it floats weightlessly through the gas station.

Chapter Text

“Hm, a television station, that’s rather unexpected!” Hal quizzically chirps while it floated beside Mal and the others while they overlooked an abandoned tower for the former WKRN-TV station that had moved from its original location to its now permanent spot.

The elongated antenna that towers over the area once filled with foliage and trees survived the bombs from years of fortifying stood as a beacon for travelers in the area.

Hal calls it a miracle by bringing up the barrage of tornadoes during spring that theoretically, the antenna would’ve been destroyed by the winds, before Vandal suggests how someone made sure that despite the violent storms, the antenna wouldn’t be destroyed.

“He’s right, I’m not seeing any damages on the VAT,” Mal calls out. “Not seeing anyone, either.”

Not even a turret.

Remaining cautious, the group went down the mound of dirt that turned into a sloped path due to the constant rainfall.

Gripping one of Hal’s arms, Rose slowly made her way down the mound with the others.

Upon reaching it, they can see the large chain link fence better as it surrounded the station.

Parts of the fencing collapsed in places, but the majority of it still stood, and they went around towards the front of the station where the large rusted covered gate stood tall with chains tightly bound around the equally large lock.

Interestingly as Hal points out, the chains and lock were relatively new compared to the surrounding area.

“Most peculiar, madam,” Hal recoils for a moment before proceeding to shoot through the lock and cut through the chains.

Redder than mars, the broken chains and lock fell to the ground in a thud, allowing them passage inside the abandoned station proper.

Vehicles left to rot remained where they were, weeds allowed to eat through the parking lot blacktop and reached sky high, swaying to the breeze.

Reaching the entrance, it was also locked, but Hal effortlessly got the door open with another shot of its laser.

Going inside first, Mal slowly moves forward as she watches her HUD for sudden movements, already the station was off for her seeing it relatively clean, hardly a thin layer of dust on the glass display with old rewards the station received left behind.

Slowly swaying the BFG, Mal enters the lobby of the station where a statue took center stage.

No movement on the HUD so far, but Mal kept a sharp eye on it while she maneuvers through the abandoned station.

On the walls were pictures of people that worked the halls doing various tasks around the station, still pristine with hardly a scratch on the frames.

Water coolers dotting areas emptied of their contents but given there being no water stains on the flooring near the dispenser, it was hard to tell whether the water coolers were emptied by panicked employees or left empty by choice.

Eerily, everything looked pristine in a post-apocalyptic world that the only thing that made some sense was someone came through here and cleaned up messes left behind.

There were closets for various robots, some being janitorial, but they were empty and the HUD didn’t see anything suggesting the robots were present in the building.

It was hard to move in some corners of the station since some hallways were narrower than others, but eventually Mal concluded there was no one inside, and she made her way back outside to let the others know.

Entering the station, Rose sees the pictures on the wall with curiosity in her doe eyes as she asks about the station and its uses.

Happily, Vandal tells her what a television set was and everything in between.

“I don’t miss those damned erotic infomercials late at night, though. So hokey, it’d bore you to tears!” Vandal swats the air as he describes how shows used to be sandwiched in between ads every now again and how the ads were regulated to where ads containing adult content were forbidden to air during the day and only at night.

Rose was fortunate never having to deal with them, Vandal insists, that by the second viewing of an ad for an erotic movie “I Love Lucy (And Her Electric Hips)” Rose would be rolling her eyes like he did.

Movie wasn’t even good, he swore, too many expositions with nothing worthwhile to tie everything up, and overall, not enough substance to warrant the ads that travelled the airwaves so long ago.

“So… what was it about?” Rose says with curiosity.

Recoiling, Vandal exhales, “You want me to tell you?”

Seeing her looking at him, Vandal shakes his head as he tries to dissuade her but she was stubborn.

“What, is it worse than the situation we’re in, now?” Rose challenges him.

Blinking, Vandal raises a point, “It wasn’t the worst one I watched, but that ain’t it, little girl. It’s a movie you don’t discuss with your parents, your priest, your teachers, or even God present. You vault dwellers don’t have naughty magazines or something?”

Watching Rose think to herself, Vandal insists that she didn’t ask him to talk about the movie.

“And don’t think you’re getting any information from me, either, country boy!” Vandal easily spotted Courtesy poking his head around the corner with curiosity.

Kids!

Well, Vandal couldn’t be angry with them for being curious, he was no better than them when he was around their ages.

Oh, the troubles he’d get up to when his abuela wasn’t around or gone to bed early.

The things that he had to do kept her from suspecting anything amiss.

“If someone was here, they haven’t been for at least a few weeks,” Harold walks around the station with curiosity in his blue eyes.

Finding the wall of awards given to the station since its founding, Harold sees his reflection on the bronze medals.

“I don’t get it, why would anyone want to come here, there’s nothing but medals and… whatever Cosmology is…” Rose questions as she flips through a magazine left on the coffee table in the waiting room.

Floating towards the broadcasting room, Hal explains, “Hm, miss is quite right, I vaguely recall that they only had enough rations to last a year.”

Checking it first, Hal found it unlocked, and Mal entered first.

Once she confirms no one is inside, everyone else follows.

Seeing the large screens with matte finishes lining the walls, the group splinters looking into different corners of the broadcasting room.

Getting out of the power armor, Mal’s curiosity drew her to the different terminals around the broadcasting room.

Some didn’t work, their power sources having failed finally after centuries of disuse, but one still worked, and it was locked with a password.

Looking around the desk the terminal sat on, Mal dug through empty drawers, finding nothing hinting what the password is or who the terminal belonged to, and checking with the others in different corners of the room didn’t net her anything useful, so she went ahead and tried the old fashion way of getting into the terminal.

Negating the fillers used to obscure the real password mixed with fake ones to be sure, Mal works with the limited number of chances she’s afforded to narrow the potential password.

One password choice stuck out to her that is different than the others in the string of codes and words.

ROSENROT

Chewing on her bottom lip, Mal mulls over her options before deciding that it was better to try and see, she had a few chances left to use if it proved to be the wrong password.

Entering it, she waits to be given an error, but the terminal loaded into a list with the language vastly different than what she expected seeing.

The terminal screen illuminates with bright green texts and a list with six entries and numbers beside each entry with the very bottom being the return key.

“Madam? Did you find something?” Hal calls out to her as it noticed her staring at the screen.

Blinking, Mal responds how she got into the terminal, now she’s figuring out what everything is in it.

Joining her side with curiosity in his dark eyes, Vandal scratches the side of his head reading the words that plainly weren’t in English.

If they were Spanish, he’d have no trouble, instead he’s looking at what’s essentially garbled mess to him.

Entering the first entry, Mal and Vandal were greeted by a line of text in the same language, and Vandal calls over Hal for help deciphering the text.

Floating beside the screen, Hal’s multiple eyes study the texts before signifying that it can translate the text for them.

Gesturing, Vandal tells it to do just that, but Hal hesitated to do it without Mal’s permission.

“Do what he says, Hal,” Mal gave it.

With her permission, Hal linked itself into the terminal and translated the entry in real time but warned that some language quirks could make translations a bit difficult.

“Entry One: I left my vault some days ago hoping to find something of value for my research. It was suggested I come through here after some time looking over the maps and I’m glad I did. This television station was left abandoned for centuries, yet everything I found thus far had been practically untouched. I was able to communicate this to my subordinates in the vault before moving on to secure it for future use. I found some of the terminals were still working, but on their last breath. The subordinates didn’t initially want to come here when life was green then, but their employer demanded it, threatening their jobs if they didn’t. So, they all came here making some unintelligible remarks. I have not found anything suggesting they died here; in fact, this television station survived the brunt of the disasters that befell the area. Very interesting.”

Switching over to the next entry, Hal continues.

“Entry Two: I found Braun after some time. Surrounded by his dead subordinates in their pods and a wasteland of destroyed robots with bullet holes and what else. Trapped in his own little world due to his own failings, he refused to recognize until it was too late. Begged mercy from me through a terminal he’d managed to hack, the man thought I would be willing to enter his world, keep him company, even put him out of his misery because he’d become desperate being unable to terminate his own program. I was the only person he’d spoken with seen since he been left underground for God knows how long. The fact we spoke the same tongue made him joyous enough to stop agonizing for a moment! We spoke for a long period of time. I’m sure he misses the company, but alas, I have much work to do!”

Switching over to the next entry became difficult as Hal noted that the terminal was starting to corrupt from the internals of the terminal failing so it had to jump ahead to the newest entry.

“Entry [corrupted; contact IT; Error 101] …Below this station is a vault. The real reason the subordinates were brought here. I found the entrance in the basement. Vault 39. [Corrupted text] … I believe that is the cause for some of the stories I’ve learnt about this area since I arrived and made it a stronghold. I will attempt … [memory overload; contact IT; shutting down.]”

The terminal’s screen burns bright green before shutting off and despite Hal’s attempts, the terminal became inoperable, and everything on it lost as leaking battery acid from several batteries on the boards had eaten away at the RAM.

“There’s a vault here?” Vandal recoils.

Gritting her teeth, Mal hesitates them doing down in the basement and seeing for themselves, and Vandal agrees with her stating that he was keeping his word about avoiding vaults.

Rejoining their sides with curiosity in their eyes, the others question what the vault’s experiment might’ve been, and what the person writing entries was planning on doing when they learnt of the vault’s existence.

“Either way, there’s no way in hell that we’re going down there,” Vandal asserts.

Mal enforces his stance by warning how dangerous it’d be if they did and how there might not be anything of value left down there.

Blinking, Rose asks, “What if they’re still alive down there?”

Shaking her head, Mal hesitates as she warns Rose, “Goldilocks, if people haven’t left their vaults when they got the first chance, then they’re not leaving it.”

Chapter Text

After much deliberation and arguments, the group was compelled to decide.

The knowledge that Heinrich and Henry had descended into the vault at certain points made it evident that they needed to investigate what either man had discovered.

Vandal vehemently opposed entering the vault, likening it to stepping over someone’s grave.

Consequently, he was tasked with guarding the entrance, with Max ordered by Courtesy to stay behind as he went with Rose and Harold.

“Stay behind me,” Mal commanded them as she bravely ventured into Vault 39 first, with Hal watching them from the rear.

Stepping through the entrance of the vault, the group entered the illuminated underground that brought back memories, both good and bad. Everything looked pristine for the most part, with some scuffs here and there, but could be considered normal wear.

Reaching the first hallway that everyone had gone through, Mal slowly moved forward, keeping her BFG swaying while focused on her HUD for any sudden movements. The hallway was narrow, making it difficult to show what had transpired since the employees of the station had been forced below by their employer.

Everything was the same shades of colors that were familiar to those raised in vaults, as well as the same lighting that was said to keep vault dwellers’ eyes acclimated to the sunlight above.

Power still coursed through the vault, but that didn’t hold much significance since vaults were equipped with failsafe to prevent power outages.

However, there were exceptions, particularly in certain vaults subjected to experiments involving limited or no power sources.

This vault wasn’t one of those, but the absence of anyone curious enough to investigate the vault’s opening wasn’t helping Mal as she patrolled the hallway.

No scorch marks from phasers or bullet holes in the walls.

Instead, the most jarring thing was the complete lack of blood.

There was no indication that someone or something had cleaned it up, as there would have been bleach marks visible with the HUD.

The eerie silence was only broken by the gentle movement of liquids flowing between the pipes lining the walls and the low hum of the lights above.

Eventually, Mal retreated to the others, waiting for her with curious eyes. She then gave the go-ahead for them to explore the vault to a certain extent, urging them to be careful of areas she didn’t patrol, yet.

Feeling like home, Rose sees the familiar decorations and everything that her vault had down to the posters from Vault-Tech, she notices Harold having similar thoughts seeing them while Courtesy’s eyes widen as he experiences his first time in a vault.

Unable to withhold his discomfort being in the vault anymore despite his attempts sticking it out for Rose’s sake, Courtesy stuck close to Mal as he comments how it was eerily not seeing anyone around, something shared by the others as they expected someone to appear before them.

Going into the first room cleared by Mal, Rose sees it being a storage room for cleaning supplies as marked by the metal sign.

Studying the containers of various cleaning products brought down to the vault shortly before it and others alike disappeared from the world’s eyes, Rose notices how each container appeared untouched, not even moved as she saw the faint dust around the sealed containers.

Recalling her time, Rose remembers how her father would have multiple containers brought out due to the rambunctiousness of the children, and the incidents regarding a cake blowing up in people’s faces due to their Mr. Handy having a malfunction cooking it.

More than once her father joked how they were fortunate they have enough to last a century, indeed from looking over the containers, Rose sees plenty of supplies on the shelves to last just as long.

Her curiosity intensifies as she leaves her storage room to check other rooms, Rose finds another one where the employees brought down things from topside to pass the time.

Rows of reels of preserved television shows, news, and movies, including the necessary equipment to view them on the big screen.

“Hey Rose, look what I found!” Courtesy pops in as Rose glances at the labels on the reels.

Turning her head as her stiff auburn ponytail barely moves to the side, Rose blinks as Courtesy presents her with a brand-new Vault-Tech bubblehead to replace the one that broke.

Taking it into her hand, Rose thanks him for the gift, and he admits during his time searching around he doesn’t understand how Rose handled living underground for years, commenting how even he would miss seeing the sun after the first week being below the earth.

“It was all I knew, now I’ve been on the topside, I guess I’d miss the sun, too,” Rose admits to him.

His copper eyes sparkling as he sees the reels near her, Courtesy shows curiosity in the reels and looks them over with Rose.

Looking at the labels on one, Rose says it aloud with a perturbed, “I Dream of Jeanie’s Head?”

Raising his bushy brow with confusion as he echoes the name, Courtesy wonders what it was about, and Rose contemplated loading the reel into the machine bolted to a moveable table to see.

Having never seen a television show, much less knew what a television or show is, the two shared the same contemplation, and Courtesy pulls the reel off the rack while Rose works to understand the machine pointing at a white screen.

Hearing the clattering and worried, Harold pokes his head in to ask if they were alright, and Rose shows him what she and Courtesy found.

“Mr. Harold, have you ever seen a show?” Rose inquisitively asks while Courtesy fiddles with the reel on the machine.

Thinking back to his time in his vault, Harold recalls times where they’d watch reels brought down from the surface before the vault was sealed, and as with anything, they degraded from constant use since his vault didn’t have much going on that it was one of the few things that entertained people.

Seeing Courtesy struggling, Harold offers to help, and once he figures out what needed to be done, he flips the switches, and the reel begins feeding into the machine as it is turned on and the bulb flickers.

Sounds started to play as the lights above automatically dimmed allowing the picture to be viewed properly as the reel opens with a stylized title card with the titular name of the show.

In black and white, the show starts with a man wearing a prim suit entering his home having spent tedious hours working at his job, and as he sits his suitcase down on the ground, he calls out to his wife.

She proceeds to call him from the kitchen, and he follows her voice to see a woman’s head mounted in a jar of liquid while her robotic arms worked to cook her husband his favorite dinner.

Loosely, the woman’s head turns around in the jar to greet him before telling him dinner will be ready soon.

“That’s my wife!” The husband gleams and there’s an audible laughing track added in the postproduction.

Watching the show with confusion on their faces, the three turned to one another silently questioning what they were watching.

Blinking, Courtesy questions, “So, his wife is a talking head?”

Shrugging, Rose responds with, “Love’s blind?”

Shaking his head, Harold musters, “Who thought this was a good idea?”

Chapter Text

“Hm, the lack of presence is concerning, madam, are we sure they didn’t leave the vault after a period of time?” Hal wonders as it floats aimlessly looking at every inch of the cleared area with its multiple eyes moving independently.

Swaying the BFG slowly as she moves, Mal retorts, “Name a vault where everyone leaving didn’t make a mess, Hal.”

Unable to give an answer, Hal concedes to her point before moving towards the next hallway into the deeper part of the vault that hadn’t been cleared yet.

Its multiple eyes moving independently as it looks down the foreboding hallway, Hal cautiously moves backwards towards Mal as she says she’ll head down the hallway to check it next.

“It is creepy, madam, everything looks pristine. I don’t even see a broken cup!” Hal winces using its multiple arms to convey this to her.

Nothing on its scanners indicates anything out of place and there isn’t anything showing that something has been cleaned recently.

Unable to nod, Mal responds she knows, before readying to patrol the next half of the vault while Hal stays with the others.

“Madam, are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?” Hal raises concerns.

Affirming that she will be, Mal instructs Hal to keep the others from exploring beyond the cleared area.

“As you command, madam!” Hal chirps with affirmation as it watches Hal disappear down the hallway with the heavy thud of the power armor echoing.

Moving down the hallway with her HUD keep track of everything, Mal slowly opens doors to check inside with the BFG pointed and ready for sudden attacks.

Each room she checked had been the same, devoid of life even in the recreational room with a non-functional terminal, and though she can’t smell through the power armor, the HUD picked up heavy traces of cleaning solutions coming from another room ahead.

From the degradation of the cleaning solutions shown on the HUD, the room ahead had been cleaned no less than a few months ago.

For what reason, Mal braces herself as she goes to find that out as she readies herself for potential threats or a horrifying discovery given the levels of ammonia on the HUD.

Upon reaching the room, she uses a trick learnt from Hal to open it without having to set down the BFG.

When it opens, Mal readies for the worst possible outcome, and when the door slides open, she finds nothing inside except for a functional terminal at the end of the room.

Surveying the room from where she stood, Mal identifies this as an office and seeing it empty with nothing out of place except, she sees clear splotches of cleaning solutions on the floors and walls.

This was clearly a human’s work, not a machine.

The sporadic mess showed desperation to clean up.

Something had happened here some time ago, but Mal didn’t know what.

Instead, she made a mental note before heading out of the office to check the other rooms.

As she did, her HUD picked up sounds from deeper into the vault.

Uncertain what it could be—roaches taking over after a calamity or Rose was right, someone was still alive—Mal exhaled sharply and left the office to continue down the winding hallway, her HUD keeping track.

Patrolling every room, it became clearer that something had happened inside Vault 39, but Mal couldn’t pinpoint what. They were only seeing the aftermath.

Worse, she still didn’t know Heinrich’s extent since he found the station. It unnerved her even more that she hadn’t found anything from him except a terminal he had commandeered after finding it.

Her patrol stops at the end of a cordoned section of the hallway.

Stopped by the locked terminal beside the large door that led into the deeper parts of the vault where the communal rooms were, Mal sighs as she turns around before retreating back to the others that have gone through the racks of movie and TV reels out of curiosity before she tells them that she cleared the next section of the vault, and that there’s another locked terminal that she didn’t get the chance to interact with.

“I think there might be roaches, so stay away from the vents, and if the vents start shaking, start blasting,” Mal urges them to remain on guard when dealing with the irradiated roaches likely using the air ducts.

Asked by Rose if she had found anyone, Mal responds that she didn’t find anything, that there are still other parts of the vault she hasn’t checked yet.

Following her closely, the four follow her into the section, and once she returns to the office, Mal gets out of the power armor to use the locked terminal.

Her fingers gliding across the keyboard, Mal mutters to herself while attempting to unlock the terminal with the limited number of guesses and the two incomprehensible lists.

Checking around the office for a chance of finding a left-behind piece of paper with the password, Mal was left empty-handed.

However, she learns from her unsuccessful attempt that she wasn’t the only one who had looked for the password.

There were things pushed aside in the drawers, and the contents on the shelves appeared uneven.

If there was a slip with the password, it wasn’t here anymore, and there wasn’t much in the office for Mal to look for inspirations.

Scratching the side of her head, Mal grumbles before taking the chance of doing it the hard way.

Four guesses and the incomprehensible lists dauntingly staring at her through the screen, Mal takes a deep breath before trying her hardest.

She was on the last guess before conceding that she couldn’t chance locking up the terminal and reluctantly turns it over to Hal to attempt getting into the terminal.

With a nonexistent smile, Hal obliges her to help and manages to get into the terminal.

“Thanks, Hal,” Mal thanks it.

Twirling in its spot, Hal remarks, “Madam! It would be indignant of me if I didn’t help!”

Inside the terminal, this time it’s in English and Mal’s able to read through it without trouble as Hal went out of the office to check on the others.

Left alone, Mal went through the directories before finding a list of emails sent around the vault.

This office belonged to a man called J. Foreman and he worked as a teleprompter for the television station shortly before being forced below by his boss, Jameson, and how he collaborates with his colleagues over their anxieties being in the vault during the aftermath of the Great War.

Understandably, the emotions ran high and while Foreman knew that they wouldn’t survive being above ground, he resented that they were kept in the dark by Jameson long enough that they couldn’t back out.

Now, that they’re in the vault, Jameson encourages them to find comfort that they’ll survive the aftermath of the nuclear holocaust, however Foreman showed doubt that Jameson was doing this out of the kindness of his heart, given how he already made them uproot everything to move here by threatening their jobs.

Eventually, the employees attempt to find a semblance of normalcy by working around the vault as if they were still running the television station.

There was at least one woman stressed about her family after this was forced onto them and how she hoped they were still alive somewhere in the now-Wasteland, before another employee bitterly types how his family should’ve been here with him instead of being with relatives in Bristol, now he’s certain that they’re dead, and he laments how he wished he was with them rather than being here.

Going through the emails, Mal then finds that there was an intern that had only started working at the station a week before the bombs dropped, and how Jameson “liked her spunk.”

Awkwardly shy as wrote by the other employees, the intern had aspired to work for the local television station for some time, and how she was excited to work for the station when she got the job.

This intern, nicknamed by her colleagues as “Dizzy” because of her embarrassing accident involving a copier during her first day, struggled with the rest of them when Jameson sealed them in the vault.

Having not seen anything in any of the rooms indicating one of them belonged to Dizzy, expectedly, Mal thinks her workplace would be somewhere beyond the cordoned-off section.

Eventually, Mal’s investigation was halted when she ran out of messages and personal entries to read and leaves the terminal with Hal back inside her power armor to see the others moving around various rooms with curiosity in their eyes.

They later reconvened with Mal to tell her what they found in this stretch of the vault.

“There’s no food in the kitchen,” Courtesy decrees after getting inside from the cafeteria.

Collaborating with him, Rose says that it looked like someone went through the effort of cleaning out the kitchen, but shockingly didn’t make a mess of it, which surprises her.

“No blood?” Mal asks them.

The two shook their heads as they told her that they didn’t see anything resembling a struggle.

“This is uncomfortably unusual,” Harold winces as he tells Mal how the medicine cabinet of the doctor’s office hasn’t been touched since they were implemented.

He did find some supplies that he took with him, but other than that, he didn’t see any struggles or blood spatters, something Mal says she also didn’t see, but saw a lot of indicators that someone cleaned up after themselves.

“What happened here?” Courtesy gestures. “I’m used to seeing maybe a dead raider on the ground before the sheriff pulls the body away, but there’s nothing!”

Confirming there was nothing else in this section of the vault, Mal grits her teeth as she gave the same instructions as before to them, as she leaves for cordoned-off section.

Her BFG swaying as she carries it, Mal marches down the long hallway back to where she found it, and when she arrives, she instantly stops as she sees the door inexplicably opened, and her HUD made sure that her presence prior didn’t trigger it.

“Shit!” Mal almost felt her heart drop into her stomach seeing the sight before given a choice.

She could backtrack to the others and pull back from further investigating Vault 39 or she can proceed through the opened doorway into the deeper parts of the vault that were blocked off for whatever reason.

Having survived this long, Mal made her decision not to proceed further, but fate was funny like that as she turns around to face something in front of her.

Chapter Text

“I don’t see anything, Mr. Harold,” Courtesy notes after he searches a room before showing Harold that he found some unused bandages he got out of a drawer.

As he accepts the bandages, Harold wearily glimpses around the hallway as he musters, “We should leave.”

Though he agreed to come with them down here, Harold saw the proverbial writing on the wall, that there was nothing here that pertained to either Heinrich or Henry, and if there was a chance of something, it wasn’t worth continuing searching what likely is a grave.

Seeing him tense as she came out of the adjacent room having found some preserved food packets to take with them, Rose asks Harold what was wrong, and he repeated what he said.

“My madam hasn’t returned from her latest patrol yet, I’m quite worried!” Hal floats towards them after pacing for some time with worry in its mechanized eyes.

Gesturing towards it, Courtesy asks Hal if it can ping her in the power armor to check on her whereabouts, to which Hal asserts that it always has ways of reaching Mal should they get separated, but she wasn’t responding to either one of them.

Instantly, Harold and the others drop to the ground when they heard the loud echoes of gunfire coming from deep within the hallway.

“Madam!” Hal became alarmed as its arms curled up in horror of hearing rapid gunfire.

Covering her head as she feels Courtesy pull her close to him while they’re covered by Harold, Rose listens to the gunfire growing quiet as it disappears into the deeper parts of the vault, and when Harold felt it was safe he unleashes his grip on her and Courtesy.

Lowering her hands as she listens to Hal panicking, Rose smells the fresh scent of gun smoke wafting throughout the hallways as the unmaintained ventilation wasn’t strong enough to instantly pull the smoke from the air.

Frantic, Hal pivots itself down the hallway calling out to Mal while the three follow suit after it.

Reaching the opened doorway into the deeper sections of the vault, the four stopped as they saw the area littered with spent shells and walls filled with holes, but Mal was nowhere in sight.

On the ground mixed with the spent shells, there’s unmistakable blood, but it wasn’t Mal’s.

Studying it closely, Harold confirms that it has an unusual color to it, that it couldn’t have been human.

“Roach?” Courtesy gestures.

Shaking his head, Harold responds with, “Not this color.”

It wasn’t one of the Wasteland’s finest, something else, and he asks Hal if it can track the blood believing it would lead them to Mal.

“Of course, good sir!” Hal asserts its capabilities.

Looking back to Rose and Courtesy, Harold asks if they wanted to head back to Vandal and Max before the two assert they wanted to help find Mal, too.

“It will be dangerous,” Harold urges them to reconsider.

Shaking her head as her ponytail stiffly moves, Rose states, “I didn’t come this far to turn around, now, Mr. Harold.”

Agreeing with her, Courtesy adds, “No one left behind, my pa always told me.”

Unable to argue with them, Harold sucks air through his teeth before joining them as they went with Hal through the opened doorway.

As they stepped through the doorway, there’s more blood splatters, some old, and some fresh, Hal guiding them as it focuses on the fresh blood splatters while keeping an eye on Mal through its sensors.

The heavy iron scent invades their nostrils as it strengthens while the four went down the hallway that looked different compared to the previous two.

Chaotic rooms with broken doors, rooms in disarray, and some barricaded from the inside with Hal warning that it didn’t detect any lifeforms on its sensors, that there is a high chance that only skeletons are behind the barricaded doors.

“What happened here?” Rose views the destruction safely in the middle of the hallway as more doors were torn asunder from their hinges, turned over heavily stained cots piled against where the doors were in an attempt keeping something out from the hallway, and in one room she saw old stains of blood leading to the vents with the cover ripped from inside the vent and pushed into a gaping hole.

Seeing the horrors through its computerized eyes, Hal answers with a horrified, “A massacre, miss!”

What caused the massacre remained unknown, but centuries later, the grisly aftermath provided more than enough clues to reveal that there were no survivors left of Vault 39.

Yet, they’re left with one lingering question that has yet to be answered.

Whatever reason led to the section of the vault being blocked off remains a mystery, but the gunfire they heard suggests that they’re closer to uncovering the truth.

“Oh, madam, please be alright… who else will I brew my specialty tea for…?” Hal’s visibly shaken with fear, convinced that whatever lurks within the vault has claimed Mal as another victim of a horrifying experiment.

Attempting to calm Hal, Harold insists that Mal was still alive and that the power armor would protect against any lingering assailant in the vault.

“Oh, I sincerely hope you’re right, good sir… but we haven’t tested the power armor against every conceivable threat yet!” Hal continues to fret about Mal’s survival.

Encouraging Hal to stay focused on the power armor, Harold continues searching for Mal alongside the others.

As they ventured further, the chaos they witnessed passing by the destroyed rooms became increasingly disturbing. Fresh and old blood splatters caked the walls, a haunting reminder of the violence that had transpired.

Rose briefly passes by what used to be a recreation room where the station employees presumably spent a lot of time trying to distract themselves from their dire situation. However, she didn’t get to see the entire interior as Courtesy urges her not to look too closely, turning pale as he witnesses the horrifying sight unimpeded, and his white face did more than clue Rose what nightmare the recreation room turned into when the maladies befell the vault.

The point of when things went wrong in the vault didn’t become evident until they managed to find the overseer office tucked away from the horrors and Hal forces their way through by shooting the terminal next to the coated door with one of its arms.

Entering inside, the four were treated to the sight of a circular room turned into the final last stand of the turned-Overseer Jameson with towers of objects blocking off his desk.

Warily, they move towards Jameson’s desk as Hal says there’s a functioning terminal not far from them that it can hack into with hopes that the information provided would help them determine what they’re dealing with.

Mindful of their steps while Hal glides over obstacles effortlessly, the four saw how Jameson became desperate to block off whatever attacked him and the station staff.

The vents blocked off by stacks of whatever Jameson found in his office, the desperate overseer did everything he could think to keep himself safe, but the absence of a body proves that it was folly.

Upon reaching his terminal, Harold linked Hal into it, and easily Hal circumvents the password.

The terminal loads and the four are allowed to peruse everything Jameson typed during his time.

Before the bombs dropped, he was reached out by Vault-Tech for their program of becoming an overseer for the vault, requiring him to move his entire operation and staff here by any means necessary.

Jameson was apprehensive about the idea of becoming an overseer, questioning if this was a sick joke played on him by someone from his staff, but once he got confirmation this wasn’t, he began to listen to what was told to him.

The correspondent from Vault-Tech wrote in the messages telling Jameson his tasks would be no different than running the station but urges him to look through his restricted files for more details regarding his role as the vault’s overseer.

Something Hal switches over to with little effort.

Jameson’s role would be picking someone from his staff to assign the task of working alone in the basement of the vault, under no circumstances does anyone else work in the basement except them and monitoring the effects of the isolation from the rest of the staff.

At that point, Jameson confronts the idea as too much for him, but the correspondent forces his hand into accepting the terms of becoming the overseer, and he wasn’t allowed to share this information to his staff lest he be held responsible.

Begrudgingly, Jameson assumes his role, and evident from his change of tone in the messages he sent out to everyone once they were in the vault.

With the requirement to select someone to send into the basement to work in isolation weighing heavily on him, Jameson’s personal journal entries show how worried he became about sending someone down in the basement claiming that it was unsettling.

Forced by Vault-Tech, he chose Dizzy to be the one working in the basement trying to justify his reasoning that she was a recent hire, an intern, that any emotional impact this would have on him would be significantly less than had he chosen someone else.

It wasn’t something he wanted to do, but Vault-Tech made it clear that he and the rest of the vault would suffer for it.

“I am an asshole, but this is hell, and given the chance, I’d rather dance around that mushroom cloud than do this,” Jameson wrote.

Chapter Text

Following the erratic bloodstains coating the hallway, the four begrudgingly made their way towards the source, Hal tracking the power armor with its internal sensors going in the direction they’re heading into, and the gun smoke thickening as they’re getting closer to finding either Mal or whatever attacked her.

Remnants of a violent struggle found on the walls, Mal wrangling with her attacker, and the power armor leaving indents as she’s slammed into the walls with incredible force that causes Hal to worry.

“You don’t think it’s a super mutant that made this vault their cozy home, do you?” Courtesy asks while he hides behind the safety of Hal’s domed body while they make their way to an area filled with bones of various shapes and sizes.

Seeing piles crunched under the weight of the power armor gave confirmation that Mal fought through here, but it didn’t give anyone comfort seeing the piles of bones reaching the ceilings and the only parts cleared were where the four came from and the entrance into the vault basement.

Seeing the basement entrance coated in centuries worth of blood that has since turned rusty brown, Harold reflexively gulps as his body pulls him away from sight before he forces himself forward while the others do the same.

“We don’t know what’s down there…” Courtesy quivers.

Raising its arms holding weapons, Hal asserts its willingness to plunge itself into the unknown, under its robotic voice the vague hints that it wouldn’t be alone.

Unable to retreat and have Vandal help them in the matter, the four enters the unwelcoming entrance into the basement.

The air was colder, heavier, the scent of iron so strong, Rose covered her nose from nausea.

She follows Hal closely as it turns on a lowlight allowing them to see while they descend into the basement.

His teeth clattering, Courtesy stays close to the group while listening to the ambiance of cooling pipes groaning echoing further into the basement and distorting into an eerily cry, his eyes darting at every corner.

The rust-colored hallway opens into a wide room enshrouded in darkness with the soft light from Hal producing just enough for them to see where they’re walking, but it wasn’t any better.

Detecting an active terminal, Hal guides them towards it, saying that it can get into the terminal to turn on the lights, believing they still worked.

Quietly, they move through the barely illuminated darkness, and near scattered when they hear violent gunfire happening in the distance and a monstrous shriek.

Chaos erupts as something large flees in their direction, causing everyone to scatter into different corners of the basement, and the smell of fresh blood oozes through the area as gun smoke thickens it.

Fleeing in an unknown direction, Rose’s heart beats against her chest as she desperately gets away from whatever fled in their direction.

Nearly hitting something in front of her, Rose inevitably finds herself far from the others, and her only solace being her Pip-Boy that she uses as a flashlight.

Not as effective as she hopes, it was better than blindly running through the darkness as she’s been doing, yet it left her in a peculiar situation.

Wherever she ended up, it was further than she anticipated, and she didn’t know where to go from there.

Slowly moving, Rose spots something glowing in the distance, and proceeds to follow it, thinking it’s Hal, but as she nears, her Pip-Boy’s built-in Geiger counter started beeping, and panic soars through her as she stops herself from continuing her path towards the glowing light.

The Geiger counter continues to beep at a lower rate, Rose unable to silence it as she panics about whatever was in the basement with them hearing the beeping.

Wildly pushing buttons on her Pip-Boy, Rose struggles trying to find some way to stop the beeping, but it was futile, and she’s forced to run in a different direction after hearing movement towards her somewhere in the darkness adjacent to her.

The floors became increasingly difficult to run over as they were slippery in parts from pooling blood puddles in different stages of hardening.

Her foot hits a bloody puddle still liquid and Rose slips with her back landing on the floor in a loud thud and her eyes forced to look up at the darkness above.

Shock from the fall prevents her from feeling the pain as it numbly jolts through her body, her eyes darting around in the darkness as she’s terrified of moving from her spot, Rose’s full lips quivers as she struggles repressing her whimpers.

Trying to force her arms to move as she struggles getting up from the ground, Rose immediately stops as she hears a quiet guttural noise not far from her, and her blood chills as she audibly whimpers.

Using her Pip-Boy’s settings, Rose hoped to scare away the approaching threat by flashing it with the bright light from the Pip-Boy, her breathing intensifying as her hand trembles.

Raising her arm as the light turned on bright and rapidly blinking nonsensically, Rose briefly saw in front of her the shape of something inhuman.

Tall, slim yet built with noticeable muscles, long arms with monstrous clawed hands, sickly gray skin that made it look like stone, and black long stringy hair matted to the face that for a moment Rose thought she saw two large black, almost void, eyes staring at her through the hair.

“Get away from her, you bitch!” Rose hears the loud reverb as Mal emerges from the darkness with the barrel of the BFG spinning as she points it in the direction of the creature.

Forcing herself to pull up from the ground amid the blood, Rose flees while another battle commences.

Rose nearly screams running into the waiting arms of someone only it to be Harold cooing that she was safe.

“We have to do something; my madam can’t keep the fighting going forever!” Hal floats towards them with fear in its independently moving eyes.

Running towards them after finding a hidden door, Courtesy says that he can get up on the catwalk above the basement and move a crane of supplies long since abandoned in a spot where he can drop it on the head of the creature.

Worried, Harold points out, “It’s not going down despite everything Mal’s doing, how would this be any better?”

Raising his finger, Courtesy informs Harold that he thinks he can Jerry rig explosions since there’s a ceiling access hidden by the darkness where the crane extends from.

“A cave-in could do the job, but you’re forgetting something, that even if you’re successful, the reaction from your plan would be catastrophic that we’d be doomed!” Hal sputters.

Insisting his plan will work, Courtesy begs Hal’s help, and Hal floats quickly as it follows him.

Chapter Text

It was always expected that trouble lurks around every corner of the wasteland, from the crumbling buildings to below the irradiated earth, but often the worst of the worst doesn’t always come in the form of mutated mole rats or raiders.

Having been surprised by the vault’s sole occupant, Mal went to war against it, attempting to suppress its attacks before it could turn its attention to the others, but despite shooting it several times in sequential order, the mutant shrugged every bullet off like it was nothing.

Heavily mutated, its skin was thicker than Mal had anticipated, and it could put up a fight against her in the power armor.

Capable of pushing back despite the raw strength of the power armor, the mutant was a formidable opponent that would not go down quietly, and Mal wasn’t sure what to try next as it was heavily protected against bullets.

On her HUD she can see it has some radioactive elements, but the mutations have suppressed it to some degree, still Mal was thankful the power armor can handle the attacks.

The bone claws did a fine job scratching the paint on the power armor, but they haven’t penetrated the power armor properly.

Still, time was of the essence, and it seemed helpless until their battle was momentarily paused at the appearance of the others.

Drawn by their presence, the mutant left Mal alone, causing Mal to give chase after it as her HUD warns that she’s running low on ammo, and her VAT telling her that her chances of hitting the mutant with the remaining ammo are hampered by the others’ presence.

No other choice but to go up against the mutant, again, Mal found it in the darkness attempting to attack Rose, and it immediately turned its attention back to her, allowing Rose ample time to escape from their ongoing battle.

The BFG spinning, Mal struggled trying to conserve bullets whilst keeping the mutant from doing permanent damage to the power armor.

It was a difficult thing to do with its strength nearly doubled than the power armor was capable of withstanding.

Having no choice but using the BFG as a blunt force object, Mal batters the mutant with it while she struggles trying to find a way of destroying the mutant without killing everyone else.

Her plight was alleviated by the presence of Hal in her HUD urging her to follow its specific guidelines that it made out prior to a plan that would do just that.

Obviously, it was difficult for her to get her VAT to focus on the specific spots when the mutant proved relentless despite everything Mal did.

Lowlight from the power armor was her only resource as the mutant continued its relentless assault on her and even in her power armor Mal was getting fatigued from the barrage.

Encouraged not to despair by Hal, Mal tries, but the mutant wasn’t letting her out of its sight, and while that was good for the sake of the others, it was a pressure on her.

When the mutant became distracted by the clattering noises coming from a direction, Mal took the opportunity to open fire on the different points marked by Hal, and when the mutant refocused on her, she swung her BFG at it.

Its long claws produce sparks as they slide down the barrel before the mutant attempts to bite her power armor’s helmet.

A black tongue slithers out of the mutant’s maw as it tries slamming itself against the visor.

Covered in thick salvia, Mal’s vision becomes impaired, and she pushes the mutant backwards.

Desperately recovering as she exhales sharply, Mal sees the mutant producing a long tail with a spiked end as it changes its tactics.

Pinging to her, Hal urges her to get away from the battlefield, but the mutant wasn’t done with her as it caught her trying to flee, and it forces her on the ground.

Staring up at the mutant trying to bite through her power armor as its tail wraps around the legs like a rope, Mal struggles as she calls out to Hal about her predicament.

“How about a taste of Betty’s sweet cooking, you damn freak?” Mal hears the echoing sound of Vandal and his gun firing a shot at the mutant.

A blast from the bullet echoes throughout the basement and the jolted mutant flees briefly while giving Mal a chance to force herself up from the ground.

Screeching as the explosive bullets hit it, the mutant rebounds.

Audibly seething at the attacks on it from Vandal, it switches attacking Mal to him, but Mal intercepts as it opens its maw with rage.

Slamming against it, the mutant audibly moaning as it stumbles, Vandal readies another shot as he tells Mal to hurry up.

Unable to give her usual response, Mal struggles to move forward as Vandal opens fire on the mutant yet again.

With every shot he fired at the mutant, Vandal can tell it was making the mutant angrier and more prone to errors, and with a sly grin he goads the mutant into attacking him from a spot.

“Hasta la vista, niña.”

One shot from Betty sent the crane and the supplies linked to it lands on the top of the mutant’s head.

Before the mutant could shrug it off, the explosion from Vandal’s bullets causes a cascade of debris to rain from above, covering the area in a dirty haze as the basement’s integrity becomes compromised.

A waterfall of rocks and building material started pouring from above as Mal and Vandal fled.

Guided by him, Mal sees a hidden hallway opened by the others, and they flee inside just as the hallway they were in collapses.

Fleeing through the cramped hidden hallway once used by Jameson to check on Dizzy, the group didn’t stop fleeing until they were outside the station.

Only when they were outside in the familiar haze of the wasteland did everyone take a chance to breathe, and their hearts finally calm down.

“Everyone, okay?” Vandal asks as he sees the dirtied members of the group coughing.

Glimpsing around, Courtesy warily asks, “Is it dead?”

Eying the station from afar, Vandal answers that he couldn’t be sure, but with the weight of the debris, even if the mutant is still somehow alive, it’ll take a while for it to dig through.

“Are you okay?” Harold asks Mal if she’s able to take a breather having spent what felt like eons battling the mutant.

Slowly breathing in and out, Mal answers, “Peachy. Hal, we’re gonna need bullets. A lot of them.”

Affirming her request, Hal promises to keep an eye out for more.

While she’s recovering from the fighting, Mal notices Harold’s hand bandaged and asks him about it.

He explains he got hurt trying to get into the hidden hallway.

“Don’t hurt yourself, old man,” Mal chides him before slowly swaying her BFG around as she walks ahead with the ground as they all conclude the same thing.

There was nothing left in the television station except a horrible reminder of what often happens in vaults.

“How could they do that to her?” Rose questions poor Dizzy’s fate at the hands of her own boss.

Unhappy about it as much as her, Vandal reminds her it was like what they said before, that the vaults weren’t meant to be the last strongholds of humanity.

What happened to Dizzy happened to countless others like her and she wouldn’t be the last one they’ll encounter.

“There’s a reason I don’t like going near them. It’s like walking over someone’s grave,” Vandal points out.

Once Hal found a settlement close by, the group moves through the wasteland, and once they arrive, Mal gets out of the power armor popping her joints as she yawns.

“It’s a testament to quality that the power armor survived that ghastly thing!” Hal twirls as it notes that despite the cosmetic damage, the power armor survived the mutant’s onslaught.

Nodding, Mal added, “I might’ve not always felt it when that thing threw me around, but I’m gonna feel something in the morning.”

Urging her to relax, Hal promises to fix the power armor’s damages in time.

Having fought the mutant and survived to talk about it, Mal treated herself to a drink, and as she walks with the bottle, she spots Harold having healed his hand with a stimpak he found.

“You feeling better?” Mal asks with genuine curiosity.

Nodding, his raven hair stiffly moving, Harold responds how it was pure luck he found a legitimate stimpak mixed in with the inferior quality.

“And you?” Harold asks in return.

Waving her free hand, Mal says, “Eh, seen better days. Still breathing, so can’t complain.”

Slowly nodding, Harold sighs as he comments about their experiences thus far, before Mal told him how him still being alive ought to be a testament of human stubbornness.

“How do you figure?” Harold raises a brow in confusion as Mal takes a sip of her drink.

Shrugging, Mal lowers the glass as she answers, “Well, despite your lot in life, you haven’t been turned into a bag of meat. That counts for something. Or someone still up there has a sense of humor.”

Thinking it over, Harold admits Mal wasn’t wrong about him surviving this long, he adds that having met Rose and the others in extension lengthened his life.

“Eh, you find any settlement to call home, yet?” Mal idly asks.

Shaking his head, Harold answers how he hadn’t the chance to think long enough about a permanent settlement.

He muses that at this rate, he may very well leave Tennessee all together, go north.

“Heh, you sure about that, old man, you’re already pressed your luck enough, you think you can handle it up there all your lonesome?” Mal eyes him.

Thoughtfully thinking, Harold mentions how the northeast was changing for the better after years of advancement despite its own share of problems.

“Hm, sure, except those synths or whatever the hell they’re called. You’ll be out of work by the time you get up there. Got any plans, then?” Mal brought up.

As she takes a swing of her drink, Harold asserts how he intended to find a new way of living somehow, even if it meant he wouldn’t necessarily be a doctor, anymore.

Admitting he doesn’t know what will be his future, Harold stresses that while he may not know now, doesn’t mean he won’t, then.

“If only more people take your perspective to heart,” Mal sighs.

Blinking, Harold apologizes how they didn’t find anything noteworthy in the television station regarding Mal’s overseer, but she bats the air with her free hand as she tells him that they learnt enough.

Chapter Text

Decompressing after a harrowing experience, the group reconvened into the dining hall with drinks as everything unpacked.

With her hands around the Nuka-Cola bottle, Rose asks about Mal’s overseer’s survival after he evidently discovered the vault beneath the television station.

Thinking it over, Mal sighs as she tells Rose how she saw remnants of heavy bleach usage, which meant her overseer quickly realized what horror lies beneath and fled into the unknown at the first chance.

Frowning, Rose mentions, “Guess we don’t know why he chose there, huh?”

Sitting with a bottle of bourbon, Mal responds how because most of the terminals became inoperable due to the battery acid destroying much of the internals, there’s no telling what her old overseer found that drove him to make the station his improvised fortress.

“Is it possible that mutant got him?” Rose asks.

Shaking her head, Mal said that with the trace amounts of bleach used in the one office she found, he likely realized quickly enough what horrors laid bean to the station, and got out of there before the mutant got his scent.

Where he went afterwards, it’s hard to say, but all Mal knows is that Vault 39 will never be accessed, again.

“You don’t think that thing survived, do you?” Courtesy flinches at the thought.

Vandal threw his two caps in to say how improbable it would be for the mutant to climb out of rubble weighing metric tons, especially with the rain outside making the dirt muddy, and weighing far more than expected.

If they’re lucky, the mutant choked on the mud trying to eat through it in a blind attempt digging itself out of the hole caused by the explosion.

Still, as he learnt over the years, unless they see the body, they don’t know for sure whether it’s dead or not.

He hopes it is, not only for practical reasons, but also out of sense of ending the centuries long suffering of the only survivor in Vault 39.

“Centuries of radiation poisoning and loneliness would’ve killed her mind, she was no more human than a super mutant,” Harold gave his own thoughts as he sips on his tea provided by Hal.

From their point of view, they gave the mutant the only act of kindness that she ever received.

“It’s a horrifying thought that they intentionally constructed the vault right underneath the station!” Hal shudders with its arms as it floats beside the table.

Then again, in its sparse memories of life before, Hal recalls Vault-Tech constructing some vaults underneath certain state capitols.

“That’s the rub. Out of sight. Out of mind,” Vandal sighs as he pulls his beer closer to him.

Fidgeting in his spot, Courtesy frets about their next move, asking if the next area will also have a vault hidden beneath it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go, for now, we’ll hunker here while the storms pass,” Vandal gave him an answer.

Patting Max’s head as it lays beside him, Vandal sighs as he listens to the ambiance outside the reinforced structures.

The wind shrills against the buildings in the settlement with fervent force as the thunder echoes throughout the area.

Hal says there’s a hailstorm southeast of their location, but it wouldn’t make it into their area in time before collapsing into itself.

“My sensors do not indicate a chance of tornadoes, but with spring coming to a close within a few weeks, I shudder it may quadruple in time,” Hal then warned them.

Hopeful that they can find Henry and Heinrich before then, Vandal insists they take the time to decompress and relax, because tomorrow morning they’re leaving for the next location on the map.

“If he survived, maybe he went there after fleeing the station,” Vandal insists.

Thoughtfully thinking to itself, Hal wonders the reason why Heinrich would abandon the station, but no destroy it to quell the mutant within it.

It didn’t make sense to the curious Mr. Handy and Vandal agree that Heinrich wasn’t smart, leaving logs of his presence.

“Because he didn’t think anyone could speak German. It isn’t something someone can pick up in a day… or have a Mr. Handy translate,” Rose suddenly says as she remembers her conversation with Mac and Taylor.

Thinking it over, Vandal agrees as he mentions that languages have been blasted back in the Stone Age, that he’d be surprised if someone could speak fluent Spanish, at this point.

“Whatever the case may be, he might’ve sprung for the next place since its closest to the station,” Vandal sighs as he pushes away his empty beer bottle.

What they may find, Vandal doesn’t know, only that they’re getting closer to figuring out where Heinrich went.

With hopes that the Brotherhood were working towards the factory after Tobey gave them the intel, this job will be put to rest before the final week of spring, and Vandal can return to his normal life as a bounty hunter for hire.

His quiet thoughts were disturbed when a crier came into the room to warn the group about flooded roads in certain areas, and an uptick of mutant attacks in the backroads.

Once the crier finishes with the news they received from a chain of command, they then warn that the settlement would be locking down for the night, and everyone to return to their rooms after this point until tomorrow morning.

Leaving them to their thoughts, the group looked at each other, and Vandal sighed as he stood up from his spot after reaching for the beer he hadn’t opened, yet.

Having no other choice, the group left for their rooms, and as they settled for the night, they heard the droning thunder outside the windows.

After a long bath, Mal combs her damp hair as the curls tightened at the end, she listens to the storm outside as it rages, and the winds slamming into the sides of the buildings.

“It feels like we’re chasing dragons, madam,” Hal voices its opinions as it floats beside Mal’s bed. “What if they’re not at any of the locations?”

As she combs her hair, Mal answers, “We’ll figure something out, Hal. We always do.”

Sighing, Hal responds, “I suppose you’re right, madam, though I can’t help but worry.”

Aware that this was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the massive fights the Brotherhood of Steel fought in, Hal couldn’t help itself.

“Just think of it like fighting raiders, Hal, you don’t go guns blazing unless you know they don’t have anything but a rebar to fight with,” Mal waves her free hand.

A bright flash pierces through the window as lighting dances across the blackened skies above while Hal finds a corner to go into hibernation in as Mal readies for bed.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Mal flops on her bed with her amber eyes staring up at the ceiling.

On her mind, many questions flutters about, but there were no answers to go with them, and all she had were speculations, nothing else.

Briefly, she looks towards her left arm, memories flood into her mind as people like her receive the tattoos before being forcibly sequestered from the rest of the vault who didn’t get the tattoos.

Vaguely, Mal remembers how those who didn’t get the tattoos predominantly had blue eyes, but Henry was the only one blue-eyed person in their vault having a tattoo.

Mal never knew why, and he never said, but his unique position led the overseer to appoint him to handle tasks while he was away.

It weighed on her mind how Henry and Heinrich seemingly reentered her life after all these years, that she wasn’t sure if this was fate pushing her out of her hiding hole, or someone getting a kick out of reopening wounds that’ve barely healed since her escape from the vault.

Like all vaults, her vault fell into disarray.

Whether this was Vault-Tech’s design or not, Mal wasn’t sure, only that once Henry left with a team he put together for a mission, things went downhill.

It happened a little after her thirteenth birthday, Mal remembers because her only gift was a bag of half-eaten chips one of the kids in her class stolen from the other kids.

Doors were automatically started sealing people off from escaping into different parts of the vault.

Mal escapes into the vents while she had the chance, but even then, her time was limited as she noticed the ventilation turning off and something starting to emit from somewhere in the deeper parts of the ventilation system.

Her breathing was ragged as she pushed her way through the vents into the overseer’s office, by then she saw his terminal at the desk with a countdown.

No matter her attempts, the young Mal couldn’t do anything to stop the countdown, and she had no choice but to find a way out into the wasteland above as noxious green gas started seeping into the office.

Finding the override key and a hidden staircase behind the bookshelf, Mal flees through the hallway to the sole door at the end.

Once she used the key, Mal ran into the unknown, but everyone else in her vault had no chance before their rooms filled with the gas.

At thirteen, Mal learnt life above her vault wasn’t any better, but having dealt with harsher cards in life, she survived on her own.

She must’ve been about eighteen when she braved going back to the vault.

To her surprise, the vault opened with a mere guess at the password, but Mal refused to enter it, afraid of the noxious gas that might still permit the vault, and her knowing that there was nobody else alive.

Seeking vengeance against Heinrich for what happened, Mal attempts setting a trap for him with the belief he may be fooled into thinking something gone awry, how the vault hadn’t succumbed to the noxious gas as he hoped, and he’d get his comeuppance coming back to it with curiosity.

After the bombs were planted and the vault resealed with a different passcode that only Heinrich could guess, Mal had no choice but to live her life as a solitary wanderer.

Years passed after that, and Mal didn’t know if Heinrich got the blast to his face as she hoped.

Of course, that was then, and here she was with the realization Heinrich either didn’t go back to the vault, at all, or he did and figured out that she was alive when he used the terminal next to the vault entrance.

Either way Mal sees it, Heinrich getting involved with the Enclave remnant wouldn’t be shocking if not for Henry’s involvement.

Sighing, Mal knew she could think about it forever the rest of the night, but having dealt with a mutant trying to chew through her power armor, she needed some sleep as she turns over on her side.

Chapter Text

“The benefits of being a robot propelled by fusion power; I’m not getting all muddy!” Hal chirps as it follows Mal and the others towards the next location on the deciphered map.

Unsure what they’ll find, the group stuck together watching for sudden movements or anything pinging on Hal and Rose’s PipBoy sensors.

Waddling over the muddy terrain, Courtesy holds onto his trademark purple top hat as Max gracefully runs through the muddy path with its tongue hanging out.

Seeing this, Courtesy sighs, “Max, you’re gonna need a bath after this, again!”

Given how he’s looking traveling the muddy landscape with the others since venturing out of the settlement that morning, Courtesy adds how he’ll need another one himself.

Keeping a firm footing as he walks, Vandal asserts that they’ll make it to the next location before they get enveloped by the mud.

Last night, he just cleaned Betty, and he doesn’t want his work to be a waste.

“I’m just happy we haven’t saw any mutant insects!” Harold exhales sharply as he goes over a hurdle.

The persistent threats of tornadoes and storms kept them at bay, since they still fell to the same issues their progenitors did with wet wings proving impossible for flight.

Agreeing with him, Vandal mentions a time when his abuela tasked him handling a nest of yellow jackets that invaded their laundry room one quaint summer.

Well, he thought about just using his abuela’s hair spray and abuelo’s lighter, before they reminded him how incredibly stupid it was with them threatening to smack him senseless if he tried it.

So, like them now, little Vandal got the idea that if the wasps were waterlogged, then it’d be easy peasy.

Suffice it to say, no good intentions go unpunished.

“You used a gardening hose on them?” Rose raises her fine brow at Vandal as he regales his youth.

With a nod, Vandal explains how wasps weren’t huge then, still aggressive, but not as terrifying as they are, now.

At the end, he did get rid of the nest, at the expense of a summer break and some punishments from his grandparents.

Oh, the things he did when he was a young, dumb kid!

“Did they ever forgive you?” Rose asks with genuine intrigue.

Nodding, Vandal responds with a weak hand wave as he says that his grandparents finally accepted his atonement for it.

If wasps made their nests somewhere else, Vandal knew wisely not to get the hose, and instead pick up a can of insecticide.

As expected, things didn’t go well, since no one knew that the brand of insecticide his abuela grabbed would stain the walls an ugly yellow.

Ah, the memories of his youth are still strong to this day, and amongst them the painful memory of his abuelo dying from a heart attack just after Vandal turned fifteen.

Still curious, Rose asks Vandal, “So, where you from?”

Casually, Vandal answers how he didn’t come from a vault like her, before seriously answering how he came from a city in South California, towards the border.

Mixed hodgepodge of Latin and American cultures, the whole thing, all wasted by the Great War.

Last Vandal knew that area was once controlled by a nasty faction thinking they were Roman legionnaires, but after events that transpired, it’s been languishing.

“Do you ever miss it?” Courtesy asks him.

Thinking it over, Vandal answers how he didn’t miss the traffic, but he does miss the food he used to get from the street vendors that lined the streets every night.

Even if he was still in California, he was transported to rural areas of Mexico with the regional dishes that have crossed the border into the state.

Dishes upon dishes with origins older than everyone there, all made with love and care, and how it was a given that someone would forget to bring antacids with them.

“Oh, I can still smell the grills going,” Vandal sighs as the phantom smell of charcoal and wood hits his nonexistent nose.

It remains a damn shame that it was likely that every recipe known to man has been lost to the Great War.

A damn shame, that even if Vandal wanted to recreate the dishes that once was, it’d be an uphill battle considering the radiation and mutations changing everything under the sun.

Worse, there’s people far removed from then, that they wouldn’t know what even the dishes are if Vandal presented them, much less pronounce them correctly!

“Well, you could always be a cook when you’re done being a bounty hunter. Teach them how to say it properly,” Rose suggests.

Snorting, Vandal remarks, “Little girl, being a bounty hunter is more profitable than being a cook, and while you do have to use much of your pays for bullets, it’s still better.”

The conversations continued until Mal stopped them, Hal confirming that they’d arrived at their destination, and from the Birds Eye view of it, the new location was far different than a television station.

The sight alone was enough to cause Vandal to pause in place as he quietly looked at the building in the distance.

A museum.

The signage since destroyed by the bombings and the elements, the museum was in a rough shape, and from where he stood, Vandal suggests that nobody’s gone to the museum in a long time.

“Why would they come here?” Rose blinks.

She’ll soon get her answers as she follows the group towards the museum, mindful of her steps, her ears trained on the familiar beeping noises of potential dangers hiding in the mud.

Upon reaching the museum, Hal deduces no threats nearby, and the group notices the destroyed statues that once welcomed visitors in front of the building.

Far beyond damaged, whoever they represented was lost to the agile of time.

Warily looking around, Courtesy asks for confirmation from Hal if they’re at the right place, and the twirling Mr. Handy affirms how they’ve arrived at their destination.

“You don’t think there’s raiders holding it down, do you?” Harold worryingly looked at the broken windows with fears a raider would spot them.

Shaking his head, Vandal tells Harold how improbable raiders taking over museums were, as they’d be pressed to understand what even half the items were, and if anything, destroy them out of ignorance.

Still, an abandoned place is a hovel to a raider, so he cautions everyone to stay close, and keep their eyes out for lingering threats.

The front doors were expectedly locked, but Hal effortlessly shot through the locks, allowing them access inside the museum.

Instantly, their nostrils were filled with the strong odor of rotted wood and stagnant air.

Turning on their lights, Hal illuminated the lobby.

Mal’s power armor illuminated an area where visitors would be lined up to go on tours around the museum.

With her PipBoy’s light, Rose sees weathered signs stuck on the wall detailing the museum’s closure following plans moving displays to a different museum, to which Vandal added context by saying how businesses and stations wouldn’t tell the populations how serious things were getting during the Great War.

Given the weathered dates on the signs, this was the week before the bombs dropped, and the curator and everyone in the museum likely realized what was going to happen, given that everyone was on edge.

Wherever they went afterwards, Vandal wouldn’t know, but if they were lucky, they didn’t become irradiated husks.

Seeing the terminal in the receptionist’s desk still online, Hal points them towards it, and they make their way through the eerily quiet museum.

Floating up to the terminal, Hal connects itself, and surpasses the password, allowing it to access everything in the terminal.

There are logs detailing everything that went on during the museum’s time opened with detailed calendars for events, but the more Hal progresses through the terminal, it notes the general tone changing as the person typing everything started becoming stressed and paranoid due to the Great War.

The very last thing the person typed was that the curators came together to tell everyone that the museum was closing due to the curators wanting to store the museum’s prized artifacts following reports of the war turning sour as the days went by.

Desperate to preserve history, the curators urge everyone to help with loading everything up in the trucks, and that was that.

Nothing else was there to be read and Hal disconnects before floating back to Mal’s side.

Curiosity in his blue eyes, Harold wanders around the lobby while Mal orders him and the others to stay in it as she does a parameter search for any vagrants hiding in their midst.

“Don’t get into a cage fight with another mutant!” Vandal dryly says to her as she’s going in a direction for world history.

To which Mal retorts, “Bite my shiny metal ass!”

Chapter Text

Finding anything significant in a museum that hadn’t been visited or maintained for over two centuries was an arduous task.

Much of it had been destroyed, vandalized, or stolen long ago.

The only displays left was empty, if they hadn’t been completely destroyed or removed.

Whether the curator and employees managed to move the contents to a safe place before the bombs fell remains unknown.

However, there were still remnants of what the displays once contained, albeit muted.

Like a child, Courtesy was amazed at the museum, mustering how he could easily create tons of stories to tell for his customers back home, before Vandal reminded him that by the time he returned to his settlement, he may not have a job as a tour guide, anymore.

“People move on, they find something else to fill the void,” Vandal summarizes.

Waving his hand disapprovingly, Courtesy insists how there’ll be work for him when he gets back, that once every one hears his stories, he’ll be back doing tours before Vandal knows it.

“You been gone for weeks, boy, besides that with the shit happening, you better have a contingency plan,” Vandal urges him to avoid a pitfall.

Mulling it over, Courtesy scratches the side of his matted hair as he views the destroyed displays for what looked like an art exhibit.

There was nothing left of it, the elements ruined the letterings above, and the segmented areas where each exhibit were themed accordingly left visible stains on the ground after their removal.

“People used to come to places like this all the time?” Rose asks with curiosity.

Digging through abandoned shelves in the gift shop and finding nothing but thick layers of dust, Harold answers, “Yes. It was meant to serve as a reminder of times before. Rekindle interest in history, inspire for a fruitful future.”

Looking at the rotted posters glued on the walls, Rose asks about the gift shop, and Harold answers that they used to carry books, little plushies, what else to serve as a memory of people visiting the museums.

Seeing how picked clean the gift shop they’re standing in is, Harold notes how it was possible survivors of the Great War were desperate for reminders of times before.

Or, as he learns to expect being in the Wasteland, raiders took what was left of the gift shop for their own depraved uses.

Either way, there wasn’t anything for them in the gift shop.

Leaving it, they see Courtesy coming towards them holding something Max found.

“Hey, Mr. Harold, Rose, look at what Max dug out!” Courtesy showed them a stack of comic books hidden away in an office safe with a broken lock.

Pristine as pristine goes for comic books in the Wasteland, Harold and Rose sees the stack of comic books with a cartoony character of a barbarian on the covers.

“They were in a neat stack, but I don’t think they belonged to whoever owned the safe. Why would someone leave them here?” Courtesy wonders.

Scratching the side of his face, Harold guesses, “One man’s leisure is another man’s treasure?”

Regardless, they were too pristine to be left be, Courtesy opted to take them for himself, curious to read through them when they have a chance.

“Sir? Your impeccable hound has found something!” Hal calls out for Courtesy.

Roused, Courtesy finds Hal floating near an opened doorway into a closet.

Inside, Max barks and Courtesy enters as he calls out the German Shepherd’s name.

In the back of the room, the German Shepherd’s furiously pulling on something laying on the ground, a duffel bag of some kind, and Courtesy calls out to Max telling it to stop.

Unclenching it, Max barks as it wags its tail while Courtesy walks up to it.

“Whatcha find this time, you little scamp?” Courtesy asks it.

Pointing at the duffel bag with its nose, Max barks, and Courtesy investigates.

Knelt beside the duffel bag, Courtesy adjusts his purple top hat before proceeding to dig around the contents.

Whistling in awe, Courtesy finds it filled to the brim with supplies such as legitimate stimpaks.

“Oh! Cool! I was getting a little hungry!” Courtesy pulls out a granola bar mixed in with the supplies.

Poking their heads in the room, Rose and Harold asks about Max’s latest discovery.

Showing them the granola bar, Courtesy comments, “We’ve hit jackpot! I ain’t ever seen this much stuff in one little place before!”

Curiosity in his blue eyes, Harold requests to see the granola bar, and Courtesy handed it to him.

Holding the sealed wrapper, Harold studies it, before concluding that whoever left it behind in the bag came to the museum relatively recent.

“You can’t be too sure, doc, all them preservatives, all that,” Vandal strolls in after hearing the commotion in the hallway and came by to check.

Turning his head, Harold rephrases his answers by stating that it hasn’t been exposed to the elements that could compromise the integrity.

“The good sir is correct. The granola bar is hardly nutritional, but it’s edible enough that it probably won’t kill you after consumption,” Hal scans the granola bar in Harold’s hand.

Spurred by it, the three dug deeper into the bag.

There are three different sets of clothes inside, neatly folded and wrapped up, and upon further inspection as Courtesy wanted to take some socks for his own use, Rose and Harold notices one of the sets of clothes looking familiar.

Pulling it out of the bag, it took time to free it from the confines of the plastic, but with some help from Vandal, the two pulled out a vault suit.

“Vault 18?” Harold blinks.

Confused as he studies the vault suit, Courtesy asks them, “Where’s that at?”

Turning towards Hal, Vandal asks if it knew all the publicly known vaults, and Hal responds with clarity how it has some information.

“Though, it’s quite limited after my misfortunate accident. I could try,” Hal ponders as Vandal tells it to try, anyway.

Humming as it searches its internal databanks, Hal then tells Vandal there was some minor corruption, otherwise, it has no record of Vault 18.

“It could be one of the hidden ones,” Harold suggests to Vandal.

Mulling it over, Vandal agrees with Harold, commenting how no one can be certain how many vaults there are in the former United States.

Still, they have a vault suit wrapped up in plastic, and the more Vandal studies it, he can pick up a hint of bleach.

Laundry mats no longer existed, few people understood what bleach is and what its intended purposes were these days, but the rare people who knew would often use it to mask their scents more than using bleach to clean their clothes.

Checking the other clothes, one was a bleached-white lab coat, but the last set of clothes drew even more interest.

Careful about cutting it, Vandal pulls away the plastic more to find a pearly white suit.

Seeing the clothes laid out, Harold frowns as he wonders why anyone would leave the duffel bag behind.

Digging around the duffel bag with intent on finding everything hidden inside, Vandal shrugs as he guesses, “Maybe he thought he’d be back here to collect it?”

It was a decent guess given the amount of food in the duffel bag with heaps of purifying tablets and hand sanitizers.

There’re enough subtle markers to guess this belonged to a germaphobe more than someone trying to avoid becoming a mutant’s lunch.

The clothes bleached and cleaned to the point they smelled off to someone who lived in the Wasteland, it’s a miracle the colors weren’t faded from the bleach use.

Outside of medical supplies, food, and the clothes, there’s not much else to go on other than the vault suit, it’s enough for Vandal to get the ball going on theories as he notices the lack of ammunition or weaponry in the bag.

It was telling for him as he concluded this belonged to Henry.

Investigating where the duffel bag was found, Vandal looks down at the ground seeing the faint outline of the bag.

They missed him by days, maybe a week or two, but this was a recent drop-off.

“Think you can carry the bag?” Vandal asks Courtesy.

Nodding, Courtesy bolsters how he can carry Brahim chucks over the steepest hills.

Snorting, Vandal then gave him the order, and Courtesy hoists it over his shoulders with the granola bar hanging out the side of his mouth.

The familiar thudding of the power armor drew their attention and everyone leaves the room to see Mal coming towards them.

She tells them that she didn’t see anything or anyone, that the museum had areas where even she can’t get to because of the roof collapsing in sections.

Some areas have caved-in floors, so she warns them to watch their steps, and with her clearance, the group splinters off into different directions.

Chapter Text

Walking alongside Courtesy and Max as they explored the museum, Rose’s curiosity was heightened as she saw remnants of what the museum used to be in the grit.

“This is better than the museum I used to dig through back home!” Courtesy notes as he glimpses around. “Don’t have to worry about coming home to pa with an extra thumb, too!”

Equally marveling the lack of radiation hotspots, Rose wonders why Henry would come to the museum in the first place, as evident there isn’t anything of value for the enigmatic man.

“Well, maybe if we find a terminal, maybe we can see if he left another diary?” Courtesy suggests.

Though, the more he thought about what he said, Mal would’ve said something if there were terminals for them to use after her patrol.

“I hope it’s not another vault!” Rose winces at the chances that Henry discovered yet another vault hidden underneath the museum, before Courtesy comforts her.

He points out that Mal would’ve said something if there was another one, but she didn’t, so they’re able to breath for the moment.

Still, he understands Rose’s uncomfortableness.

Wagging its tail, Max woofs in an attempt to further comfort Rose, and Rose thanks it by rubbing the top of its head.

Slowly moving around the museum, Rose and Courtesy see more destruction as time and vandals made work of the structure with another graffiti warning about Chicken Charlie’s presence painted on the wall.

This time, it included a depiction of the supposed madman complete with dark empty eyes and an uncanny grin dripping with blood.

“Are we sure he’s just a spook story?” Rose hesitates seeing the graffiti.

Studying the detailed graffiti complete with graphic depictions of Chicken Charlie’s infamy, Courtesy hesitates before assuring Rose how the minutemen would’ve gotten Chicken Charlie.

And if not the minutemen, no doubt a handsomely paid bounty hunter will gladly help rid the Wasteland of the cannibal.

“He has to be dead by now. Grissom says if you eat human flesh, it makes you crazy, and then you die,” Courtesy further attempts comforting Rose by bringing up something Grissom told him about when it came to the taboo topic.

Granted, Courtesy wasn’t a “city boy” by any stretch, but the concept was enough for him to understand the seriousness.

Thinking it over, Rose flinches as she brings up how it was possible Chicken Charlie is still alive despite the risks, given their encounter with the mutant.

Even then, she had her doubts that the mutant was dead.

“Aw, don’t worry, none. We’re more protected than a Brahmin trader,” Courtesy swats the air.

Smiling, Rose spots something in the distance, and going up to it, she sees advertisements for tours in Memphis left behind centuries ago.

“Graceland?” Rose raises a brow.

Courtesy joins her side with Max in tow as he comments, “I heard stories about Graceland from Grissom. He said it’s not anything special even in his time, really, but people made treks to see it up until the war. I know the Elvis operates out of it all the time. It’s like fortified because of the raiders, but Elvis likes to keep an open dialogue with everyone in Memphis. And he’s not fond of being called the King. So, if you see him, don’t make the same mistakes.”

Due to Elvis impersonators from New Vegas circulating throughout the Wasteland the notion Elvis was a king, Elvis that rules over Memphis took extreme offense to being misconstrued as a king, and will bite someone’s head off if they make the mistake of calling him one.

Metaphorically, of course.

“So, what’s the deal? I heard stories about kings ruling castles from dad, doesn’t seem so bad to get called a king,” Rose asks. “Well, I guess unless you do a bang-up job.”

Shrugging, Courtesy answers, “Grissom said that the original Elvis only got his title as the King from marketing. He didn’t care much for it, said it was poor taste being called that, or something. I guess that Elvis is keeping up the tradition.”

Seeing the old worn advertisements, Rose can see how Memphis was heavily known for its musical roots with a distorted image of Elvis on the sides of the advertisements.

Moving on to look at other areas of the museum, they wander aimlessly while mindful of the sunken parts of the museum alongside the caved-in ceilings.

As Mal said, there wasn’t anything left behind of the old museum, but it can be said it standing this long despite the ravenous tornadoes was a miracle.

Why this was on a map and why Henry came here, no one had the answers, but the only thing that made sense that something was here.

What that is, again, there’s no answer, only speculation, and worry that it’s something even worse than Henry’s silver tongue.

“Well, whatever it is, I ain’t seen it, neither did Mal,” Courtesy scratched the side of his head as his messy hair stiffly moves.

Sniffing the ground and the air, Max kept its eyes pointed forward as it moves with the two between different rooms.

Rotted books left on shelves or on the floor collecting in a heap, yellowed papers sprawled across on another floor, broken terminals with some having their internals ripped out, there wasn’t anything showing the final thoughts of the employees in the museum.

Left to their imagination, both Rose and Courtesy thought about what it felt like.

“If there’s no vault underneath the museum, where do you think they went?” Courtesy sheepishly asks Rose.

Chewing on her lip, Rose thinks before she suggests employees fleeing to the nearest vaults the moment, they gotten the chance after seeing the writing on the proverbial wall.

Acknowledging how they haven’t found skeletons or remnants of them, Courtesy wonders what happened afterwards.

Their questions remaining unanswered, they’re lured by Max as it woofs for their attention as it points with its nose while moving towards a rotted wall.

“Careful, Rose,” Courtesy felt the flooring subtly giving as they walk on it.

Feeling the flooring sinking as she walks, Rose slowly follows Max as it sits in front of the wall with its nose pointing up.

Woofing, the German Shepherd refuses to move from its spot.

Seeing this, Courtesy and Rose share a look before Rose uses a crowbar she found in one of the rooms as a blunt object.

Moving away, Courtesy and Max watches as Rose took the crowbar to the wall.

The teeth catch the rotted wood and made it easier for Rose to pull away the worn pieces.

Around them the air filled with the smell of rust and mildew while Rose ripped out chunks of the wall exposing something unusual.

A metal shielding in the diameter of a small window that didn’t look rusted and almost pristine.

Max didn’t move away as it insists that there’s something more than just the shielding.

Using the crowbar’s teeth, Rose digs into the seams between the shielding and the rotted wood.

She struggles a few times before Courtesy helps her as she held the duffel bag.

It took a few more tries before the teeth got behind the shielding and allows Courtesy better grip.

Pulling on the crowbar from behind as she helps Courtesy, Rose watches the metal shielding slowly pull away from the wall.

One final tug sent the shielding with a loud crash on the ground, causing it to sink a little, and everyone running to see what happened.

Once the dust settled, they see a hidden safe buried into the wall.

“Leaded, no wonder your fancy power armor couldn’t see it!” Vandal sees the metal shielding on the ground.

Mal gave a jab back at him with, “Funny, I thought you’d sniff it out!”

Chapter Text

With Hal’s help, Vandal opens the safe to feel the pressurized air blast him in the face, before getting to work rummaging through it.

Hidden in the safe are artifacts from even before his time, all safely packaged and stowed away inside the safe, but as Vandal spots that even though someone took care storing them inside the safe, it was evident they were panicking.

Whether they got the word that the peace talks failed or the anxieties got to them, Vandal doesn’t know, but they took great pains trying to keep whatever history was left safe from nuclear fallout.

To their credit, whoever did it succeeded, as the leaded box hiding the safe did more than prevent the potential radiation from ruining the artifacts, and they were left untouched for over two-hundred years.

Whatever happened to them after their successful task, well, Vandal learnt not to get too sentimental about someone he doesn’t know.

Retrieving a bundle, he unfolds to find perfectly preserved medals, and the moment he saw the glisten he stops.

Seeing him uncharacteristically uneasy, Rose asks the bounty hunter what was wrong, and Vandal reveals to her that these are medals that were given to people working under the Axis power.

It took coaxing by Hal not to toss the medals aside, but Vandal calmly put them up so he can dig through the safe deeper, and he found more items from a sore spot in the world’s past.

Felt like he was back in school with the history presented to him, down to plaques detailing atrocities and then some.

Pushing through, Vandal finds more recent artifacts, but as he goes through them, Max starts growling as its ears pointed upright and its tail tensing up.

“What’s a matter, boy?” Courtesy carefully knelt down to pet the agitated dog.

Digging around, Vandal pulls out empty picture frames that were haphazardly put back in the bundles of protective sheets.

“Ah-hah!” Vandal shows the group the empty picture frames. “Guess someone didn’t like the way they looked!”

Meticulously, someone went through the efforts taking out the photos from the picture frames, and as Vandal studies the picture frames, someone forgot to take off the bronze nameplate from one of them.

Colonel H. Krauser.

“Looks like our boy didn’t like the way he looked,” Vandal shows the empty picture frame to Mal as she quietly stares back.

With the indicators Heinrich sent Henry on a mission to rid anything that resembled him for whatever reason, it still left questions regarding not leaving the safe exposed to the elements.

Someone like Heinrich should’ve been happy about history being irradiated and used as toilet paper by the raiders, but either had second thoughts or Henry wasn’t fond of the thoughts about destroying history.

Either way, two empty picture frames was good enough for Vandal to conclude their mission at the museum.

Besides that, it wasn’t safe for them to continue trolling for clues, the floors beneath were starting to groan and wear out from them moving around so much, and Mal’s power armor wasn’t helping with the weight, either.

Following Hal’s insistence, Vandal replaced everything back in the safe, and as he did, he noticed that there was a singular uniform missing from one of racks inside the safe, but didn’t get a chance to look too deeply as Hal warns there’s a storm front moving in from the west bringing with it hail and wind.

Once everything was back inside, Hal reseals the safe, and they hid it back behind the wall with the intent to keep its content safe in the hopes someone with noble intent wanted to relearn the history of yore.

Filing out of the museum, the skies above were a shade of gray, and Hal pointed them in the direction of a settlement named Logan.

During their trek as the skies started blackening above, all but Mal talked about the museum.

Mostly, Vandal gave Rose history lessons, and why the medals he found gave him a sense of disgust.

If not for Hal, he’d easily trash them, but then he’d be no better than those who altered history for their own gain.

“Why would he go through the safe for pictures?” Rose found it baffling how Henry went through the efforts of removing the pictures. “How’d he know those pictures were there to begin with?”

As he walks, Vandal guesses when Henry came through, the terminals were online, and he managed to get inside them.

Someone probably had a note or two about the safe and he went from there.

Whatever motive he had, well, Vandal can come up with several, but at the end of the day, they have an ace in their midst.

“You smelled him good, didn’t you, boy?” Vandal asks Max as it follows Courtesy.

Affirming with a bark that it did, Vandal decides, “Well, looks to me we can kill two birds with one stone.”

A matter of timing since evident by the skies turning black and the air turning warm, the storms were on fast approach, but Vandal felt like they have a better chance of finding Henry with Max.

Upon reaching Logan, they find a safe place to sleep for the time being, and as they settled around the table, the storm outside starts to make its appearance in the area.

Flowing like waterfall, rain drenches the already soaked landscape, and in the distance lighting and thunder rumbles throughout.

Sitting around the table with food and drinks, everyone except Mal talked amongst themselves as the rain outside hits the reinforced windows.

Weighing on her mind, Rose quietly ponders to herself, until she opts to broach a question with Mal sitting across from her.

“Was… preserving history something either of them did?” Rose broaches as she glimpses to Mal quietly chewing on her piece of fried chicken.

Briefly, Mal stopped chewing, and said, “Our overseer did. Whenever he went topside, he’d send back things he found, and Henry would put them up in his office for him.”

Keeping it at that, she went back to chewing on the fried chicken.

Nearly jumping from his seat as he heard the thunder crashing outside, Harold exhales sharply before settling back in his spot while patting down his shirt.

“You okay, old man?” Mal asks him as she turns her head.

Brushing himself off, Harold admits, “I’ll be okay once these storms finally stop!”

Humming as it checked its internal sensors, Hal reminds him how there were weeks left in the season, and there were more storms brewing, too.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and a tornado sends the bastards to Oz!” Vandal huffs.

Chapter Text

Lighting illuminates the dark skies above Clarence, a settlement five miles from Logan as the storm continues raging well into the night.

Some easily fell asleep to the sound of heavy rain hitting the windows, while others remain cautious, as many prone doing since the return of spring.

Their trigger fingers ready to hit the button warning everyone of night tornadoes, minutemen took shifts keeping an eye on the storm and the radios.

“I don’t know which is worst, spring or the super mutants!” Morris settles in his seat as he listens to the storm outside the station.

Overhead he heard another minuteman, Clarkson, give perspective on the matter, “Spring goes away, super mutants don’t.”

As he rubs his eyes, Morris exhales as he remarks how many close calls the minutemen had since they broke through the south after years of working alongside the locals and earning their keep.

“Could be worse. Out in the Midwest, I heard they get tornadoes every day, all shapes and sizes, hours on end. Everyone lives out of storm shelters!” Morris hears Clarkson warn him how there’s always something worse.

Begrudgingly, Morris agrees how Clarkson was right about that, mentioning how he couldn’t imagine anyone living in the Midwest with constant tornadoes.

“Stubbornness for you,” Clarkson summarizes as he hears a loud clap of thunder outside their station with heavy rainfall hitting the windows.

Nothing from the other minutemen, yet, but storms can always turn on a dime, and the two have no choice but remain attentive in the chance they needed to rally everyone into the shelters.

“What about that guy we were told about?” Morris asks about their other assignment.

Clarkson shrugs as he answers, “I don’t get it, how’s one man without a weapon survive out there? I don’t care how good of a talker you are, your luck’s running out sooner than later.”

As he shrugs, Morris waves his hand as he tells Clarkson the chances of their secondary assignment either were eaten by super mutants or the tornadoes.

“And I doubt this guy’s capable of talking his way out of trouble with a tornado!” Morris spats.

Agreeing with him, Clarkson adds, “I’d be surprised if he gets one word out of his mouth before the super mutants rips it off!”

Tipping his hat forward as he felt his eyes growing tired from being on shift since before dark, Clarkson couldn’t help himself but yawn.

Thunder kept Clarkson from fully falling asleep, hard when it sounded like things exploding in his ears, and he groans as he says aloud, “I’m so sick of this shit!”

Chuckling at his plight, Morris assures him that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

“How long until our shift’s over?” Clarkson asks him.

Checking the time, Morris answers with a dry, “About four more hours, pending any tornadoes or super mutants.”

Sensing the growing discontent from underneath Clarkson’s hat, Morris comprises by offering to make them coffee.

Rousing, Clarkson requests cream and sugar with his coffee.

As he adjusts his hat, Morris remarks, “Too much caffeine’s bad for you, y’know?”

Casually shrugging, Clarkson brings up, “As opposed to everything else?”

Shaking his head, Morris goes to make them coffee before finding that there was no more left at the table, the shift before failed to replenish the supplies before leaving.

“I told them! Always make sure there’s some left for the rest of us. Where the hell are they putting all that coffee?” Morris grows irritated as he double checks.

Briefly pulling up his hat, Clarkson groans, “They’re going to revoke our coffee privileges!”

Pulling on his leather jacket, Morris informs Clarkson his intent on running out to the supply house to grab more coffee, and asks if Clarkson can handle being on his own for a few minutes.

“Relax, it’s not my first day!” Clarkson shoos him out of the station.

Morris departs, leaving Clarkson alone as he listens to the storm outside, and the radio pulled close to him.

Relaxing in the chair with his hat still over his face, Morris briefly closes his eyes as he tries to brace himself for the next few hours.

He hopes it’ll be last time when there was a storm, all it was rain with some minor hail, no tornadoes, and work was easy.

However, his hopes dashed when he remembers that their leader sent the bulletins.

“Maybe we’ll have it easy, won’t have to do much!” Clarkson mumbles to himself.

If they’re lucky, if anything happens, it’ll be the next shift’s problem, not theirs.

It was all that Clarkson can hope for, since he didn’t want to deal with any more surprises than he needed to until his next shift.

Adjusting himself in his seat as he awaits Morris’ return, Clarkson begins dozing off as the repetition of the rain starts affecting him, and though he tries to keep himself awake, the rain ensures he struggles.

Mumbling to himself, Clarkson hopes Morris returns from the supply house with more coffee before he completely falls asleep.

Becoming further numbs to the thunder outside the station, Clarkson’s mind starts drifting, and his eyes refuses to open despite his attempts to force them open.

Slowly, Clarkson couldn’t fight against it, and as his mind drifts, he stirs after hearing the front door opening.

“Make it extra strong, Morris, we’re going to need it!” Clarkson mumbles. “Don’t forget! Two sugar cubes and cream!”

Instead of hearing Morris, Clarkson heard a soft-spoken man say, “I’m afraid he’s indisposed at the moment.”

Quickly pulling off his hat when he didn’t recognize the voice, Clarkson’s met with a man about in his 40s or 50s wearing a rain smock.

“Who’re you?” Clarkson grew defensive as he stares into the man’s blue eyes behind his round glasses.

Calmly raising his hand, the man explains, “Someone who only wants answers.”

Clarkson retorts, “If you’re looking for an answer to a riddle, you’re better off going to the bar!”

Softly chuckling, the man then says, “But I thought you minutemen know everything, am I wrong?”

Visibly annoyed, Clarkson irritably asks, “What do you want?”

Coming forward, the man answers with an accented, “I want some answers and you will tell me what I want to know, yes?”

Disgruntled with the man, Clarkson attempts telling him off, but he felt paralyzed and his mind drifts as his body moves without his provocation.

“Firstly, who told you about me?” The man leans forward.

Staring deeply into Clarkson’s gray eyes, his blue eyes pierce them with no hesitation.

“I…” Clarkson struggles as he tries to tell the man off, but his body became hijacked, and instead his mouth moves on its own.

Instead of insults, Clarkson answers with a disjointed, “It’s anonymous, we don’t know who tips us off!”

Chuckling, the man shakes his head with his arms behind his back as he paces around the station marveling at the sight.

Briefly stopping at the photos of the minutemen serving in Logan, the man responds with a sarcastic, “How predictable! Do you expect me to believe that?”

Turning around, the man walks back to Clarkson who remains stuck in his chair as his limbs failed to move.

Now in front of him, the man asks Clarkson how much he knows about the super mutants, and as Clarkson’s gray eyes remained fixated on the man’s blue eyes, he was compelled to respond with everything he was taught about.

“Ja, they are indeed a menace, but do you know they’re much more easily controlled than you expect? So, easily in fact, I can show you personally,” the man’s sinister nature comes in strongly as he threatened Clarkson.

Desperate, Clarkson tries to cry out for Morris and anyone who may hear him over the radio, but the man softly chuckles as Clarkson was unable to move his mouth unless the man commands him.

“You inferiors never cease to amaze me!” The man chortles.

With Clarkson’s undivided attention, the man smiles, but it wasn’t a warm smile, and throughout the forced conversation, Clarkson was left to scream aimlessly in his mind.

Chapter Text

Lighting blinded the soggy landscapes while thunder deafened everyone outside in the storms, even inside things were no different, though the thunder somewhat muffled by the reinforced walls as the covered windows kept the bright lighting from waking up patrons in their rooms of the inn.

Kept awake by the storms, Harold reads the books gifted to him by Mal as an oil lamp acts as his light source.

Vandal was sure that Max caught the scent of the elusive Henry and that tomorrow they’ll have a chance catching up to him.

He theorized that if they kept their distance and Hal being a robot, they shouldn’t have problems ridding the Wasteland of the man before he causes any more trouble.

Although it sounded like a decent idea, Harold couldn’t help but worry that Henry wouldn’t be alone, and may even have super mutants at his beck and call.

Again, Vandal was sure that even if Henry did have super mutants protecting him, he was far likelier to send them to their deaths, as he done with people wrapped around his fingers before.

There was belief that Henry was never the type to keep “company” around for long and if anything, he wanted to keep up the ruse that he was a harmless wanderer making their rounds through the state until someone makes the mistake of interacting with him, whether it be a concerned minuteman or raider.

Forced to trust the bounty hunter’s hunches, having no other choice, Harold leaves it at that, but he couldn’t help but worry all the same.

Thumbing through the pages of the books, Harold’s tired eyes gleam at the diagrams of various human organs, conditions that affect them, treatment plans, and so on.

Eventually, his heavy eyes forcibly close, and he falls asleep with one of his books in his hands.

Not even the loudest of thunder woke him from his sleep as he began softly snoring.

“Mr. Harold!” Rose violently shakes his shoulders as he remains asleep. “Mr. Harold! You need to wake up!”

It took a few times before his tired eyes open to see a distress Rose in front of him.

Stirred from his sleep, Harold groggily asks, “What’s wrong?”

Jolted as Rose pulls him from his bed, she quickly says there’s a tornado, and everyone’s getting into the shelters.

Alarmed, Harold’s groggy mind quickly recovers as he haphazardly follows her downstairs with people rushing out into the torrential rainstorm as whistles blew.

Pulled by Rose, Harold follows her towards a shelter as minutemen waved people through as they gave specific orders.

Thunder loud it popped his eardrums, lighting so bright it nearly blinded him, without Rose guiding him, Harold thought he would trip over himself before led down the stairs into the shelter.

Murmuring with fright in their voices, people huddled in corners as they dreaded the impact of the storm, the only comfort was the bright lights the minutemen put on for them to see clearly.

“Rose!” Courtesy calls out to her as he and Max are wrapped in towels as they dripped head to toe.

Waving her hand, Rose walks with Harold over to them as Courtesy exhales sharply.

“I guess Vandal and them are in the other shelter, but man, I was sleeping good, too!” Courtesy haphazardly tries to dry his trademark purple top hat.

Hopeful that they are, Harold asks if he and Max are alright.

Confirming he was with Max beside him affirming with a woof, Courtesy winces as he hopes people elsewhere are safe from the tornado.

Minutemen came downstairs after sealing the shelter as they urged people to keep calm and follow their orders.

Huddled close to them, Harold rubs away the water from his glasses as he listens to the ambiance of the shelter.

Like them, they were caught off guard by the sudden announcement of a tornado, but thankful that the minutemen were able to rouse them from their sleep before it was too late.

Now, it was a waiting game.

The minutemen turned on the radio, allowing them to listen to the Moose’s radio station.

A woman briefly screams when something exploded not too far from the shelter and at first it was thought to been a transformer before the minutemen calmed the alarmed settlers how they still have power.

It felt like eons trapped in the shelter that Harold could hardly sleep, but eventually his eyes closed again, and when he woke up the next morning everyone started filing out of the shelter.

Rubbing his eyes as he yawns, Harold walks as he listens to the settlers talking amongst themselves.

Ahead of him, Rose and Courtesy with Max walking closely beside the two, and as the sun shined on his face, something felt off to Harold.

Unsure if it was his sleep being disturbed by the storms, Harold grew curious, and he soon rejoins Vandal as he appears looking for something from the way he glimpses around.

“Glad to know you’re among us, still!” Courtesy shows genuine comfort that Vandal survived the storms.

Saying similar to him, Vandal looked between them, causing Rose to ask what was wrong.

“Where’s the broad and her robot?” Vandal asks.

Blinking, Courtesy points at him as he answers with a confused, “Well, I thought they were with you.”

Shaking his head, Vandal tells them that he didn’t see either two in the shelter.

Their conversation halts when Max sniffs the air and starts growling with its ears pointed and hair standing up.

Watching Max, Courtesy asks what was wrong, and the spry German Shepherd runs off, leaving him and the others following behind as they pass by settlers returning to their homes and businesses.

In a heap with a massive hole born through its chassis and its eyes transfixed in a frozen position, Hal.

Running up to the heap, Rose’s heart sank as she looks upon Hal unresponsive, but worse, there was no Mal.

Aghast at the sight of Hal, Courtesy glimpses around certain Mal wasn’t far, but as the group realizes, she wasn’t there.

Its tail agitatedly moving, Max bares its teeth as it moves towards a spot adjacent to Hal’s chassis where there was a broken bottle of wine.

Judging from how it looked, Vandal says that Mal used it as a weapon, and though the rain made work of the wine, Max was still able to catch the scent of blood.

“We have to find her!” Rose quickly made the decision.

Gesturing with his hands, Vandal promises they’ll do just that, but they’d be foolish to run off without a plan.

“We have hers and whoever caught her’s scent, right?” Vandal assures them.

Chapter Text

Head spinning worse than a raider being thrown up in the air by a warrior ant, her mind a mess, Mal groggily opens her eyes as her vision blurs.

Failing to move her arms and legs, Mal groggily moves her head, it felt like a cement block in between her shoulders.

Briefly, the events leading up to this flashes in her mind.

Asleep, she remembers being in her bed before Hal woke her up telling her they needed to head for the shelters, and she forced herself out of bed.

They were outside in the heavy rain with blinding lighting covering the skies.

Something happened, they got turned around.

Every time Mal tries to think hard what happened, her head stung, and she becomes nauseated.

Mumbling, Mal groggily attempts moving her limbs again, but to no avail, they felt like sandbags.

She didn’t hear anyone or anything, it’s quiet, and she thinks it’s cold.

It must have stopped raining and she’s indoors; Mal thinks.

How long has she been out for…?

Where’s everyone…?

… Where is she?

“Mhm,” Mal mumbles as she tries once more to move her heavy head as her vision slowly recovers.

Groggily blinking, Mal finds herself in a dark room, don’t know where, but obviously not familiar.

Nothing stood out to her and as she slowly looks down, Mal finds herself arms tied to a chair, and her feet bound.

Hal nowhere in sight, it was only her.

“Mhm!” Mal attempts to move her arms.

Tightly bound, her feet the same, Mal couldn’t even move her mouth.

The door into the room creaks opens and Mal stiffly moves her head as someone steps through the threshold.

Footsteps coming towards her, Mal sees an outline of a person in front of her, and she then hears a voice.

“Ah! The frau has finally awakened!” Mal hears before she freezes in place as the footsteps moved toward a different part of the room and she’s enshrouded in light.

Fully visible, Mal stiffly recoils as she feebly attempts getting away from the man in front of her.

Chuckling at her, the man peppers random German and sometimes full-on sentences as he speaks to her, appalled how Mal would treat him with such scorn.

“I thought we were friends,” Henry quietly mocks her as she sees his nose covered in heavy bandages.

The grogginess Mal felt slowly subsides as its replaced with hatred while she fights against the restraints as she leers at him.

“I should’ve known it was you. You were always a troublemaker at your core. Out of all of them, you always had potential. A shame your father never had any,” Henry shows disapproval towards Mal for his exposure to the Brotherhood and the minutemen.

Biting the gag in her mouth as she was unable to shout at him, Mal was forced to emote her displeasure with her eyes.

Sighing, Henry pushes up his round glasses as he bemoans Mal further, complaining how she always made trouble ever since she was a small girl.

Realizing Mal wouldn’t be able to respond to him, he opts to take off her gag, and instantly Mal hurls insults his way.

“Ah, how I forget you inferiors’ penchant for coarse language!” Henry shows displeasure before stepping backwards.

Pulling on the restraints, Mal didn’t hesitate insulting Henry, and he let her do this until he grabs her head and forces her to stare into his blue eyes as he calmly talks to her.

Unable to move her eyes or close them, Mal is forced to stare into Henry’s blue eyes as he questions her, and no matter how much she wanted to shout at him, the only things coming out of her mouth were answers.

Tilting his head, Henry bluntly asks her, “Was it you that made that trap?”

Chewing on her lips, Mal tries keeping herself from answering him, but he commanded her with, “I order you to speak!”

Her mouth forcibly opens with Mal answering, “Yes!”

Chuckling at her answer, Henry speaks in German briefly before deducing, “Ah. Ja, I know why. Your father.”

Unable to break her gaze, Mal chews on her lips as Henry shakes his head.

Wagging his finger as he disdainfully says, “Your father never knew his place. An optimistic inferior! But I suppose you never did find him, yes?”

Mal near bites her lips off trying to stop herself from answering his question, but Henry forces her by shouting, “Sprechen!”

Against herself, she replies with, “No!”

Chuckling, Henry shakes his head with amusement as he paces around the room, a smile on his face, he remarks, “My poor despondent inferior. I suppose you want to find him after all these years, yes?”

Not even bothering forcing her to speak, Henry instead talked.

“I put him in his place,” Henry says before punching Mal in her gut.

The impact was enough to cause her to let out a guttural cry as Henry chuckles.

“It was easy to trick him, you know? Fill his head with these ideas,” Henry remembers the events vividly despite it being decades old. “He was desperate, that he didn’t question anything!”

Grinning, Henry then adds with latent joy, “How it was so easy to trick them all!”

Not content with the gut punch, Henry moved on to using a rusty pipe he picked up from a corner in the room.

Wielding it, Henry tells her, “It wasn’t hard, you know.”

He whacks her with the pipe, Mal audibly groaning after the impact.

“Humans are so easily swayed. Make them feel special, important, and they’ll do all the work for you!” Henry brims with excitement before whacking her with the pipe again.

Her body throbbing as she’s unable to cry out in pain, Mal feels blood beginning to run down her face.

“All these years and for what? Did you think you’d have a happy ending?”

Bringing down the pipe on her again, Henry watches as Mal’s unable to escape the impact, and now her face bloodied completely.

Seeing her unable to shout at him, Henry mocks it as, “Heh, cat got your tongue?”

Woozily, Mal was unable to even manage an insult, and Henry chortles, “Ah, the beauty of science!”

With fiendish glee, Henry regales how it was such a joy for him to be put in charge of their vault after careful planning.

It wasn’t hard, really, when Vault-Tech was already a monster in their own right, that when the opportunity presented itself, of course Henry had to take advantage.

By the time Vault-Tech would’ve terminated the contract after finding out he was going against their wishes, it was too late, they’d already been lost to the ages after the bombs.

“Science, my inferior, it’s quite a feat, but of course, sacrifices must be made. It’s folly to suggest otherwise,” Henry sighs as he reminisces the past.

But here they are in the present, Henry isn’t a shriveled corpse trapped in a pod, to the untrained eyes, he was in his 40s at best.

All thanks to science!

But enough of that, as Henry notes that Mal didn’t want to hear him rattle on about the past, as he briefly lowers the pipe.

“Were you following me?” Henry demands Mal answer.

Gritting her teeth, Mal was forced to respond with, “Yes!”

Chortling, Henry made comments in German before he says in English, “Hah! Ah, if only you weren’t an inferior, your penchant for robotics would’ve been welcomed, but alas. A shame Vault-Tech never saw it my way.”

Even more a shame, as Henry noted there were others with similar potential in the vault.

He didn’t even know whether the result of the gassing was the endgame of the original vault experiment or whether Vault-Tech put it in as a failsafe in case someone like him took control of the intended experiment and forcibly altered it.

“But, as I said, in the past,” Henry swats the air.

Her eyes only able to show her anger towards him, Mal watches as Henry hum to himself while holding the bloody pipe.

Chapter Text

With the scent of Mal and Henry, Max guides the others through the soggy Wasteland as they rushed to rescue her.

In Mal’s power armor, Courtesy finds it difficult to use without Hal’s assistance, but he forced himself to persevere regardless.

“There’s a good chance he made her talk about us,” Vandal warns the group as he prepares Betty for a battle of wits and super mutants. “Hell, there’s a chance she’ll attack us.”

Learning everything about Henry made it clear what they can expect, but Harold insists they try anyway, how he prepped sedatives if their fears come to pass.

“I can’t make promises how this’s gonna go, you know that, right?” Vandal pointedly says.

Insisting he’s prepared for anything that could happen, Harold presses on with the others as they follow Max.

Glimpsing to the blood red skies above, Vandal grits his teeth as he added there’s a timer to getting Mal out of Henry’s clutches, too.

Nose to the ground, Max guides them what seemed like hours, but eventually it led them to a former prison with guards patrolling the grounds.

Their faces vacant of expressions and their glassy eyes alerts the group as they snuck away into the thickets near the prison.

Watchful of turrets and other robotics, Courtesy uses the power armor to keep track of hostiles while Vandal worked out the details on dealing with them without Henry’s knowledge.

Betty in his hand, Vandal slowly positions himself near a straggler guarding a corner of the wired fencing.

A good hit over the head with the hilt of Betty, Vandal watches as the guard folds before Harold and Rose quickly catch him.

Yanking him to a blind spot, the two hid behind Courtesy as he slowly moves through the muddy path towards a hole made in the fencing by Vandal.

In the power armor’s HUD, Courtesy sees outlines of super mutants patrolling the inside of the prison, sucking air through his teeth as he comments how he never had the pleasure of meeting or fighting super mutants before.

“The broad’s power armor ought to give you some advantages, just don’t get cocky, kid!” Vandal instructs Courtesy as he pushes his hat down while moving low on the ground.

Finding an entrance proved difficult with the guards dotting the prison and fixated on different angles of the property.

One at a time, they worked knocking out each guard they can get secluded from the others, all the while fearfully looking out for hidden dangers.

Without Hal’s lasers getting them through locked doors, Vandal had no choice but to go old tech, and thankfully Henry didn’t get a chance to change all the locks in the prison, but the practical side of him guesses Henry wasn’t going to stay long for it to be worth the efforts.

Given he had to see the ugly red skies outside, Henry logically wouldn’t stay long anyhow, and what he would do with this knowledge is a terrifying thought.

Simply, it wouldn’t surprise Vandal if Henry doesn’t bother telling the patrolling guard to get inside when things start looking bad.

Picking open a door, Vandal grits his teeth as he slowly opens it.

Illuminated like a Christmas tree, the prison hallway had an uncomfortable silence, and slowly Vandal moves forward while the others follow him inside.

No sign of a super mutant, yet, but likely they kept close to Henry’s side as enforcers.

Stalking the halls with Max honed on Mal’s scent, the group moves around, and along the way they knocked out several more guards.

“There should’ve been at least a handful of turrets and robots,” Harold noted the unusual lack of either at the prison.

There’s no traps, either, not even a hidden mine.

Perhaps they were destroyed when raiders attempted to plunge the prison or scrapped for parts, but Vandal suspects a pragmatic reason.

Henry can’t control them.

More, Vandal doubted the average guards they dealt with could be compelled into becoming masters at robotics even with Henry’s silver tongue.

Stopping in its tracks, Max begins to growl, and Vandal tenses up as he clutches Betty tightly in his hand.

Fur standing up on its back, Max agitatedly wags its tail with its ears flat as it alerts the group of an unseen threat ahead.

Taking point, Courtesy slowly moves forward while the others hid behind him as he braved the chances of a super mutant in his protected face.

Ahead, there’s a closed door, and Rose agrees to open it while Vandal and Courtesy prepare for the worst.

Holding her breath, Rose grabs the handle and turns it.

The door gives and she slowly opens it towards them, her heart thumping against her chest as her mind floods with what horror lies behind the door.

Finally, the door fully opens, but there’s nobody there.

Exhaling sharply, Vandal hesitates lowering Betty.

Unrelentingly growing, Max remains agitated as they move forward into the jail cells.

Once renowned for housing thousands of prisoners over centuries since its construction, the prison’s ominous atmosphere intensified as the old beige paint peeled away from the cement walls.

Inside the cells, there’s broken sinks and toilets, rotted cots strewn on the floors, and broken bunk beds, but nothing more.

The uncomfortable silence heightened the tensions, no one around, and every creak and groan emitting from deeper parts of the prison near made Rose and Harold jump in the air.

Pushing forward, they never see what Max senses, but for a brief moment, Rose thought she saw an outline of a man in one of the cells they passed by, and immediately stops in her trek to investigate.

Walking back to where she saw the outline, there was no one there, and Vandal calls out to her in hushed whispers.

Shaking her head unsure what she saw, Rose hurries back to the others as they went through the next door into a different section of the prison.

Like the previous section, the next section lined with more empty cells in different stages of rot, and an unusual stench that wafts through the air.

Hitting his nose, Vandal grits his teeth as it hit the back of his throat.

Rancid, astringent, Vandal smelled bars that weren’t this terrible.

Covering her nose as the smell starts making her nauseous, Rose quietly asks what the smell is, to which neither Harold and Vandal had the answer.

All Vandal can eek out is this wasn’t a recent stench, whether that’s good or bad remains up in the air, but either way, he didn’t want to know what’s emitting it.

Chapter Text

Time passed by, maybe, Mal wasn’t sure how long it’s been, her mind swirled with incomplete and incomprehensible thoughts, body numb to the point she can’t feel herself in that cold chair, not even feel her arms bound behind her back.

Or the heavy bruising from Henry using the pipe on her to take out decades of aggression towards her and every inferior in their vault.

The rare stray complete thoughts suggested she would’ve died had Henry not used stimpaks on her.

A living punching bag.

However, it would seem Henry had gotten the notorious doctored stimpaks, but he didn’t bother finding legitimate ones to continue his beating.

Bastard.

Eventually, he stopped using them all-together and left Mal in a bloody heap bound to the chair.

Bastard.

Won’t finish the job, but won’t let her die with whatever dignity she had left.

Bastard.

Her mind fleeting by the second, Mal wouldn’t know if Henry came back to continue taking his anger out on her or if he finally kills her by choice or mistake.

“Mhm…” Mal mumbles as her addled mind falters before something rouses it.

Unable to comprehend it, Mal’s mind almost falters again, until she hears a familiar sound in her ear.

Woof!

Her swollen eyelids could hardly open, but Mal felt paws as Max prods her with its paws.

“Max! Heel!” Mal thought she hears someone.

Wild amber eyes opening, Mal felt her heart jump a few inches in her chest as she’s injected with a stimpak.

Groaning, Mal’s head slumps briefly as she hears a relieved Harold exclaim, “Oh, thank god!”

Blinking, Mal coughs as she feels her arms released from their bindings, as her mind caught up to her, she raises her head to see Harold standing there with Max beside him.

“Should’ve known,” Mal coughs.

Pulling away her from the chair, Mal felt blood rushing down her head, forcing her to lean on Harold as he asks her how she feels.

“Pissed off. Groggy,” Mal sums as she staggers with him out of the room.

Helping her walk, Harold trudges along as Max served as their lookout as they went along the gray hallway searching for the others.

Figuring out which is left and which is right, finally, Mal outwardly asks Harold if they saw Henry, and Harold exhales sharply before saying that they didn’t, all they dealt with is brainwashed people, and super mutants.

“We don’t have much time. It was a particularly bad red morning before we got here,” Harold then said.

The urgency evident, Mal mumbles the probability that Henry abandoned the prison because he knew what was coming later that night.

As egotistical he is, Henry knew better to try his luck, and Harold agrees with her as he states how they expected Henry to be in the old Warden’s office, but it was empty.

Nothing left over from his time being the office, Henry was once again gone in the wind, but evidently, his stop at the prison wasn’t for naught.

Vandal found remnants of something Henry took with him, outlines in the grimy floor, but whatever it is, no one knew exactly.

“Bomb,” Mal coughs.

Frightened, Harold turns his head towards her, and she confirms that during the beating, Henry happily told her his plan on “getting rid” of the inferiors.

Naturally, the Enclave remnant piqued Henry’s interests, but through the beatings, Mal hears the disdain Henry has for them.

Useful inferiors, he calls them, they weren’t up to his strict requirements, but Henry hoped that with purging the remnant, he could salvage something of use.

Everything else, Mal didn’t know, she lost consciousness by that point, and Henry wasn’t inclined using another stimpak to refocus her.

“Mal!” Mal hears Rose pant as she runs towards them with Courtesy following behind.

Slowly waving her hand, Mal coughs, “You still hanging around, Goldilocks?”

Affirming with a nod, Rose recited the handbook verbatim, causing Mal to roll her eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive!” Courtesy marvels at the sight of the banged-up Mal.

It hurt laughing, but Mal sarcastically laughs, “Surprised you figured the power armor out.”

Posing with the BFG, Courtesy explains how he had his troubles, but it wasn’t hard as he expected.

“Sorry about Hal,” he then gave his condolences.

Groggily, Mal mumbles before Harold insists, they hurry out of the prison before nightfall.

Agreeing with him, they make their way through the prison, dead super mutants littered parts, while the brainwashed humans remained tied up for the most part.

“You find the broad, yet?” Vandal calls out to them.

Affirming they did, Vandal then prods them to hurry up, time was ticking, and he didn’t want to shelter in the prison basement.

Or the showers.

Nothing but holes from the mole rats burrowing underneath the soil.

Mal gave him a tongue lashing, despite Henry beating her for hours, she was still capable of trading barbs with Vandal.

With everyone together and accounted for, Vandal guides them out of the prison.

Outside, the sun stung Mal’s eyes as they readjust to seeing it again, but she can see the shimmering red of a storm approaching from the west.

Helped by Harold and Rose, Mal kept herself upright for much of the journey to a settlement nearby.

By the time they arrived, night was on fast approach, and settlers began moving into the shelters with fervor.

Courtesy barely had enough time to hide the power armor and coming back around as he was grabbed by a minuteman ushering settlers to safety.

Immediately processed by the minutemen with Vandal keeping them from asking too many questions about Mal’s condition, they made their way downstairs with other settlers.

Splintering off to their assigned rooms, Mal was brought to hers by Harold and Rose.

With the available medicine, Mal finally stopped feeling like absolute shit, yet the feeling of loss remained with her, and the bitterness came after.

Rubbing her left forearm, Mal exhales sharply, and she didn’t dwell in her thoughts for long as Harold came by with some tea.

“Still breathing,” Mal swats the air, her tired voice couldn’t attempt at a snarky or angry expression.

Sitting the tea down beside her, Harold expresses condolences for Hal, Mal shakes her head with anger, as she tells him how it happened quickly.

Hal woke her up after it heard the sirens, they got out of the inn during the rush, and amid the pouring rain and thunder, something shot out from the distance.

One moment, Hal was with her, the next, it was in a heap with a large steaming hole through its reinforced chassis.

Mal did what she could to defend herself, but Harold knows the rest.

“I’m sure it’d be happy to know we found you,” Harold comforts Mal.

Taking the tea into her hand, Mal spat, “I’d be happy if Hal was with me!”

Sucking air through her teeth before sharply exhaling, Mal shakes her head once again before sipping on the tea as Harold sat next to her.

“How are you feeling?” Harold asks her.

Turning her head, Mal answers with a terse, “Like shit.”

Seeing the concerns in his blue eyes, Mal sighs before elaborating, “I’m not a sleeper agent like the jackass thinks I am.”

And before Harold asks, all Henry wanted was to “catch up” with Mal, with every swing of the pipe.

Watching his words, Harold kept his conversation with Mal as general as possible, but even in her state, Mal saw through it, and made him talk plainly around her.

“I’m not getting back in the power armor, am I?” Mal sighs.

As he shakes his head, Harold notes how Courtesy acclimated using it despite Hal not helping with it.

It surprised him, too, considering the early struggles, but it was good for them, since Courtesy helped take care of the brainwashed super mutants.

“Great, lost Hal, lost my power armor!” Mal grumbles.

Patting her on the back as he comforts her, Harold says, “He did take your warnings to heart. There aren’t scratches on it if you were worried. He even replenished the ammo.”

Calling him half-glass empty, Mal rubs her throbbing eyes, as she briefly listened to the people in the shelter murmuring to themselves about the storms above ground.

“Are you okay?” Harold asks her.

Giving him a dry response, Mal alleviates the dryness in her throat with more tea.

“What did he make you tell him?” Harold then switches topics.

Adjusting herself in her spot, Mal tells him how Henry made her tell him how she plotted his demise and how she had a plan in the event he somehow didn’t die to the rigged vault.

“He didn’t make me talk about you people, if you were wondering,” Mal states.

Nodding, Harold then asks, “What did he do to you?”

Resting the empty tea cup on the table, Mal says, “He made me look in his eyes. I couldn’t look away.”

She tried everything in her power to give Henry a deserved tongue lashing, but no matter what, her words were used against her, that she’d tell Henry the truth no matter what.

Eventually, he said something in German, and her mind slipped away for a moment.

Of course, he was beating her with a pipe during this, so the chances of her mind slipping was because of it was a strong possibility.

“Was there anything unusual about them?” Harold gestures as he wanted to know more about the process.

Shrugging, Mal answers how Henry’s eyes weren’t any different than hers or Harold’s, but if there was anything off about them, she didn’t get to see clearly.

“He can only manipulate humanoids and people by sight, whatever he done to himself, it doesn’t work with robots or animals,” Harold summarizes.

Even if it’s limited, Henry uses it effectively, causing Harold to suggest he done it sometime during his and Mal’s days in the vault, however Mal insists she would’ve remembered him forcing people to look at him in his eyes.

“Whether he discovered it or someone else, I don’t know. I just want to put two in his damn chest, and a couple more in his head,” Mal huffs.

A brief commotion happens, the minutemen quickly got everything under control, an ominous loud thunder near deafens everyone in the shelter, like a bomb set off outside the doors.

“10-1, okay everyone, remain absolutely calm,” one of the minutemen calls out over a speaker to the frightened settlers as he plainly tells them how a tornado was confirmed thirty miles from here. “Wind speed measures around 100 and it looks like it will hit this settlement dead on. Do not panic!”

Chapter Text

Everyone on edge, no one closed their eyes for even a second, people attempt keeping their minds off the approaching storm, but to no avail, since every ear-piercing thunder that echoes throughout the area kept them on edge.

Playing cards with burly men on a trip to Texas for boar hunting, Vandal talks with them with their experiences, and he learns how they’ve been dealing with “deranged” super mutants near a supermarket in Tri City.

“Thankfully, we always pack for the occasion,” one of the burly men tells Vandal as he places an ace card on the table.

Nodding, the burly man next to him added how they easily took down super mutants with little efforts, noting the shocking lack of their “pets.”

Confirming that the burly men haven’t had the misfortune of dealing with the grotesque mutant abominations, it surprises the leader of the group, considering they’ve dealt with super mutants elsewhere having them around.

“Must’ve ate them!” Suggests one of the burly men.

A possibility with how insatiable and insane super mutants are, something that only made them even more feared to the wanderers of the wasteland.

“Don’t suppose they were saying anything, did they?” Vandal asks out of curiosity, causing the burly men to chuckle at this, one mocking the idea of super mutants being able to speak coherently, much less understand the words coming out of their mouth.

One burly man did say a super mutant was saying something before it was shot on the spot, he assumes the super mutant was unintelligent and left it at that, but Vandal persists in getting him to describe what the super mutant said.

“Ah hell, I don’t know. It was just garbled mess. Anyway, it’s not our problem, anymore,” waves the burly man as he put down a full house.

All the burley men knew was that after they get out of the shelter tomorrow, they’re heading down to Texas.

“Better hope you get down there before the big crescendo,” Vandal slyly says to them.

Bluntly telling him that they’re prepared to hunker down before the final stretch of spring, the burly men continue playing cards with him.

Elsewhere, tensing up as they listen to the thunder, Courtesy and Rose brave the approaching storm as the minutemen warned them prior.

Beside them, Max softly whines as it laid out on the ground, its tail between its leg, and Courtesy assuring the German Shepherd of their safety in the shelter.

“Have you heard them… roar?” Rose tries to keep them focused on something else.

Scratching the side of his messy hair, Courtesy answers, “Sometimes. My pa’s really good about dragging us downstairs into the shelter.”

Recalling his youth, Courtesy witnesses the formulation of a storm in the distance that happened instantaneously without the minutemen knowing it happening.

In seconds, a funnel cloud snakes down from the blackened skies, and every lighting strike that strikes the area, the thin funnel cloud slowly widens until it was as side as the shelter he and his father fled into.

Recalling his ears popping from the tornado growing in size considerably, Courtesy heard a deafening growling noise that emits from the tornado the moment it starts moving shortly before his father scooped him up in his arms and rushed down to the opened shelter with Grissom.

Thankfully, the tornado didn’t hit their settlement, it moved a different direction, but the settlement it hit wasn’t fortunate.

Talking to Courtesy more, Rose asks about his thoughts on tornadoes becoming sentient due to the nuclear fallout irreversibly changing the climate, to which he says he heard stories growing up. Many people swore up and down the sentience of tornadoes over the years, but having always fled into the shelters during warnings, Courtesy couldn’t confirm it himself.

“Ever since I was a kid, we were all told stories about tornadoes having minds of their own, like animals, always waiting around the corner for a chance to eat a settlement. I always thought it was an old wives’ tale they’d use to keep us from doing something foolish during bad weather, but I dunno, could that really be a thing?” Courtesy admits his hesitation believing the stories.

Seeing the scared expressions on the settlers’ faces, Rose opts to believe there being truth to the stories, though she didn’t want to find out herself.

“Me neither! Them storms are mean, but I suppose it could be worse. I hear Oklahoma and ‘em have it worse than us. We always deal with the storms come spring, but over there, they’re always getting tornadoes!” Courtesy waves his trademark purple top hat.

Wincing, Rose questions how anyone could survive the landscape always riddled with violent storms, which Courtesy mentions how he heard people living underground in old shelters from a bygone era, and made reinforced tunnels connecting them all, effectively creating underground cities.

“What about the irradiated dirt and the mutants?” Rose raises her fine brow with confusion.

Shrugging, Courtesy answers her question with, “We get them coming by every now again, whatever they did, it must’ve worked.”

Fair enough.

Air starts changing around them, everyone in the shelter stopped as they felt the change, the minutemen warn them the tornado was near before urging them to remain calm, as they cite the shelter able to withstand the gale force winds.

A minuteman came towards Courtesy and Rose asking them how they’re feeling as he warns their ears would start popping from the wind.

“Here, chew on these. Keeps the popping at a minimum,” the minuteman hands a bag of gum to them.

Looking down to Max, the minuteman asks if it is friendly, to which Courtesy answers how the German Shepherd wasn’t fond of raiders or mutants.

Reaching into his pocket, the minuteman produces a dog treat, and holds it out to Max.

Sitting up, Max woofs with curiosity before turning its head towards Courtesy for confirmation.

Encouraging the German Shepherd to take the treat from the minuteman, Courtesy watches as the German Shepherd take the treat and begins gnawing on it.

Moving on to check on the others, the minuteman left them alone.

One of the minutemen turned on the radio and fed the audio throughout the shelter, overhead music plays as it helped mask the booming thunder.

Chewing on the minty gum, Rose feels her eardrums uncomfortably pop, but the gum helped alleviate much of it.

Briefly, the light flickers, and vaguely Rose hears something underlying the music.

Distant wailing, but as it starts getting closer to them, the wailing gets louder, and Rose can hear the wailing better.

It sounded like there’s multiple people screaming at once, in great pain, some crying being heard among the screaming, and if Rose didn’t know any better, she swore hearing disembodied voices.

Incomprehensible to her ears as they popped from the air pressure, Rose swore hearing one voice saying the word “doom.”

Protectively holding her close as he felt the ground under them subtly rumble, Courtesy told her to brace herself.

Closing her eyes, Rose felt her ears pop like pop rocks got shoved into her eardrums.

Nauseous, Rose clutches Courtesy’s arms as they listened to the panic from the settlers while the tornado enters the settlement’s threshold.

Time felt like it slowed down while they were in the shelter, every time Rose tries to glimpse at the clocks on the wall, despite her closing her eyes for what she thought was ten minutes, only a minute passed.

The wailing continues to grow louder as the tornado descends on the settlement, ripping apart everything not nailed down, sending wood and what else into the air above, and for a brief moment, Rose thought she heard muffled maniacal laughter seeping through reinforced cement structures.

Shutting her eyes shut, Rose kept thinking about her father and everyone in her vault.

Chapter Text

Morning finally arrived, the storms dissipate after raving the state last night, and the aftermath visible the moment the minutemen opened the shelters to the bright and sunny disheveled mess above ground.

Several buildings leveled into heaps of debris, the entrance signpost ripped away from the cement anchors, and thrown like a toy across the wasteland.

There’s an uncomfortable silence that permitted throughout the area as the settlers wander the destroyed settlement with the minutemen taking point as they watch for signs of raiders attempting to take advantage of the situation.

Wandering the destroyed settlement, settlers picked through the rubble searching for their possessions, soft murmurs as they toss aside splintered wood chunks.

“It could’ve been worse,” Vandal adjusts his hat as he stares at the rubble.

Pushing up his glasses, Harold exhales, “It will be, won’t it?”

His lipless frown conveying acknowledgment, Vandal says, “Yeah. If not for the limestone, we’d be mole people, too.”

For now, settlers from this settlement will migrate to a different one until after spring.

Assuming the raiders don’t set up camp waiting for their return, they’ll come back, rebuild their settlement, and hope for the best.

“If he’s using the remnant to further his plans and then destroy them when he’s done, we could use it to our advantage,” Harold brings up.

Shaking his head, Vandal added, “He already knows the Brotherhood got involved. All he’s gonna do is let them go at it and slip away when the smoke’s settled. That broad give you anything we can use?”

Slowly nodding, Harold tells him what Mal said about Henry forcing her to stare into his eyes.

“Over radios and screens, I don’t think it works, either,” Harold gestures. “That’d explain why Fisk wasn’t affected… and that raider me and Rose met wasn’t affected because he was too far away and out of earshot.”

Watching settlers pull away piles of wood, Vandal raises a gloved finger as he brings up, “How long does this go on, though, those super mutants and idiots we met along the way were beyond help.”

Acknowledging this, Harold scratches the side of his pale face before suggesting, “Trigger words, perhaps. They’ve been exposed to him for too long that they’re preconditioned to act out on them.”

Gesturing his hand, Vandal reminds him, “Would it work over the radio, though? Besides that, the remnant must have a hella wakeup call being controlled by him.”

Thinking hard, Harold raises a finger as he suggests, “Perhaps there’s one way to skin a mole rat. Henry can escape us, but can he escape both the remnant and the Brotherhood?”

Seeing where Harold was going with his suggestion, Vandal winces as he expresses concerns on the plan working.

Pointing at himself, Harold reminds Vandal, “I worked for them, remember?”

Snorting at this, Vandal retorts with, “They’d be more inclined to shoot you on the spot!”

Forced to agree, Harold insists how the branch he worked for might be willing to set aside their differences once they learn there’s something worse than the Brotherhood they needed to contend with.

“Good luck getting anyone to let you use their radio to reach out to your old workplace. Besides that, the Brotherhood’s going to think you’re an agent if they catch you on the radio, and we’re already in the shit as it is with Henry,” Vandal raises a finger at Harold to emphasize his point.

That’s not including the possible scenarios even if Harold manages to reach out to the Enclave remnant.

Since he defected from them by faking his death, there’s a good chance they’ll just want to kill him on the spot for it, and even if they’re willing to hear him out, they’ll simply take out two birds with one stone.

“When I worked for them, there were people who were like me, just trying to survive in the wasteland. It isn’t always black and white, but what choices do we have?” Harold argues.

As they watch settlers put together their belongings as they discussed where they were going after this, Vandal reminded Harold, “Do you even know they’re still alive, if he hadn’t already got his claws in them?”

Forced to say he doesn’t, Harold chews on his lips as he ponders their options, and as he did, he and Vandal heard Max woofing as it ran up to them.

Trailing behind were the others after they helped people collect their belongings from a destroyed building.

In the power armor, Courtesy comments how easier it was picking up stuff with it compared to doing it by handle, and Mal warns him not to scuff the paint job.

“We ready to leave?” Vandal asks them.

Confirming they are, Vandal then adjusts his hat as he asks Max if it still has Henry’s scent, and the German Shepherd wags its tail as it woofs in response.

Ushered back on the muddy path mindful of the debris laying scattered across the path, the group follow Max as it honed in on Henry’s scent while Rose frequently uses her Pip-Boy keeping track of their progress while others remained eagle eye on the skies above.

Along the way, Mal opted to link Rose’s Pip-Boy to the power armor as a means of tracking it in lieu of Hal, before reminding Rose not to get into a fight with another mutant rat.

Taking the warning to heart, Rose kept close to the group as they traversed the ravaged landscape, already she spotted the crumpled remains of a water tower thrown at such speeds that until she saw the mangled words on the side, Rose thought it was sheet metal torn from a rooftop.

Piercing the side of a cratering hill, the water tower sunk into the mud beneath, and Vandal brings up how even before the bombs dropped, tornadoes were capable of doing even more insane things than people thought possible.

One of the stories he heard was a tornado had gone through an area and had picked up a wood plank before it was launched into the direction of a bricked house.

Shot through the brickwork like it was a skewer through meat, the wood plank suffered no damage from the sheer force it was thrown in, and the surrounding brickwork was untouched.

It was such a sight, during the reconstruction, the wall was cut out and presented for people to look upon as a warning on how dangerous tornadoes can be with debris.

“And if you want to know something even more insane, there’s a story older than me about a family whose house got hit dead on one eventful day, and a baby got sucked up from their cradle. Someone was looking out for them, ‘cause they found it in a field a few miles from the house,” Vandal gestures.

Remarkably, the baby was unharmed during this and was still tucked into its blanket, not one side sticking out.

Chapter Text

High above the wasteland, the sun helped dry areas as the waters receded into soaked ground, and the excess funneled into the makeshift pits dotting the landscape.

Everywhere the group went, they witness more areas impacted by last night’s storms, entire neighborhoods disappeared, leaving behind only the concrete supports.

Gouged in the earth were the circular motions of the tornadoes ravaging the landscape, in their wake they left behind piles of rubble that instantly set off the Pip-Boy and power armor’s internal Geiger counters even at the distance the group traveled.

In the distance, they can see a former textile factory leveled into toothpicks and brimstone from being hit dead-on.

The signage completely gone; they only knew it was a textile due to broken spools left in the dirt adjacent.

Disturbingly, Vandal warns this isn’t the worst the storms can do, Courtesy confirming that he and the people in his settlement often hid in the shelters towards the end of the season for that reason.

“If Henry has a revised FEV, the storms are his chance spreading it around the entire state,” Harold suggests.

Her piercing amber eyes focused ahead; Mal also mentions how Henry would need to make sure the Enclave remnant followed his orders long enough to move the FEV to strategic places for the FEV to work.

“I don’t get it, why would he want to make more super mutants?” Courtesy questions Henry’s endgame with the FEV.

Chewing on her bottom lip as she’s deep in thought, Mal guesses how there were initial flaws with Henry’s plan resulting in the uptick of super mutants, however he certainly didn’t mind using them when he realized they were still subjected to his gaze.

His endgame went beyond the super mutants and Mal doubts the Enclave remnant knew exactly what they were getting into partnering with Henry before he overtook them.

“We still don’t know how it works, wouldn’t being away from them this long mean they start becoming normal… or something… it isn’t like he has a radio to call them,” Rose gestures as she tries to understand Henry’s abilities.

Reaffirming his belief that Henry “melted” the Enclave remnant members’ brains with his abilities, Vandal states that they’re likely still doing what he told them before he left.

Tracking Henry’s scent brought the group towards an old local drive-in that has since become a graveyard of abandoned vehicles left to rot, the 200-inch-wide screen that was the darling to many who visited the drive-in, ripped to shreds long ago, and only the remaining remnants of the former screen were a line of poles where the screen hanged.

The concession stands that lined the drive-in remained largely intact, down to even the sun-bleached advertising with large depictions of the foods once served with bold words proclaiming how the drive-in serves everything under the sun for every hungry moviegoer, from deep fried corn dogs to something even audacious like deep fried duck served with cranberry derived BBQ sauce.

“People came here to watch movies?” Rose asks inquisitively.

Nodding, Vandal remarks how in his time, people always went to the drive-ins even if the movies that week weren’t the best or reruns, only for the sake of eating concession stands food.

In most cases, a drive-in would be cheaper for people rather than a movie theater, so it varies who went wherever, but either way, there’s something nostalgic about concession stand popcorn.

“Most times, though, if you’re sneaky enough you took your own drinks and food,” Vandal recalls tricks people did to save a few dollars on their trips to the drive-ins.

Going through the concession stands as Courtesy stood guard swaying the BFG as he kept watch for possible threats, there didn’t seem to be anything in them that would warrant Henry stopping here, until Max got a scent leading them to a spot in the broken-up parking lot.

Recently disturbed dirt near-hidden due to the heavy rains, it took work finding something to dig whatever Henry hid.

Hidden inside the dug hole was a leaded crate, given the weight, it was likely Henry was guarded by more super mutants he took with him, and one of them hid the crate for him.

Getting inside the crate proves difficult, Henry was careful about people finding the crate, to the point of hiding a bomb underneath that would go off the moment the crate is moved from its spot or the lock tampered, but with a fine scalpel brought Harold brought with him, the group prevailed.

Opening the crate, they’re met with a cache of weapons and ammunition, uniforms similar to the ones found at the museum.

“Your old friend’s keen putting the cart before the horse!” Vandal was shocked how packed the lead crate was with supplies.

Shaking her head, Mal exhales, “No. He’s not. He thinks his plan will work.”

Even if it only affected the southeastern part of the United States for the moment, Henry is striving for beyond.

“What does he think’s going to happen?” Rose looks towards Mal with inquisitive eyes and Mal sighs as she states Henry’s intent on “cultivating” once the dust settles.

Getting a good whiff of the hidden cache, Max woofs as it reinvigorated the scent of Henry, Vandal encourages Max to keep hold of it.

“Well, I know what we can do. Take your pick of the weapons, get the ammo, whatever food he left, and little girl go get me that Jerry can from one of the concession stands,” Vandal gave the orders.

Grabbing weapons they can use and the accompanying ammunition, the group took the hidden caches of medical supplies and food before Rose brought the Jerry can over to Vandal.

Curious, she asks why he wanted the Jerry can before Vandal shows her by pouring the content into the lead crate.

“Get back, it won’t be pretty,” Vandal warns them away as he proceeds to set the remaining content in the crate on fire.

Baffled, Harold questions Vandal how he knew the liquid in the Jerry can would still be viable, and Vandal promptly told him, “Work with me, huh?”

Their loot in hand and Max holding onto the scent, the group moves onward.

Their trek continues and along the way, they went into combat against the mutant insects stirred by movement, and though they made progress finding Henry’s hidden caches with instructions in some in German, before eventually they found an old furniture warehouse along a highway to buckle down when the skies turned black, and the wind started whipping up.

Huddled around a roaring fire as they ate their meals, the group listens to the thunder in the distance, and Vandal exhaling as he warns the pop-up storms will increase in intensity before the end of the season, further hampering their efforts finding Henry.

Feeding Max as he chews on his stick of jerky, Courtesy pets the top of the German Shepherd’s head as he settles on the tiled floor, the roaring fire casting shadows on abandoned furniture around them.

Checking the map on her Pip-Boy, Rose sees they’re getting closer to the Kentucky-Tennessee border, making her wonder aloud if Henry’s returning to the factory.

“It would make sense, he’d have to dispose of the remnant, and get the FEV before the end of the season,” Harold shrugs.

Though, it made him question how quickly Henry can get into position to ensure the FEV canisters are picked up and spread by the tornadoes.

More so, how sure he is about his plan working, to which Vandal retorts how insane Henry is concocting this plan in the first place.

“For someone as close to my age, I’ll give him this, he looks better, but that’s about it!” Vandal gestures.

Still, while he mocks Henry’s plan, Vandal acknowledges that the dangers of it working.

“He can’t have enough FEV to cover the entire Wasteland, it’d be improbable, too many variables, even if he started early or has more people under his control,” Harold brought up a point.

Rubbing the side of his exposed face, Vandal sighs as he concludes the possibility it’s a test run for the bigger picture, and given the conditions of spring, it’s perfect enough for Henry to test his experiments.

Rumbling thunder finally reaches their ears and bright lighting pokes through slits of boarded up windows as the smell of rain wafts through the air.

Their conversations continue until the last of their dinner is finished and Vandal encourages everyone to get some sleep for the next hurdle tomorrow.

Unable to sleep to his thoughts keeping him awake, Harold tends to the fire while everyone slept around him, until he notices Mal stirring.

Herself unable to sleep, Mal finds herself sitting next to Harold.

They converse, Mal describing how learning the truth about Henry put everything into perspective for her during her time in the vault.

Never once did they see their supposed overseer, Henry was always the one doing the work for him with them doing the rest, and no one ever got annoyed enough to demand to see or hear the overseer.

“All this time, I thought he was just one of the fortunate ones to pass,” Mal mocks herself for not seeing the truth sooner, before Harold encourages her not to beat herself up, how Henry had everyone fooled and under his control.

Shaking her head, Mal brought up how she once accessed a computer in a forbidden room of their vault, how it had messages with words she didn’t quite understand at the time, and wonders if it was Henry corresponding with the Enclave remnant.

Thinking it over, Harold adds how Henry could’ve sent people from the vault to establish contact.

Conversing with Mal more, eventually they fell asleep, Mal ending up sleeping with her head draped on Harold’s shoulder, and come morning, things took a turn, when they awakened to being surrounded by power armored personnel pointing their weapons down at them.

Chapter Text

An unexpected turn of event shouldn’t be surprising for any wastelander living among the remains of the United States, but what remains annoying is when they have a habit of happening when people are trying to get some sleep after a long trek through muddy paths.

Maybe it was on them for not throwing up more booby traps, maybe not, but either way, the group was met with men and women in power armors hoisting them up to their feet.

Unarmored individuals went to work confiscating Mal’s power armor, much to her fury, but kept at bay by the guns pointed in her face and Harold pulling her back, Mal was forced to watch them attempt locking down her power armor.

She got a laugh as one was electrocuted by the traps laid by her and Hal, but it didn’t last as one of the people finally subdues the power armor’s system.

Barking orders at them, the power armored personnel forced the group to goose step out of the furniture place where they’re met with more people, one wearing an odd outfit that Rose never saw before.

“Forgive us for the unorthodox meeting, but I believe we have a common purpose,” says the older man wearing the odd outfit.

Scoffing, Vandal retorts, “Back in my day, it was a phone call! What the hell?”

Calling himself Elder Miles, he urges the group to come with them, since they’re better off discussing their situation elsewhere, and he warned there’s a brewing storm that’s expected to hit tonight.

Outgunned and outmanned, the group is left with no other choice but to begrudgingly accept Elder Mile’s request.

Filed into an awaiting Vertibird, they’re taken into the air, and everyone but Vandal experienced their first time traveling through the air.

Seeing the landscape from above, Rose sees how stunningly different it is compared to being on the grounds below, and Courtesy clutches Max as he shivers at the height.

It took no time being transported back to a hidden encampment built out of the former Fort Campbell where the group is immediately searched and processed.

“Fuck you! That power armor is mine!” Mal bluntly shouts down a paladin’s response over it.

Heated to the point the elders had no choice to involve themselves managed to cool off the situation long enough for Mal to be pulled away from the area as she shouts insults at the paladin.

“Please! I need that!” Rose protests the confiscation of the parcel she held close to her since they arrived.

The paladin assures her that it will be safely stored away for the time being and will be returned to her once the elders gave the blessing.

Forced to answer questions, Rose tells the paladin in charge of the interrogation how she came from a vault, showing him her vault suit underneath her leather jacket.

When asked, Rose explains how her father, the overseer, gave her instructions on taking the now-confiscated parcel to someone in Memphis.

Expectedly, the paladin questions if she was bringing it to the Elvis in charge, but Rose staunchly tells him that it wasn’t going to Elvis.

Asked about the parcel’s contents, Rose tells the paladin as she’s told the others.

She doesn’t know what’s in the parcel.

It made the paladin curious, but Rose remained firm in her desire following her father’s request.

“Awfully far from Memphis, ain’t you?” Paladin Arlene comments on the trajectory in Rose’s journey.

Admitting that she got sidetracked, Rose explains in lengths how her father instilled her the desires to do good, and with Henry among the wasteland, it wouldn’t be right for her to leave the issue alone.

“You’re not exactly the first vault dweller to say things like that,” Paladin Arlene informs Rose. “I have to wonder how well you’re going to do, though. Not many make it far.”

Pointing at herself, Rose insists she’s doing well for herself.

“How can you be sure whoever it’s going to will be there when you finally get down there?” Paladin Arlene brings up.

Wincing, Rose freezes for a moment, before admitting how she hoped to contact her father so he may pass word along.

“That’s not up to me, that’s up to the elders,” Paladin Arlene said.

Asking for a chance to talk to the elders into letting her send a message to her father, Rose was told that she’d have to wait until the elders come to a determination regarding her and the others.

Elsewhere, the others were questioned.

Shouting at the paladins for taking Betty, Vandal heard the same script, and added bonus he was checked by the scientists for the chances of him becoming feral!

Once the scientists confirmed what he already knew, Vandal was then interrogated about the Enclave pin in his possession.

“Look, I’m a bounty hunter, I find things,” he plays up his job for them.

Unlike other people, they weren’t swayed easily, and if he didn’t want his nonexistent hide getting tanned by their blasters, Vandal was forced to admit how he got it from Harold.

Expectedly, they went after him and began interrogating him once they were done asking hundreds of questions.

Locked away from the others, forcibly sat across the table from a burly man with heavy scarring, Harold listens to him.

“State your name,” began the interrogation.

Handcuffed, Harold sheepishly replies, “Harold!”

Raising his bushy brow, the burly man asks about a surname, causing Harold to remark that he hadn’t thought about it in years.

Flinching as the burly man made a threatening gesture, Harold squeaks, “Lennox!”

Slowly, the burly man echoes, “Harold Lennox?”

Affirming it was his name, Harold flinches as the burly man stood up, and walks to the door.

Rhythmically knocking with his fist, the burly man waits by the door.

In moments, there’s a rhythmical response on the opposite side.

Listening to it, the burly man then says to Harold, “Okay, Harold Lennox, tell me about your time in the remnant.”

Exhaling sharply, Harold regales his time in the remnant and towards the end explains how he since left the remnant.

Starring him down, the newly identified Paladin Linus chuckles as he dryly responds with, “Guess you fooled them good, Harold, or they’re sloppier than they look!”

The interrogation continues for an indeterminate time, the burly paladin hounds Harold for every bit of information, even information Harold genuinely didn’t know anything about.

“I was their doctor, a medical doctor!” Harold broke down as he stresses his sincerity.

To his relief, there’s a rhythmic knock on the door, causing Paladin Linus to get up, and leave him alone in the interrogation room.

Rubbing his tired blue eyes, Harold struggles exhaling as his growing frustration made it difficult.

The paladin returns after a brief moment with another and they marched him back to the cells.

“Mr. Harold!” He hears Rose calling out to him as he’s pushed through the threshold into the cells.

Elated to see familiar faces, it quickly went away when Harold notices Mal’s absence, and it’s confirmed that she’s being interrogated over the power armor.

“Knowing the broad, they’re going to have a fun time,” Vandal snorts.

Sitting on the seat next to Rose and Courtesy, Harold rubs his tired blue eyes once again, as he does, he hears Rose asking him if he’s fine.

“He was asking me about my time in the remnant,” Harold explains to her. “He sounded genuinely surprised how I escaped.”

Nodding her head, Rose grew antsy as she wonders when they’ll be allowed to leave the fortified place, before Harold responds how he didn’t know.

If it’s true there’s a storm coming in later tonight, it’s better them here, then out there, where they don’t know the lay of the area well.

There’s a lull, Mal hadn’t been brought to the cells, yet, and Harold shows concern about her wellbeing, causing Vandal to bring up how Mal can handle herself.

“It’s the Brotherhood, not the Enclave,” Vandal reminds him.

However, the way they’re being treated, well, that’s up in the air.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Harold slowly nods as he tries to settle on the seat.

“But of course, she could’ve run her mouth and they’re punishing her,” Vandal suddenly added, causing Harold to worry.

Fidgeting in his spot, Courtesy glimpses around the cells as he wonders how long the Brotherhood will keep them, and Vandal assures him how they’ll get an answer sooner than later.

Another hour passed, Mal hasn’t been returned, but the Squires came by with carts of food for them, Harold broaches her whereabouts, yet the Squires either didn’t know or dodged his question.

“Fuck you! I’m not his fucking property!” he’s startled when he hears Mal shouting in the distance. “And fuck you! That power armor’s mine! Fair and square!”

Pulled by power armored paladins, Mal’s yanked in front of the cells, and instantly, Harold sees her exposed forearm with the tattoo visible.

Musingly, one of the paladins commented how they never encountered someone like Mal before, and how Paladin Leona would “feel it” for a while.

“Inside, prisoner,” the other power armored paladin forces Mal inside the cells while the first locks it.

Sharply turning around, Mal shouts insults until the paladins disappear into the other parts of the fort.

Visibly angrily, Mal kicks the bars before she turns around again to face the others.

Noticing looks, Mal states the paladins weren’t fond of her “eccentric” matters, and were insistent that the power armor she built with Hal stay with them.

She sees Rose pointing at her forearm and the young vault dweller asks, “What’s that on your arm?”

Following her eyes, Mal sees the constant reminder of her time in Vault 18 before she quickly covers it up with her sleeve.

Refusing to answer Rose’s question, Mal sits beside Harold after swiping food from the cart as she asks them how it went with their interrogations.

“Swimmingly compared to yours, what’d you do to that paladin?” Vandal got to the point.

Munching on the bread, Mal responds with a dry, “She started it first, I finished it!”

Afraid to anger Mal further, Rose didn’t dare try to ask about the tattoo, and chose to eat her meal in silence, though she periodically spoke to Courtesy as he fed scraps to Max.

No windows meant they had no sense of time, but even though the fort’s been fortified over the years since the Great War, they hear the low rumbling thunder in the distance as the storms on fast approach.

Squires came by periodically to retrieve the carts, once more they weren’t helpful with telling the group anything, and Vandal says they’re better off trying their hands talking to the paladins.

“Although, we’re better off talking to them,” Vandal slyly says as Mal flips him off in response.

Alone in the cells, the group made space for each other as they attempt getting comfortable.

The elders haven’t visited them, the power armored paladins kept patrolling their cells, but other than that, the group had no choice but to wait.

“So, this is the Brotherhood of Steel,” Rose boredly sits on the ground.

His hat tipped over his eyes, Vandal responds with, “Yep. They’re assholes then, they’re assholes, now. But, to their credit, they’re not the biggest assholes I’ve had the luxury of meeting!”

Glimpsing around, Courtesy comments, “I figure they’d be a little nicer, y’know, since you contacted them.”

Snorting, Vandal tells him how they might’ve been nicer hadn’t Mal assaulted one of their own.

Preventing Mal from retaliating, Harold sighs as he says, “Hopefully, the storms just have their attention for the time being, come morning, they’ll be more receptive to conversation.”

He hopes, anyway.

Booming outside, the thunder loud enough to penetrate the fort, heavy rain slams against the reinforced concrete, and the humidity barely cut by the fixed AC.

Foot traffic dwindles until the power armored paladins sparsely came around, leaving the group in the sickly white illuminated cells to their lonesome.

Unable to sleep, Harold stays up alongside Mal as she also struggles closing her eyes for a second.

Her hand over her sleeved forearm, eyes forlorn, and Harold didn’t need to ask her what happened during her time with the paladins.

“How’d they treat you?” Mal broaches.

Frowning, Harold says plainly, “Suspicious.”

Admitting he was fortunate to avoid being beaten into mush by the paladin that interrogated him, Harold shakes his head.

Listening to the storms outside, the two briefly glimpses over to the others sleeping.

Time was impossible to keep track in the cells with no visible clocks or a window, eventually after conversing with each other, the two fell asleep, Mal’s head resting on Harold’s shoulder.

Suppose it was morning; they were woken up when Squires came by with carts of food and drinks.

Dully, Vandal asks them if they have any beer in the carts, but the Squires inform him how it was against the rules.

A new reason not to like the Brotherhood!

Forced to take what was offered, Vandal ate and drank with the others.

Chapter Text

After spending some time in the cells being shuffled to the bathroom back and forth periodically and padding time with talking, the power armored guards finally made an appearance taking only Vandal, Mal, and Harold out to the open area where they’re met with robed men and women decorated with crests showing the Brotherhood of Steel.

Surrounding them with their weapons trained were more power armored guards prepared to turn the group into pink mists if they cause trouble, among them Paladin Linus with a stern look on his face.

The other paladin that interrogated Mal wasn’t with them, but from what scattered information and what Mal was willing to share with the others, she’ll show up once the doctors remove the stints out of her nose.

“We’re sorry for the wait,” apologizes one of the elders.

With the storms last night, the Southeastern Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel needed to handle situations that arose during this time.

That said, the elder stresses with the season coming to an end, it will only get worse from here on out.

“Tell us something we don’t know! You mind telling the class why you kidnapped us?” Vandal snaps at them as Elder Miles stepped forward.

Pointing at him, Elder Miles brings up how Vandal went through efforts to contact them, to which Vandal affirms he did, but he didn’t stipulate kidnapping.

His hands behind his back, Elder Miles explains how the chapter had worked in the region in silence for years, rarely showing themselves to anyone, almost like a ghost.

They did this to avoid friction with the likes of the establishing minutemen and other factions slowly building in power, but due to the growing concerning issues, they’re forced into the forefront.

“Now that you forced our hands, perhaps you can tell us more about this individual that you persistently warned us about,” Elder Miles gestures towards the group.

Forced to give the elder the rundown on Henry down to the uncomfortable history between him and Mal, it led to the Elders sharing looks with each other, before they question how Henry achieved his ability to force people into doing his bidding by talking to them.

“He got into contact with the remnant, maybe they helped him or he controlled them,” Vandal gestures towards the Elders as he offers an idea on how it was initially achieved.

Seeing doubt on their faces, Mal bluntly told them how Vandal was right, and her shared history with Henry proved that.

One of the elders cast his doubts claiming that because of Mal’s age at the time, she could easily be wrong, and even if she was right, he could’ve had her under his thrall without her knowing.

“Either way, this guy’s not someone to be trusted and a threat, the sooner we pop him, the sooner we can get back to hating each other,” Vandal throws up his arms in frustration.

Doubt still on their faces, the elders turn to one another as they discuss the matter quietly while the group look on with varying expressions.

“The Enclave don’t take kindly to people leaving their ranks,” they audibly hear one of the elders bring up a point before another counters him.

Shaking her head, the elder remarks, “It could be a trap for all we know! You think they wouldn’t attempt it?”

The arguments got louder until finally the elders grew quiet and Elder Miles finally tells the group that they believe them, however, the association Harold had with the remnant made things peculiar.

“For fucks sake, he ain’t no rat!” Mal shouts at the elders as she pointed out the numerous times Harold could’ve turned on them at any time, but never did.

Startled by her vulgar outburst, the elders readjust themselves before Elder Miles added how because of her history with Henry, it also made things “peculiar.”

With her assault on one of their paladins the other night, it added fuel to the flames, causing Mal to shout how the paladin deserved it.

“A bunch of idiots wandering the wasteland after one man, come on Miles, this is a joke!” Paladin Linus gestures towards the elder before the elder reminded him how dangerous Henry could be on his own.

Turning towards Mal, Elder Miles suggests she undergo a test with their Scribes, which results in Mal hurling insults at him.

“If this man is using some sort of agent to control people, there’s a chance it could still be in your blood,” Elder Miles stresses them figuring out how Henry uses his abilities.

Wincing at the thought of the chapter’s doctors testing her, Mal swore she didn’t see Henry spray her with anything, and she felt fine after their “reunion” at the prison.
Still, the elders persisted in their desires for her being tested.

Even if it’s something as an odd blip on the bloodwork would help them instrumentally in countering it, at the very least, point them in the right direction.

“What about the Enclave doctor?” Paladin Linus questions Harold’s reliability.

Standing firm, Elder Miles states that Harold had nothing on him that would transmit his location, the pin they confiscated cleared of transmitters.

Countering how the Enclave remnant wouldn’t allow deserters to live, Paladin Linus was put in his place by the elders as they wield their power over him with their ranks.

“You told us this man’s story about the remnant being attacked by the raiders, it’s hard to believe they’ll search for his body among the dead. If anything, they might think he wouldn’t survive the wasteland on his own,” Elder Mars pointed out how sloppy the scattered Enclave remnants became since the last war between them and the Brotherhood of Steel took a massive toll on the Enclave proper.

Bringing up how Harold intended on contacting the Enclave remnant he worked for; Paladin Linus hears Harold shout how there were people like him working for the remnant as means of survival.

“You don’t even know if they’re still alive or even sane!” Paladin Linus shouts back at him.

Raising his voice over them, Elder Miles shows compassion towards Harold as he mentions how the Brotherhood rescues people in similar situations, but warns how things can change if they’re culpable aiding the remnant in reinvigorating the Enclave proper.

“Perhaps we could have the Scribes work something out?” One of the elders suggests. “Even if they’re thralls to him, they won’t know our location.”

Elder Saturn questions how they’d know the difference.

Squabbling amongst themselves, the elders finally conclude that Harold would be tasked to try and reach out to the people he knew in the remnant in hopes they can get a better understanding on what’s going on, but warned that if they feel that it is a mistake, Harold will swiftly be punished.

Something Paladin Linus showed immense interest with his smug look towards Harold.

Once the elders had a plan in mind, they had the power armored guards separate the trio.

Harold went in one direction, Mal in another, and Vandal walks back to the cells where Courtesy and Rose wait for him with questions of their own.

Forced through the sickly white lit halls towards the labs, memories begin flooding back to Mal as it felt reminiscent to the vault, the unbearable cold air hitting her face.

In front of the automatic doors, Scribes wearing white coats came out with intrigue, as the power armored guards’ forces Mal through the opened door ways.

Cuffed and monitored, Mal was hoisted on a cold examination table where the Scribes began monitoring her vitals, asking her questions that led her giving sarcastic to annoyed responses, and eventually they drew her blood with her being restrained on the examination table.

Amongst themselves the Scribes spouted theories on how Henry controls people while they wait for the bloodwork to finish, one suggesting an implant inserted behind his eyes, given the descriptions they received.

“Pheromones?” A Scribe suggests another theory.

Shaking his head, the Scribe next to him perpetuates the notion that it isn’t pheromones on grounds that he needs a direct line of sight.

“How can he control raiders, super mutants for that matter?” Another Scribe calls into question on the effectiveness given the victims tended to have lesser intelligence than average people.

Bringing up the issue of Henry using this against the Enclave remnant, there’s discourse among the Scribes before the one of the Scribes brought up the senior Scribe causing them to instantly calm down as they didn’t want his ire.

“We have the subject’s blood, we can go from there,” says one of the Scribes.

Restrained to the table as the Scribes weren’t inclined taking them off without the sway of the elders, Mal listens to the ambiance of the machines as they mechanically groan, expelling excess air, and footsteps as Scribes went around the lab in hushed whispers.

“Is she secured?” Mal hears a nasally voice outside the doors.

A Scribe talking to them said yes, allowing them inside, and though Mal couldn’t see clearly, she knew it was the paladin she gave a deserved head butt to the face.

Her nose covered in a gauze; Paladin Leona held an irritated look on her face looking over Mal as she shot an equal look back.

Elsewhere…

“We’re not leaving here, are we?” Courtesy held his head low as Max whines beside him.

Shaking her head, Rose tries cheering him up, pointing out that they have a complete roof over their heads, and they didn’t need to take shifts watching for raiders.

“Yeah, but I hate getting their attention to use the bathroom, y’know,” Courtesy scratches the side of his messy hair.

Agreeing that she found it annoying too, Rose shows optimism, as she tries to find silver linings, she sees Vandal coming back to the cells with the power armored guards behind him.

Forced through the opened cells as they immediately close, Vandal sighs as he shakes his head in agitation.

“What’s the verdict?” Courtesy asks him as he plops down beside them with a grunt.

Adjusting his hat, Vandal responds by summing their interactions with the elders, “I thought this bureaucratic shit died out with the bombs!”

Chapter Text

Hours passed again, the Squires came around periodically with food and drinks, Harold and Mal haven’t returned from wherever the elders had them sent, and Rose worries about them.

She’s tried asking about them whenever the Squires went by, but they weren’t sure or didn’t know what was happening, and the guards weren’t inclined talking to her more than the elders let them.

Pacing around the cells with worry, Rose halts as Courtesy tries comforting her, reminding her what Vandal said, they’re Brotherhood, not Enclave.

“Maybe I did say that, but things are in the spanner as it is,” Vandal raises a finger at this, before he assures Rose that the two would be fine, for the most part.

Her eyes drop to the ground as Rose exhales before sitting down beside Courtesy as he plays cards with Max.

Yet, again, hours pass by, Rose filled much of the time playing cards, but eventually, the monotony from spending time in the cells causes Courtesy to fall asleep with Max beside him.

Vandal already fell asleep, his hat tipped over his face, and Rose tries staying awake hoping to see Harold and Mal, again.

Unfortunately, her body betrays her, and she falls asleep next to Courtesy.

A little after, Harold’s returned to the cells, his attitude changed, and instead he became nervous about being touched by the guards that it took no force from them letting him back into the cells.

He sat in the corner with his head hung low, no one woke up, it was just him awake, but not for long as Mal made a return back to the cells after the Scribes tested her, her attitude unchanged but it’s evident that there was some form of retaliation done to her for what happened between her and the interrogating paladin.

Noticing the others asleep, Mal didn’t make noise, but she silently saw Harold in the corner, and while the cells were cold, she knew he wasn’t shivering from it.

Sitting beside him, her voice low, she asks him, “What happened?”

Barely raising his head, Harold didn’t want to turn it towards her, but Mal caught sight of a busted lip as he quickly shields it from her.

Noticing the absence of his glasses, Mal shakes her head with disgust.

“Fucking scumbags,” Mal utters under her breath.

Hearing her painfully cough, Harold asks what happened with her, and she told him how Paladin Leona was still sore over what Mal did to her, that she repaid it in kind with a sucker punch after feigning that Mal attempted to assault her, again.

Putting on his doctor facade, Harold asks Mal a set of questions, but Mal told him that she’s fine, but seeing the glistening side of his face, Mal asks if he is, and Harold bashfully mentions how Paladin Linus treated him as nothing but dirt due to his past association with the Enclave remnant.

“I couldn’t reach them, I tried, but they’re not there anymore. I don’t know if they’re… dead or…” Harold weakly waves his hand as he describes his attempts reaching out to his old coworkers, but despite everything he tried failed.

Of course, Paladin Linus didn’t take kindly to the failures and tried saying that Harold was leaking information to the remnant.

Digging around her pocket, Mal hands Harold a legitimate stimpak she swiped from the lab as vengeance for her treatment.

Really, she wanted to gouge out Paladin Leona’s eyes, but the opportunity never arises, so Mal figures Harold can take it for himself.

Clearly, Paladin Linus roughed him up worse than Paladin Leona did to her.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Harold tries declining the stimpak, but Mal refuses by saying how he was a doctor, and doctors needed both eyes to function at their jobs.

Pointing at her, Harold asks, “What about you?”

Waving her hand, Mal insists that she can handle the bruising.

“Besides that, you deserve it more. Consider it as a thanks,” Mal still insists Harold take the stimpak for himself.

Unable to argue against her, Harold takes the stimpak from her, and slight hesitation, forces himself to inject it into himself.

In an instant, he felt much better, his busted lip and blackeye disappear, and he exhales sharply as he quickly stashes the spent stimpak before one of the guards notices it.

“Thank you,” Harold says to her.

Casually shrugging, Mal insists once more that it was only fair.

Still, Harold encourages her to tell him if the pain gets worse, to which she agrees to do.

It was hard to fall asleep with the dread that the two paladins might show up during that time for whatever reason, the two stay vigilant for signs of them, and during this Rose woke up for a moment.

Soon as she saw Harold, she was delighted seeing him safe and sound, and Harold shields her from what happened to him down to what happened to his glasses.

Thankfully, Rose didn’t suspect anything due to the stimpak healing his bruises.

Sore, Mal used her gruffness to hide the subtle pain she felt from the sucker punch.

“Did you contact anyone?” Rose asks with curiosity.

Shaking his head, Harold responds with a sigh and sadness in his voice as he describes his attempts ending in failure.

Either they’re dead or as feared under Henry’s thralls.

“What if they escaped, too?” Rose gestures as she tries to keep Harold’s spirits high.

Mulling it over, Harold shakes his head again, as he says he didn’t see anyone else during the raid that could’ve slinked away once the dust settled.

Turning her head towards Mal, Rose asks about her absence, and Mal hides the sharp pain in her voice the best she could as she answers, “It’s not biological. They think he has an implant, advanced, but not too advanced he can bend the wills of machines.”

Given his tendency to force victims to stare into his eyes, likely Henry’s eyes aren’t what they seem, at least one of them.

“Can they like... hack it or something?” Rose gestures.

Shrugging, Mal responds the probability of Henry’s implant being organic in nature, thus limiting his reach and the effectiveness of hacks.

“So, what, all we have to do is hit him with a shovel and pop them out?” Rose guesses what they should do.

It hurt to laugh, but Mal covers it up, as she says that the only way for them to deal with Henry is the old fashion way.

He has a bomb, with some touches, it could be his demise.

“But he’ll have it guarded,” Harold pointed out.

Sighing as she agrees, Mal crosses her arms, flinching as the pain flows up her spine.

“Did they say when we can leave?” Rose continues.

Shaking their heads, the two say the same thing.

The chapter intends to keep them there for the time being.

“He could be gone by now!” Rose protests.

Agreeing with her, Harold then says there’s more storms coming in from the west, and they’ll be here before the group gets their bearings.

“With the threat of the bomb, they’re trying to work out the best optics, I’m sure,” Harold studiously says.

Sharp pain made it hard to relax, Mal struggles covering it up as she agrees with Harold.

Eventually, Rose falls back asleep, and the two share a look with each other.

Chapter Text

Outside, there’s more storms, a pop-up appears out of the blue, a common sight during the tail end of the season, and during the storm, the Southeastern Chapter finally release the group from their imprisonment under orders by the Elders.

The relief was minimum, the group wasn’t able to leave the premises, though they were allowed to roam through specific areas of the fort.

Paladins Leona and Linus are absent during this, which was good for Harold and Mal, but for Harold, he dreaded the chances of Paladin Linus showing up out of nowhere, and still wanting to harm him when no one’s looking.

Shielding Rose and Courtesy from what happened to them was hard on him, but Harold didn’t want to make the situation already more difficult than it already is, though Vandal promises to keep his and Mal’s secret since the sly ghoul was quick to notice something amiss.

Seeing the remnants of the fort’s former life, Rose was amazed by it, as the chapter reconstructed much of the fort after its initial destruction during the bombs and the decay that came afterwards.

Among the scattered remains of life before, there’s a statue of a soldier standing proudly in the lobby of the fort carrying a highly detailed flag complete with a plaque on the pedestal with legible writing detailing the accomplishments of Fort Campbell.

Lovingly restored, if not for the pedestal having markings of being repaired, it’d easily fool Rose into thinking that the statue somehow survived life after the bombs.

Her curiosity to explore pulls her away from the statue and she continues her exploration through parts of the fort.

Elsewhere as he is walking Max through the fort, Courtesy sees the history in different ways, such as restored photographs of life before the bombs, and plaques detailing events as they happened.

The moment he saw a brief plaque discussing ghost stories said to happen in the old fort Courtesy stops in his tracks with Max as he stares at the plaque with vested interest.

Seeing the plaque detail stories passed around by people about ghostly soldiers patrolling the fort, the enterprising Courtesy read them extensively.

Once everything’s said and done, Courtesy needed to have material for his tours as a fallback, after all, it would be foolish if he didn’t.

Reading the accounts of soldiers stationed at the fort, Courtesy became enthralled by what the soldiers claimed happened to them, such as one story where a simple soldier was coming back to the barracks after going on a run to the store on a rainy night when he spots someone walking in the restricted area of the fort wearing a uniform he didn’t recognize, and immediately went to investigate.

Upon reaching where the person initially was, the soldiers claimed he searched for them, but despite the fort going on lockdown and everyone looking for the person, they never so much as found a boot print, and the officers’ dogs never caught a scent.

When the commanding officer learnt of the event, having been away at a different fort, he went to talk to the soldier, it is said his face grew pale, after hearing the story, and he explains to the soldiers on the grounds how there are often stories of soldiers from bygone era still patrolling the old fort.

Then there’s occasional talks about poltergeist activities, wherein soldiers report belongings becoming misplaced despite being attentive with them, things moving on their own despite no one there, and one soldier reported hearing disembodied voices in his bunker one night.

The accounts were tempting for Courtesy that he had no choice but to write them down, though he may not bring his tour group here, he could at least in theory have more material for his tours.

Even if there’s a chance, he may give it up, his father always told him to plan ahead, anyway, and given they may not come back to the fort after finally leaving its protection, that rings true.

Once he finishes, Courtesy’s curiosity got the better of him, and he had to ask someone on duty if they saw anything out of the ordinary.

A few of the squires didn’t see anything, but they were focused on their duties, they weren’t able to stop to talk to him.

Some of the paladins weren’t inclined to talk, but the few that did say they haven’t seen anything since they’ve been posted to the old fort.

Talking to the scribes went as expected with them explaining away the ghost stories as nothing more than human psychosis and radiated bricks.

Unable to get anything from them, Courtesy only has the stories he copied from the plaque, and with that, he walks Max through the rest of the fort.

“It’s going to be bad; I know it!” Coughs one of the squires going around doing duties as ordered by the Elders while he listens to the storm outside.

Beside him, another squire brings up, “At least we’re not in Oklahoma!”

Wincing, the squire then cedes with, “Suppose you’re right, I can’t imagine doing shifts in mole tunnels.”

As they talk, the squires pass by Vandal as he’s haggling for a beer from the commissary, but the officer on duty refuses to grant Vandal the chance of having something more than water and coffee.

“Come on! Back in my day, I’d know a couple of soldiers capable of sneaking in a few bottles of brews!” Vandal tries to sway the officer to see it his way, but alas, the chapter has rules against drinking on the job, and especially giving alcohol to restricted personnel. 

Unable to win the argument, Vandal’s forced to take his business elsewhere, and he catches sight of Harold in the fort’s old library reading medical books, though the ghoul can tell the fears of further retribution weighed heavily on Harold’s mind.

Hard not to figure it out with how Harold always looks like he’s about ready to bolt from the library, but that’s beside the point.

“How’re you holding up?” Vandal talks to him.

Near startled the mousy man as his blue eyes jumped up to meet his dark eyes.

Exhaling sharply as he recognizes Vandal, Harold coughs how the stimpak Mal smuggled out of the lab helped him immensely, but he remains concerned for him and her safety.

“You couldn’t raise your old coworkers, so what, they always had a high turnover rate, especially with raiders and a crazy German!” Vandal waves his hand as he brings up the obvious.

Nodding in agreement, Harold stops as he tells Vandal how the Paladin didn’t see it that way, and how thankful he is that Rose didn’t see him last night before he used the stimpak.

“Brutalizing a doctor because of tiny huevos syndrome and paranoia, what have we come to?” Vandal shakes his head in disgust before suggesting Harold report the paladin.

Tensing up, Harold shushes him as he hisses at him not to say anything to the elders.

“I’m fine, now. I’ll feel better once we leave,” Harold nervously looks around.

Crossing his arms, Vandal brings up how they can use the paladins abuse to their advantages, causing Harold to near exclaim with a confused, “How?”

They can’t blackmail the paladins, they certainly can’t get an audience with the elders without the paladins present, and as far as Harold’s concerned, this is no different than the Enclave remnant he worked for.

“Look, work with me here, we can use this to our advantage,” Vandal implores Harold to see it from his point of view. “You and the broad were brutalized. I spent enough time on this radiated earth to know that nothing pisses off the Brotherhood more than people under it causing problems. People already don’t like them withholding tech, among other things, but they sure as hell don’t need fuel for the fire.”

Listening to him, Harold brings up, “What about Henry?”

Pointing his gloved finger at the mousy man, Vandal asserts that the chapter will instantly focus on Henry for the sake of not drawing ire from the main branch once they use the knowledge against it, and they’ll certainly want to make things right for the group.

“This is too audacious even for you!” Harold shakes his head in disapproval.

Sighing, Vandal points out, “I lied for you two, already, and you don’t want Rose getting blindsided, too, do you?”

Making a point, Vandal watches as Harold recoils with the book pulled towards him before his lips droop into a frown as he admits Vandal having a point, however he didn’t want to be in the same sphere as Paladin Linus.

“I’ll work something out, don’t you worry,” Vandal gives a toothy grin.

Unconvinced at what Vandal planned, Harold stresses his concerns for the others, and his fears of incensing the already violent Paladin, but Vandal winks at him.

“Would you let the bounty hunter do his thing?” Vandal shushes him. “Now, you can lend a hand, or live in fear like you’ve been doing since you crawled out of your dusty vault?”

Chapter Text

Of all the things that happened, and a lot of things happened, never did Harold think helping the ghoul that once kidnapped him and Rose into showing the Brotherhood chapter how bad of a Paladin Linus and Leona are to force their hand would happen, but it did, and it frightened him every step of the way.

Assuring him tirelessly this would help them, Vandal brought up how they can use this to get better treatment, even better sleeping arrangements, and get the elders to be more transparent about what they planned doing with the situation involving a bomb, a revised FEV, and a German man’s perverted dream.

Stressing the three key points got Harold to see it his way, Vandal was able to get him into position to show the elders the abuse he and Mal received since they been in the Brotherhood chapter’s custody.

Adamant that Vandal’s plan would work, Harold forces himself to follow through, and surprisingly, Mal went along with it as well, but in private she admits only doing it for Harold’s sake.

Visibly touched by this display, Harold asks her if she was worried about Paladin Leona, but the stubborn Mal says she can handle her, that her concerns are only about him and Paladin Linus.

“Ain’t right picking on an old man,” Mal sums it as she snuck him a pair of new glasses she stole from an inattentive Scribe, before Harold reminds her once more, they’re not too far apart in age, and if anything, Vandal is older than both of them.

Holding the glasses in his hands, Harold asks about the scribe’s prescription, and Mal told him how blind the scribe was about not finding his glasses in his side pocket.

Or realizing she was nearby when she stole them.

“Think it’ll work for you?” Mal asks as Harold studies his ill-gotten glasses.

The prescription could be better, but Harold can still see somewhat with them, that he can use them until he finds better glasses.

Truthfully, Harold hoped to find a serum that is said to correct any vision issue that a person has and even improves their vision beyond the typical 20/20.

Of course, as with any specialized serums, it is infuriatingly rare to come across since it’s a recent creation that has made rounds in different areas, improbable to manufacture without the risks, and expensive that it’ll bankrupt anyone who attempts purchasing it from a seller.

Assuming it’s a legitimate serum to begin with, considering the penchant for fake or watered down stimpaks passed around and sold as legitimate.

There’s a possibility the Brotherhood charter might have them, being they’re equipped to synthesize just about anything in reason, but once again, they’re in a precarious situation that it was impossible to suggest.

Remaining adamant that she was doing it for his sake, Mal kept playing it off as Harold needing to see where he was going, especially when avoiding Paladin Linus, that the scribe she stole the pair from wouldn’t notice it missing until it’s too late.

“I do appreciate your help, nonetheless,” Harold thanks her as they move onward to put Vandal’s plan into action.

Having lofty goals, it made things more stressful, since one wrong move, and they’re worse off than they started.

Still, Vandal remained confident in his capabilities.

Unfortunately, this lofty goal got the attention of Rose and Courtesy, which made them aware of what horrible things happened to Harold and Mal while they were sleeping.

Hurt how they kept this information from her and Courtesy, Rose shows her displeasure as Harold explains himself by telling her that he didn’t want her to do anything rash, that Vandal wanted to use it against the Brotherhood chapter.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Rose frets.

Comforting her, Harold shows some belief Vandal will come through with his gambit, but he couldn’t deny that things haven’t gone their way.

As she nods, Rose exhales sharply as Harold gets pulled away by Vandal, leaving her to find Courtesy as he grooms Max with a brush.

“He seems sure it’ll work,” Courtesy blinks as he runs the brush through Max’s fur.

Agreeing with him, Rose sighs as she helps Courtesy groom Max as the German Shepherd playfully bats away the brush from its face.

Taking her mind off her woes, Rose rubs the sides of Max’s face, and as she does, she heard a shout, “You can’t be serious!”

Alarmed, Rose stood up with Courtesy beside her with their eyes focusing at the top of the hallway as someone’s being dragged through it by armored personnel.

It is Paladin Linus, no longer in his power armor, and he shouts in anger about Harold still aligned with the Enclave, how he compromised the integrity of the fort without the elders realizing.

His arms locked behind his back, forced to walk goose step, Paladin Linus continues to shout as the armored personnel pull him forward while Rose and Courtesy look on in shock.

Following behind more guards pull Paladin Leona through the halls as she cries out in vain demanding the elders to hear her voice as she too was yanked out of her power armor.

Forced forward, she’s pushed pass the two as they watch her fight against the guards in desperation.

“Gee, I guess that means his plan worked!” Courtesy scratches the side of his face as he blinks.

The shouting disappears and the two walks with Max towards Vandal strolling with his gloved hands in his pocket with a grin on his skinless face as he triumphantly proclaims, “Pack up your stuff, we’re moving to the Hamptons!”

He stops when he notices confusion on their faces, causing him to sigh as he explains what the Hamptons were before the bombs fell, and the two collectively nod as they understood what he meant, before he prods them and Max to follow him.

Doing as they’re told, they’re reunited with Harold and Mal.

“And you two doubted me!” Vandal chortles.

Adjusting his stolen glasses, Harold retorts, “I have reasons to doubt someone, but I don’t doubt Linus fully intended to hurt me!”

Rolling his dark eyes, Vandal urges Harold to see this a win.

“You’re lucky his temper got the better for him,” Mal eyes Vandal.

Remaining casual as he shrugs, Vandal points out that it worked in their favor, now that the elders saw it firsthand what kind of a person Linus is behind their backs, they’ll want to right the wrongs committed.

They already have enough problems as it is.

“You sure they’re going to do that?” Rose raises her brow at him.

Scoffing, Vandal insists how he knows what he’s doing.

Shaking her head, Mal retorts, “For a bounty hunter, you’re a jack of all trades!”

Smirking at her, Vandal tugs on his leather long coat as he states how he had years of practice.

Doubting him, still, Mal reminds him to temper himself, else when he inevitably gets proven wrong, it’ll hurt worse than being bitten by a mole rat.

Stubborn as her, Vandal remained certain about his capabilities, and their conversation is interrupted as Rose asks what they can do with their newfound privileges inside the fort.

Generalizing it, Vandal tops the list off that while they’re still restricted on some things, forced to sleep in the cells isn’t one of them.

Motioning with his gloved hand, Vandal prods the group into moving forward into their new living quarters.

In a different part of the fort, they are granted a section of the squires’ dormitory where they splintered off into their assigned rooms.

Still without his beers, Vandal knew better not to test his luck, but having something softer to sit on was better than nothing.

Having gotten the elders to be transparent with him, he learned how they sent Vertibirds to the location, but thus far, the trained paladins didn’t find Henry wandering back having escaped Tennessee, but they did find corpses of Enclave remnant personnel of various stages of decomposition.

There were remnants of materials used in bomb making, the paladins found traces of FEV being present, but nothing suggesting power armors were being made inside the factory, despite initial fears.

It’s an estimated one bomb had been made in the entire factory, given the size, the scribes that came with during the attack predict it being big enough to have a force of a mini nuke, but a punch of a large one.

Of course, the paladins were swift to destroy the factory by carpet bombing it to hell and back once they cleared it.

With that said, destroying the factory proves invaluable thwarting the remnant from gaining foothold, but admittedly, it didn’t curb it completely.

Harold said under duress he told Linus where the remnant’s last known location is, but given the paladin didn’t believe him even after his pleas, he doubted the chapter was told this information.

He himself didn’t know if the remnant was still in the location, if they had left after the raiders attacked, or if Henry had ventured to it.

Having not been successful raising his old coworkers over the radio, Harold was forced to reconcile the notion that they are indeed dead, victims of the remnant, Wasteland, or Henry.

A noble effort, for sure, though Harold had some hope his coworkers survived, alas, bleakness is expected in the wasteland.

In his own room, furnished with a comfortable bed and a private bathroom, Harold unwinds, rubbing his weary eyes.

With Paladin Leona and Linus court marshaled for their unwarranted attacks on him and Mal, there’s relief that comes over him.

Pulling off his shoes as he felt instant coolness on his feet after yanking off the sweat soaked socks, Harold exhales as he stretches out his arms, feeling his joints popping, and on his mind, a warm shower.

Locating fresh clothes didn’t take long, he found them in the drawers, and while the pressed office shirt was larger than he needed, all that it mattered to him was it didn’t smell like sweat and dirt.

Shuffling into the bathroom, Harold enjoyed the peace of hot water running down his face as he washes himself with the accompanying soaps.

Eventually, he pulls himself out of the shower after noticing his skin starting to wrinkle from overexposure.

Drying himself off with the plushest towel he ever had the chance of using and switching to fresh clothes that felt foreign to him after spending time in his last set of clothes, Harold steps out, refreshed, and he felt better than he’d been in a long time.

Shuffling back to his bed and audibly groaning as he sat down, the mattress slightly gave, and he allows himself to fall backwards on the bed.

Feeling the softness under his back, Harold barely budges, and he enjoys the relaxation Vandal afforded them.

His woes alleviated, Harold’s eyes slowly close, and his mind disappears into the ethereal slumber, no fear of danger penetrating it.

Chapter Text

Unsure how long he slept, Harold finally rouses from his slumber, his blue eyes glimpsing around the room as he pushes himself up from the bed.

Having slept comfortably, Harold’s able to move with ease, his mind refreshed, and he stretches out his arms and legs.

Feeling his joints crack, Harold yawns as he scratches the side of his body.

Rubbing his eyes as he pulls always the dry crust forming around them after some time, Harold proceeds to leave the room.

Seeking out the others took no time, Harold found Rose playing cards with the Scribes with Courtesy acting as the dealer.

Laying underneath the table, Max perks up as it pulls itself up after hearing Harold approach them.

“Hey Mr. Harold!” Rose glimpses up to see him.

Smiling, Harold greets her back.

“Heya, Mr. Harold, ya wanna play cards with us?” Courtesy also greets him, and he does the same while patting the top of Max’s head.

Seeing the Scribes attentively paying attention to their cards, Harold declines, before asking how they slept.

“Slept like a Brahmin on a cool morning!” Courtesy pats the top of his top hat.

Agreeing with him, Rose comments how she missed sleeping under the soft lights.

Max barks as it wags its tail, signifying it also slept better than expected.

Glimpsing around as he notices their absence, Harold asks about Vandal and Mal.

The two tell him Vandal and Mal went to assist with the newly designated Operation Cain.

“Hey, are you dealing or not?” One of the Scribes spoke up in annoyance.

Wincing, Courtesy quickly deals the cards, and the Scribes silently checked their cards against his as they mutter quietly to themselves.

Leaving them to their game, Harold walks through the old fort, listening to the ambiance, and heard murmurs of more storms cropping up, with more settlements being destroyed by nightly tornadoes.

Several settlers migrated to neighboring settlements that hadn’t been hit, but the influx is causing a stir among the residents already stressed about the intensifying storms.

The minutemen are trying to pacify them the best they can, but they remained limited due to areas in the state remaining ardent against “yankee” controls.

The panic doesn’t stop with concerns of the intensifying storms finishing the rest of the settlements off “like before” and how costly it took rebuilding them the last time it happened.

Some settlers even took to migrating into East Tennessee close as they can get, believing that the mountainous region would deflect much of the storms, and if all fails, they’ll move further east.

Something unattainable for the average settlers, that some consider trying to move further north through the Kentucky border.

The way this dilemma is framed, it always happens this time of the year, and most people opt to attempt trying to stay in Tennessee by migrating between settlements, in their views the state is their home, but unsurprisingly this view isn’t shared by everyone.

With rampant tornadoes in the Midwest, obviously no one outside the adrenaline junkies would ever attempt migrating there.

Some settlers who migrated from out west weren’t keen returning that way, as they took paths through the Midwest, and though they’re surprisingly safer, with the constant tornadoes scaring off eager raiders, it proved a difficult task retreading.

Once more, the minutemen are trying to help in any way possible, as said, they’re limited in their capacity.

As for the Brotherhood chapter, they’re not keen on involving themselves with the settlements.

More concerned with upholding the Brotherhood of Steel mantra, code, and rules, they’re inclined preventing settlers from obtaining weapons such as the power armors while recruiting those who have the capacity to join.

With Henry on their radar, they want nothing more preventing him from achieving his goals, and most importantly, stamp out the Enclave remnant for good.

Thankfully, this doesn’t seem to be everyone in the chapter’s opinions, Harold came across scribes and the like quietly criticizing the chapter for not doing more, worried about people stranded out in the wasteland with nowhere to go, but being further below the chain, they’re forced to hide their opinions from their superiors, lest they are punished for it.

“There you are!” Harold hears Mal as she appears before him. “Figured you got locked up in detention for being a spy or something!”

Shaking his head, Harold explains he hadn’t faced scrutiny, no one bothered him, and everyone’s too busy with their assignments that no one had time to bother him.

“Well, good, I don’t think I can get away with gouging someone’s eye out with a used stimpak needle,” Mal shrugs before she warns about the Brotherhood chapter picking up readings for violent storms entering the area in the coming days.

One last hurrah of the season, they said.

Nodding, Harold sighs as he dreads the last hurdle of Spring throwing them even more torrential storms.

“Anyway, me and the prick got the ball rolling, finally. Henry’s waited this long to deploy his FEV bomb, he found the right location for it to get picked up by a tornado,” Mal gestures towards Harold.

Listening to her, Harold winces before he asks what the plan of attack will be.

Frowning, Mal then tells Harold how the Brotherhood chapter won’t use their Vertibirds with the storms getting worse by the minute and there’s hesitation sending an army out to the last location marked by Henry with it in an area where it’s likely to be hit by the tornadoes.

“What do we do, then?” Harold blinks.

Sighing, Mal says with a stressed, “I’ll shorthand it for you, old man. ‘You know him better than us, your Dogmeat has his scent, you already have a power armor. So, we’ll deal with him on the outskirts but thank you for calling’ and I’m being generous here, too.”

Whether it be perceived incompetence or the fears of being trapped and or killed by the turbulent storms, the Brotherhood chapter is refraining from actively participating in their quest to stop Henry.

Not to say they are going to let this go and see what happens, what with the Enclave remnant still in the air, but them going after one man’s a different story.

Tensing up, Harold remarks, “But, what about the bomb? The super mutants?”

Shrugging, Mal says to him, “I’m just a tired messenger, old man, we told them, they listened, here we are. I’m getting my power armor back, so we’re good on that front.”

Even if they were not, Mal would still get it back, one way or another.

Perhaps there’s still some resistance to act because of Harold’s former ties to the remnant, Mal doesn’t know, all she knows is, her and Vandal weren’t impressed by the supposed prestigious Brotherhood of Steel.

Though the elders insist they want to help, it remains to be seen.

“The prick went to tell Goldilocks and country boy. There’s still enough daylight for us to get out of here,” Mal says to him.

Frowning as he nods, Harold went with her to the lockup where a paladin allows them through, while another retrieved their confiscated possessions.

His possessions returned, Harold sighs with relief having his books again, nearby Mal checking over her power armor as she turns her head hearing the approach of Vandal and the others.

“Please still be in there!” Rose mutters to herself as she reaches her knapsack and opens it.

Digging around, she lets out a sigh of relief as she felt the parcel still inside, untouched.

Once she’s satisfied, she then retrieves her Pip-Boy and the comforting hue of the screen greets her after she locks the Pip-Boy onto her wrist.

Reunited with his Betty, Vandal kisses the gun as he held it gingerly before he set it into the holster.

Noticing a look on Mal’s face as she stays by the power armor, Harold ends up joining her side as he asks her if she is fine, and she admits to him how she concluded that she was developing an immunity to Henry’s stare.

Be it because of their shared history or something else, she was able to put up a fight against Henry despite being tied up.

“How do you figure?”

“When he was beating the shit out of me, granted there is probably a chance that helped, there were times when all I was able to break free of his control. That’s why I never told him about you people, even if he asked, and never did. Maybe that’s why he left me like a bloody sack. He realized it too.”

“It could also be more limited than we thought. Average people are easily manipulated by him, but people of higher intelligence are a different story.”

“Your old friends might’ve figured it out too, he isn’t just wanting to cut loose threads and take over the wasteland, he wants to get rid of people he can’t control.”

A pause, Harold thinks it over, and he silently wonders the possibility of his old coworkers surviving, after all.

Chapter Text

“I don’t have skin anymore and even I feel the humidity!” Vandal winces as the group maneuvers through the wasteland as Max tracks Henry’s whereabouts.

Pulling at his light blue collar to alleviate the feeling as air breezes in between his skin and shirt, Harold comments the difficulty breathing.

Walking next to them, Rose touches her hair as it puffed up considerably from the humidity, feeling like dry cotton ball in between her fingers.

Max’s tongue hung loose as it attempts to keep itself cool in the humid weather.

Her hair stuck in shape from the sweat produced by the hard hat she wore, Mal groans how she forgot how humid it gets at the end of the season and mentions hiding out with Hal in her bunker waiting for the humidity to break before going out scavenging again.

Vandal stiffly nods and mentions that the humidity will continue to rise even more than it is now until the final set of storms passes through the region.

“It gets worse?!” Rose audibly groans.

Chuckling, Vandal remarks, “Makes you miss your vault, don’t it?”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Rose admits she did miss it, but not only because she didn’t feel like she’s walking through an oven going through the hallways, but her father.

Prickly as they were to Harold, the chapter weren’t inclined to let Rose use their equipment to reach out to her vault.

“Aw, don’t you worry none, Rose, your daddy is gonna be excited seeing you at the door!” Courtesy’s voice reverbs as cheers her up as he walks inside the power armor.

Not something Mal wanted to do, but considering how well Courtesy uses the power armor, she’s forced to allow him the ability to use it, though it didn’t come without rules.

She made it abundantly clear, however, that if he scratches the paint or instances of it being damaged, he will face her wrath, to which he exceedingly assures her that nothing will happen to the power armor.

“Ah, don’t worry, you’ll find another one to fix up!” Vandal waves his gloved hand.

Muttering how it’ll be difficult without Hal with her, Mal sighs.

Shrugging, Vandal suggests Mal ransack whatever hovel Henry hid himself in for supplies.

If he’s already got a bomb made up, he’ll have to move it around, somehow.

“How can he be sure the tornado will hit wherever he chose for the pickup location, they’re not usually known to be predictable, right?” Harold quizzically turns towards Vandal for verification, and he confirms tornadoes aren’t known for giving details of their drops.

Still, Henry believed this location was prime for a massive tornado forming in its midst, and if history taught Vandal anything, he’d have to make a break for safety the moment the tornado drops.

Unless the location has a hidden bunker.

Could explain where he’s been going since he got the idea, each location he wanted to use, but for whatever reason or another they weren’t right for what he wanted to do.

The television station with the vault would’ve been perfect, if not for the mutant, and with the prison and museum, they’re decomposing to the point even Henry wasn’t foolish enough to try his luck.

With his final location marked, it could be anything, maybe even another vault, no one really knowing how many vaults there are, even a robot can’t be sure, all Vandal knows whatever Henry found, he’ll make sure it will keep himself safe while hell breaks loose outside.

Given his MO, he’ll let the poor schmucks he forced under his thrall stay with the bomb to make sure it gets picked up by the tornado, and not even blink stepping out of his hiding spot.

Assuming he went out of his way getting to the place before the final set of storms hit, hell, Vandal wouldn’t be surprised if he did, though the more he thought about it, it was pretty obvious how Henry had a complex, and him wanting to see his triumph in person wouldn’t be far off.

Mal confirms this with a dry response.

“He may have super mutants with him, they’d be plenty to move the bombs,” Harold notes.

In agreement, Mal asks if Courtesy can handle them, and he asserts by posing with the BFG he can.

“Don’t break anything!” Mal hisses at him.

His ability to wince limited, Courtesy sheepishly brings up, “If they don’t break me, first!”

If what he heard about the super mutants means anything, they’ll fold him like nothing, even inside the power armor.

Shaking her head, Mal mutters to herself.

Continuing the hunt for Henry as Max guides them through the wasteland, they see areas completely obliterated by tornadoes.

Entire abandoned neighborhoods wiped away with only the foundations remaining, the already marred streets ripped to nothing by the high winds, leaving behind exposed patches of the dirt beneath.

The disturbingly strong winds wiped away everything that there aren’t any hints of debris.

If anyone stayed inside one of the houses for the night, there was no chance of their survival, none of the houses having basements ensures this, and if they’re lucky, the high winds suffocated them quickly before they’re ripped away or thrown at warp speed into a wall.

Something Rose didn’t want to know how that looked more than the surface details.

Finding where they are was nigh impossible without the use of Rose’s Pip-Boy and the HUD in the power armor, the tornado went through the former downtown after demolishing the neighborhood and left nothing behind in its destruction.

The large fountain with the statue as the centerpiece missing from the center of the downtown roundabout, leaving behind only a massive patch of dirt with only the long pipe feeding water sticking out of the ground.

Miraculously, only one building survived the destruction, completely untouched by the high winds, and it was a textile in the distance.

Amazingly, the old brownstone survived the bombs, the weather, and the name still legible even where they stood.

WEST TEXTILE FACTORY.

Established September of 2066.

‘Happy to service the city of Greenbrier!’

Amazed how not a single window blew out from the high winds or other, Vandal whistles as he comments how exceedingly rare it is to find a place like it intact like this, and Rose asks if he ever came out this way.

Without any other buildings to help him, Vandal responds how he’s been everywhere he can think of, but this didn’t ring bells.

Seeing the path of the tornado with his dark eyes, Vandal comments on how it should’ve hit the textile factory dead on.

Aware how tornadoes can change directions on a whim, he notes that with the width of the tornado, the textile factory would’ve seen some damages from the outer edge of the tornado.

Instead, it’s pristine.

And if Vandal didn’t know anything better, it survived everything thrown at it and the area.

Whining, Max grew antsy, causing Rose to kneel as she asks if it’s okay, and it whimpers as it tugs on her sleeve, as if it wanted to get away from the area.

“Smart dog, come on, we’re burning daylight,” Vandal motions them to move onward.

The textile factory behind them, the group moves forward as they navigate the devastated area.

No sign of anyone, not even a mutant animal, it’s hard to know if Greenbrier was resettled or left to rot.

The lack of anything made it surreal, that Rose asks aloud how anyone can manage to rebuild the settlements to only have them destroyed, yet again.

“Human nature, little girl. Hell, we used to think living in caves was the best damn thing since sliced bread before the first idiot found out how to build a house with sticks and stones!” Vandal gave his answer.

Walking ahead of them, Courtesy says in a reverb how he met people affected by the storms every year, and somehow, they always stuck around despite the dangers of spring.

Whether it be they can’t afford to move elsewhere or human stubbornness, it does amaze Courtesy how people are willing to rebuild what little they have despite the elements being against them.

Literary nothing left of Greenbrier, not even a sunken pile of rubble to sort through, the group leaves, and onward they trekked through the ravaged landscape.

Eerily quiet, it kept everyone on edge, and it’s surreal seeing the extent of the destruction the tornadoes left in their wake.

Worse, this isn’t the extent of what they can do, and Rose worries about Memphis still being there when she inevitably makes it there.

“Come to think of it, I think Memphis and some other bigger cities always stand up to the storms,” Courtesy thoughtfully mentions.

Never heard any tornadoes doing damages to the major cities, always the small towns.

Assured Memphis will still be there, Rose ushers onward, and slowly the skies above turn a different shade as more clouds from the east started moving into the area, and the group struggle finding a safe place for the night.

Everywhere they went, it was flattened to nothing, and the few standing structures they did seldom had enough coverage from the elements, the matters worsened with some becoming death traps by the minute.

In the distance, over the ridge, they see bright flashes of lighting, and with them came another ominous thunder.

The humidity hadn’t died down and it felt like it worsened even in the night, a dangerous sign, and Vandal urges them to hurry.

Around them, the winds started slowly picking up, not strong enough to send them flying, but they can feel the force of it hitting them.

The darkness overtook, causing Courtesy and Rose to use their respected lights to guide the group through it, as the lighting inches closer to them.

“Up ahead!” Courtesy spies a building ahead of them.

Hurrying, the group made it to the building as lighting increases in frequency behind them and the thunder near-deafening.

The large front doors opened with some heavy pushes, and they flee inside as the torrential rain came with the storm.

Barely illuminated with no lights and only the lighting covering the area with bright flashes, the group found themselves in a lobby with checkered laminated floors.

With their lights, the group works to navigate the surroundings with the thunder rumbling outside.

An elegant cigarette dispenser reflected the lights with brands that even Vandal hadn’t heard of before, still pristine despite the centuries that followed.

“Red Apple? People used to smoked apples?” Rose is confused at the branding for one of the cigarettes.

Equally confused, Courtesy mentions hearing how people older than him smoke resin in wooden pipes when they didn’t have tobacco leaves, but apples never came up in conversation.

As he chuckles, Vandal explained to the two the concept of branding, especially when it came to cigarettes of yore.

For him, however, Vandal didn’t smoke much, more of a drinker than anything, but if he did smoke, it wouldn’t be Red Apple.

He wasn’t fond of the artificial scents they used to “playfully” mask the tobacco smoke and pedantic as he is, if Vandal’s smoking, he isn’t going to be cute about it, either.

Seeing the old brands of cigarettes that got advertised from sunup to sundown by every waking minute again, it did stir a bit of nostalgia in him, however, seeing that it reminded him of when he didn’t always look like a skinless frank.

That said, there’s hardly any nutritional value in eating centuries’ old cigarettes, so they move away from the cigarette dispenser as they familiarize themselves with their new surroundings.

Digging around the receptionist’s desk for anything of value, something disturbs Mal that she brought it up.

“What’s wrong with the notepad?” Rose questions Mal’s concerns as she studies the notepad that she grabbed from a drawer.

Looking it over with her amber eyes, Mal explains, “That’s the thing, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

No water damage, or any damage for that matter, hell Mal doesn’t even see any damages around the area.

Eerily, the whole area looks preserved.

Even taking a deep breath, there’s no scent of rotting wood or other, either.

“Could it have been resettled?” Rose gestures as she sees Mal tensing up.

Alerted to this, Vandal kept a hand firm around Betty’s handle as Mal throws the notepad on the top of the desk before pulling Harold close to them as Max’s ears moves around with the German Shepherd alert and curious.

Outside the storms batters the surrounding area with heavy rain, what sounds like hail, and the lighting grew intense enough to illuminate the lobby for a few minutes.

And in those minutes, it looked like the lobby had electricity, with lights in the scones and the elegant chandelier above the lobby.

Chapter Text

Outside, the storm brought forth hail and high winds while thunder and lightning made their presences known, though the hail made constant contact with the building, shockingly, the windows didn’t shatter as watermelon-sized hail pelts them from being tossed in the high winds.

Violent, the storm attacks the area with little thought, and to the group, they’re thankful they’re not outside braving the storm, but with what they found of the lobby, a building that’s untouched and preserved raises more concerns than relief.

Preserved photos of life before the bombs with people dressed in uniforms and clothing that was popular then dot the walls as the group slowly moves deeper into the building after all, but Courtesy caught whiff of something succulent and sweet.

Having expended quite a bit of their supplies, with the Brotherhood chapter not even topping them off, and their combined caps dwindling to the hundreds, sparse finding them out in the wasteland, the group weighs their options.

“Preserved building with some delicious smelling food, God, I watched enough horror vids to know nothing good ever comes from it!” Vandal winces as he wanted to brave going out into the storm rather than take his chances inside.

Sniffing the air, Rose makes out what smells like strawberry vanilla cake, something she only had in cake mixes her vault had for special occasions, but this smells off to her.

Confirming that the cake smells fresh to him, Vandal kept a tight grip on Betty’s handle.

There’s discussion regarding finding the source of the smell, understandably, skepticism was strong as no one was sure what will wait for them if they investigate, and if it was a trap.

“You don’t think it’s Chicken Charlie, do you?” Courtesy worries about the urban legend being true.

Taking a deep breath, Vandal notes there’s no familiar scent of fried breading or unusual meat smells, but knowing better to make a definitive answer, he cautions them all the same.

Ahead of them with the BFG ready to unleash lead if needed, Courtesy felt braver being in the power armor as he mentally readies for a potential fight.

Its ears low, Max picked up on the uneasiness the group felt as it softly whines.

Comforting it, Rose soothes it as its tail went behind its leg.

Cautiously, the group moves forward towards large doors at the end of the hallway, passing by equally large windows that shows the horrible storm outside, blinding them heavily with bright flashes of lighting.

Hail hitting the windows sent Rose in the air as it spooks her, Harold comforting her as Max yelps at the sounds of the heavy hail crashing against the windows, but none of them took damages.

It perplexes and scares Vandal as he questions what troubles they unknowingly put themselves into.

Having no other choice, all they can do is hope they’re faster on the draw.

There’s faint music coming from somewhere in yonder, old, familiar to Vandal, and he grits his teeth as he listens to the music as it blends through the storm.

It sounds like someone playing the piano, an instrument that hasn’t been in vogue since the bombs, and only ghouls from before time who liked pianos or classical music fanatics will know how to play or recognize it.

Come to think of it, Vandal doesn’t remember seeing a functional piano since he started his new life, and if he did, it was one of those fancy ones that played sheet music on spools.

From what he can tell, his musical knowledge limited, whoever is playing the piano isn’t bad they're talented, compared to him, at least.

Which, going back to his previous thought, it’s either someone who found one of the only functional pianos left or an automatic piano player still working.

“It’s coming through those doors,” Rose tenses up as she stares at the large doors that leads into a ballroom.

Listening to the music attentively, Harold remarks how the tune sounded familiar to him, that he heard it when he was in his vault.

Paying attention to the music, Mal tenses up as she admits she hears it, too, something that used to play over the speakers in her vault whenever Henry thought it’d liven things up.

Quickly, she makes a disparaging remark against him.

“What is it?” Rose asks with curiosity as she’s never heard anything like this before.

Mal calmly answers her, “Moonlight Sonata.”

Tilting her head, Rose echoes the answer, unsure if she’s even heard this before, but Harold helps her.

She’s then told by Harold how this famous piece was from a composer who lived centuries before even the war, a prominent man in his time, and that Moonlight Sonata was one of his most notable works beloveds by all whom know it.

“That’s what it is?” Vandal becomes shocked at this as he listens to the music closer.

Nodding, Harold insists how he and Mal are correct in their deduction, causing Vandal to wonder their odds about the source of the music.

Underneath the music and the storm, they began hearing rancorous laughter, sounds of a lively party happening with people having the time of their lives with clanks of wine glasses as people cheer.

“What should we do?” Courtesy asks Vandal.

Gritting his teeth, Vandal concludes, “No guns a’ blazing.”

Doesn’t mean they can’t be prepared for the worst-case scenario.

Hoisting the BFG, Courtesy readies as Vandal prepares his aim, and they open the large doors into the ballroom.

Expecting the worst, Harold and Mal kept Rose and Max behind them, and they readied for an all-out shootout, but nothing happened.

The music in the ballroom suddenly stopped, the sounds of the party gone, only the storm provided the ambiance, and Courtesy stepped through the threshold with curiosity.

Nothing on his VAT, the entire ballroom empty, and there’s a grand piano in the far back.

Stepping forward with Betty trained, Vandal’s dark eyes dart around looking for someone sneaking around, however as confirmed by the VAT, they’re alone in the ballroom.

Going up to the grand piano, Vandal checks it, and as he investigates it, he finds that the keys were hidden by a decorative cover with a lock.

Touching the seat, it was cold to the touch.

With Max’s sense of smell, it confirms that there is no fresh scent in the ballroom.

There’s no used glassware on the elegant tables, no food, or any indication of people being there.

“Is it one of those auto things?” Rose speaks up.

Messing with the piano, Vandal answers with a confused, “Nah, this ain’t one.”

Raising his brow, Harold questions if they had listened to a recording.

Glancing around, Mal notes she does not see any speakers, no jukeboxes, anything that can play music or a party track.

“Ya’ll scaring me!” Courtesy yelps as he felt the jolt in his body from the rising fear.

Investigating the ballroom left them with more questions than answers.

There are no layers of dust, everything pristine, even under the best circumstances, there would be some kind of dust being the wasteland, but there isn’t any.

If Mal had to guess, it was like they are in a time capsule.

“Maybe we should go back to the lobby and wait for the storm to pass, get out of here,” Harold suggests.

Agreeing with him, Vandal motions for them to fallback down the hallway they came from.

Well, damned if the doors closed on their own!

“Has… has anyone ever… experienced something like this, before?” Rose tenses up.

The collective ‘no’ didn’t help her chattering teeth as the group quietly glimpse around the ballroom.

Chapter Text

As the storm sweeps through the area, the group are met with a curious situation that no one ever experienced before, to the point they have no idea how to address, they’re left with few choices.

“Maybe the foundation is resettling?” Harold attempts to see this logically.

Going up to the doors, Vandal checks, and announces that someone closed them.

Equally baffled with the others, Harold still attempts finding a logical explanation, but Vandal held on to the idea that they’re not alone in the building.

“They couldn’t have doubled-back after leaving the ballroom, just to go around and closed, the door without us seeing or hearing them,” Mal shakes her head.

Still keeping his hand around Betty’s grip, Vandal warns her that he’s seen just about everything in the new world, that he’s picked up on every trick of the trade.

“What does that mean?” Rose grew curious.

His dark eyes darting around before spotting the door across the ballroom, Vandal explains to her, “Like how you can feel right as rain with a hit of a stimpak, little girl, there’s stuff that can either make you not feel a thing or no one see’s a thing.”

Hearing Vandal’s description, Rose winces as she nervously glances around, before Courtesy points out how he didn’t see anything on the VAT.

“I have it tuned for everything, country boy, whoever’s fucking with us’s got the run of the place,” Mal grits her teeth.

Looking down at Max, Vandal encourages the German Shepherd to get a whiff of anyone and anything that might’ve been in the ballroom before them.

Pointing its head upright, Max breathes in the air, and begins whining, as if indicating that it didn’t smell anything.

“Raiders?” Courtesy gulps.

Shaking his head, Vandal points out how everything looks pristine, that if it had been the raiders, instantly, everything would’ve become dirtied, and there’d be booby traps.

Most of all, they wouldn’t take this long to attempt attacking them in the ballroom.

“If not raiders, then… what?” Harold grew tense.

Unsure himself, Vandal proceeds to order them back to the lobby, he found the doors they came through locked, and though Mal tries pick locking them open, they’re impenetrable.

Behind them, the doors on the opposite side of the ballroom opened on their own, silently beckoning the group.

“Should I try and knock down the doors?” Courtesy asks.

Giving it thought, Vandal becomes tempted to tell Courtesy to break down the doors with the force of the power armor but decides against it as he’s forced to admit that if Courtesy tries, they risk more trouble than it's worth but opts to keep the idea alive.

Never know when it might become useful later.

Seemingly guided by unknown forces, the group makes its way through the opened doors into another long hallway filled with portraits of people long gone.

Not even one ruined, all preserved, and some smelled as if they had just been painted not too long, ago.

Unsettled and alert, the group unsure what to expect as they’re forced through the hallway towards the end with another set of doors waiting for them.

The large windows show the progress of the storm moving through the area, but something catches Rose’s eyes, and she stops to look out into the wasteland.

Flashes of lighting enshrine the area in a blinding light, but Rose spots something over the hills in the distance.

“Holy shit!” Courtesy lets out as he near backs into the wall.

Blending into the darkness, it was almost unseen, but the lighting reveals it to them in spurts.

Floating weightlessly in the air, seemingly dancing to a tune only it can hear, a spiraling funnel emerges from the blackness above, slowly coming down to the ground below.

The tip slowly thins out until it reaches the ground and quickly envelops in size, the lighting showing the progress of the tornado as it grows rapidly in size, tearing up the ground beneath it, sending irradiated dirt buried deep into the air, and giving it a dirty color that glows iridescent green.

Rose’s Pip-Boy and the Geiger counter in the power armor warn of a sudden increase in radiation in the distance as the tornado begins moving on its path forward, with some sort of destination in mind, despite it supposedly just a weather phenomenon.

Harold urges the group to get away from the windows, fearful of the unpredictable nature of the tornado, and they soon continue down the hallway, periodically glimpsing out the windows, unsure where the tornado went.

Vandals says that if it gets close, they’ll hear it, but Rose isn’t sure if it’ll be the case, as she brings up the story, she heard about a tornado going quiet, seemingly to lure out a victim, and only letting out a triumphant roar when it claimed him.

“If this place held up after a nuclear holocaust, I think it can handle a tornado,” Vandal views it.

Even though he didn’t like not knowing what’s beyond the hallway and what is with them, Vandal knows they’re better inside here than out there.

At the end of the long hallway, the final window they pass by, the group spot another tornado making its descent from the darkness above, thin as a thimble, and upon touching the ground, it kept its size.

Like a wet noodle, its disorganized with its movements, and it only worsens as it shows stability issues.

Not growing like the previous tornado they witnessed, this one stays the same size, and like a toddler struggling to walk or eat, the tornado is unable to grow or move without near collapsing into itself.

Unfortunately for this tornado, it couldn’t keep its shape, and it unravels in every flash of lighting, until it dissipates completely.

Something Vandal notes happens often, how sometimes tornadoes don’t take.

Even in their new world and the dangers of the springtime, the tornadoes still follow the same pattern, but with the season coming to an end soon, more tornadoes won’t take, but the few that do will be the deadliest ones of the season.

With that said, they’re met with another set of doors at the end of the hallway, and with Betty close to him, Vandal takes point as Harold and Mal open the doors.

Yet another hallway, but this time there’s multiple doors lining both sides.

Scones on the walls provide enough light for them to see clearly, but it still gave them unease as they slowly move down the hallway looking at every door.

Plaques beside them show what the rooms are, from bathrooms to employee rooms, and then they spot a plaque for the kitchen.

Hungrily, Courtesy sheepishly asks if they can stop inside, see what’s left of it.

Chewing on his inner lip, Harold admits his hunger, as did Rose.

Mal and Vandal become skeptical about entering the kitchen, but Max wags its tail showing it hungry, too.

“I’m in the power armor, so, we should be good, right?” Courtesy brings up.

Their options still limited; the group decide to take a chance.

Courtesy went inside the kitchen first to clear it while the others waited outside as Mal and Vandal kept watch for movements.

Harold stays with Rose and Max as he listens to the storm outside bleeding through the walls, fearful of the tornado turning towards them.

Inside the kitchen, Courtesy notices x the slick chromium appliances, some of which he never saw, much less intact, and as he slowly moves forward inside the power armor, he utilizes the VAT to check for sudden outlines, but as he went around the kitchen, nothing stuck out.

The thudding of the power armor would disturb any roaches or other mutant creatures hiding in the kitchen with him, a raider would surprise attack him with a pot handle, but it’s quiet.

Thoroughly going around the kitchen, Courtesy concludes there’s nothing or no one inside, and when he relays this to the others, they enter the kitchen.

“I’ll be demanded, there ain’t a speck of dust!” Vandal remarks as he checks every surface.

Not even a thin veneer of dust, rust, corrosion, anything.

Everything pristine, further adding unease to Vandal.

Instinctively, Rose goes up to the two-door fridge, her stomach begging her.

Mentally preparing herself for the chances of finding rancid food or even the strange meat warned many times since she started her adventure, Rose holds her breath, and she slowly opens the fridge.

She expected the putrid smell to hit her in an instant, but nothing did, and when she hesitantly breathes through her nose, she didn’t smell anything, instead she felt the cold air coming from the fridge.

Her eyes catching up to her, she spies boxes of prepared foods, bottles of fresh water, and more.

Pristine, not even a dent in the cardboard box for some sort of dip.

“Is it safe?” Rose questions the viability of the food inside the fridge.

Spotting a bottle of Craftsman beer, Vandal reaches for it and pops off the top.

Without hesitation, he tips his head back and drinks from the bottle.

Shocked, Rose sputters, “What if it’s been… poisoned?”

Only after drinking half the bottle did Vandal pull the bottle from his mouth, when he did he plainly tells her, “Little girl, I’m a ghoul. I’ve suffered worse.”

Seeing the packed fridge, Harold recoils as he sheepishly warns them, “I don’t think whoever stocked it will like you taking from it.”

Given the pristine state, that person’s well capable of decimating them, and then some.

“Relax, you act like this is my first time!” Vandal spats as he proceeds to drink the rest of the beer.

Gritting his teeth, Harold shows disapproval at Vandal’s blasé reaction.

Remaining firm in his belief, Vandal insists Harold calm down, after all, they got this far, but Harold retorts, “If we keep taking things from people, we won’t!”

As they squabble over the fridge contents, Rose hungrily sneaks food from it while the men fought, and Mal ended up taking food from it as she shares some with Max.

“We’ll pay ‘em back if they’re sore, how about that?” Vandal raises his gloved finger.

Eventually, their arguing stops, and when they turn their heads, already, Max chewed a hunk of meat to the bone, and Rose sheepishly hiding her finished bottle of water.

Beside her, a piece of chicken stuck out the side of Mal’s mouth.

“Rose… Mal… Max!” Harold becomes flabbergasted.

Chapter Text

“I’m sure they’ll understand once we explain, Mr. Harold,” Rose meekly smiles as she and the others go through the fridge, consuming enough food to get by until they reach their next destination.

Shaking his head, Harold exhales, “Not the point, Rose! We don’t even know who is even here with us!”

Could be raiders, could be insane individuals, could be any number of things, but all wouldn’t be happy having their supplies ravaged by them.

Most of all, they don’t exactly have enough caps to cover the costs, much of which has already been spent trying to get through the journey, and Harold doubted they’ll do installment plans.

“Well, if they cared so much, where are they?” Vandal challenges Harold.

With them clomping around so much, surely someone would poke their head out with guns by now.

Exhaling, Harold remarks, “It’s a wonder we survived this long!”

Holding out a bottle of water, Mal encourages him to take a drink, and he relents as he takes it into his hand while he thanks her.

The cool water touches his parched throat, and it felt wonderful to him, which didn’t make him feel any better about taking it.

Soon as the water hit his stomach, it growled, and Harold was forced by it to take part in eating food in the kitchen.

Inevitably, he ate more than he thought he would, but Vandal reminded him that they needed all they could get since they aren’t sure how long it’ll be until they find another settlement.

Assuming there are any settlements left standing after tonight’s barrage of storms.

Having had his fill of beer and everyone getting their stomachs full, Vandal leaves the kitchen with the others.

Upon reentering the hallway, the storm still raging outside, the kitchen door behind them inexplicably closes itself, and when Rose attempts to open it again, she finds it locked.

Confused, she turns around to face the others, and Harold gives a knowing look to Vandal, before he ushers them forward.

With their stomachs filled and their thirsts quenched, the group continued traversing the building with the goal of returning to the lobby, but things aren’t what they seem, with doors inexplicably locking or unlocking themselves.

Initially, Vandal wanted to say that they’re dealing with people using a type of drug to turn themselves invisible, but Harold showed doubt as did Courtesy since he didn’t see anyone on the HUD.

“None of the doors are automatic, there isn’t a way for someone to just lock them,” Mal concludes as she checks to be sure.

Chattering his teeth, Courtesy suggests they’re dealing with ghosts.

It’s the only explanation that made sense to him.

“Look, I’m a ghoul, and I see some things, but ghosts?” Vandal snorts at this suggestion.

Unable to shrug in the power armor, Courtesy gulps, “Well, what else is capable of locking these doors?”

If the doors aren’t mechanical and there’s no one hidden in the backdrop with a drug, well, there’s nothing else that makes sense.

Shaking his head, Vandal raises his finger as he states, “If I don’t see it, it ain’t real.”

Harold then took a chance to retort with, “The world’s changed. Nothing is normal. You said it yourself; you’re a ghoul. You think there’s no possibility that ghosts exist?”

Their bickering ends when a door further down the hallway opens.

“Ghost or no ghost, we better figure it out,” Vandal concludes as he fixes his hat.

Seeing they’re stuck in the building, well, Vandal didn’t need to say much more.

Regardless, they have a power armor, that’s as good as a deterrent as any.

Should that not be enough, well, Vandal has Betty to back them up.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Harold exhales as they went on to find the opened doors waiting for them, no one around, and Max not picking up their scents despite it attentively smelling the air around them.

Unsure what they’re going up against, Vandal keeps Betty close to him as he slowly walks along the hallway.

Like cattle, the group found themselves being subtly pushed into different directions. Some hallways had windows looking out into the Wasteland, while others had more portraits and plaques detailing the building’s history.

It’s the name that caught their eyes and made them stop.

“Wait… you… this can’t be right, can it?” Mal became flummoxed as the others did as she read the detailed history of the West Textile Factory since its founding.

His dark eyes slowly moving along the plaque, Vandal shook his head in disbelief as he exhaled, “We couldn’t have gone in circles!”

Lowering his head towards Max, he asked, “How come you didn’t say anything?”

Whimpering, Max sheepishly barked, and Vandal shook his head once more.

Hair standing on the back of his head, Harold nervously glanced around as he kept close to the others. Like them, he had never experienced anything like this, and it was considerably frightening him more as they were being drawn deeper into the building.

With the storm still outside the textile doors, there’s no hope for them unless they somehow overcome this terrifying experience.

As they’re being corralled by unseen forces, music starts playing, not recorded, it sounded like instruments being played, like before in the ballroom, but this time there’s what sounds like chimes mixed in with violins.

What music it is, it wasn’t Moonlight Sonata again, something else.

It grows more audible the closer they’re going to the source, the doors behind them closing on their own and locking.

Sniffing the air heavily, Max alerts them, and as they smell the air, all but Courtesy notes the smell of faint perfume and cologne.

Unrecognizable, Vandal guessed it scents from before the war, and he grew tenser as the doors continued opening on their own as he and the others approached them.

Admittedly, Vandal wanted to call out the forces behind this, force their hand, get this out of the way, but something about this is far different than what he encountered during his long two hundred-something years.

Perhaps the bombs did more than ruin the earth like so many claimed, that heaven and hell suffered so deeply from the horrors of the Great War no one could find eternal rest or damnation.

Their spirits stuck in the same boat as the living, this is them reliving their final moments before the bombs dropped on their heads, and Vandal learnt enough about ghost stories from his abuela that he didn’t need the concept of vengeful spirits barred from their final fates.

Still, the ghoul didn’t survive this long to be spooked by the dead or someone masquerading as such.

Music getting louder and more discernible, the group’s met with elegant gold-lined French doors.

Likening it to the Wizard of Oz, Vandal isn’t too pleased.

Beckoning them, the doors open, and they’re forced to enter the threshold.

Waiting for them in this stretch is a stark contrast from the glitz they’ve seen so far.

A dark and dreary factory with the equipment still present since they were installed so many years ago.

“What do you think?” Rose turns her head towards Vandal.

Gritting his teeth, Vandal responds with, “I think we’re just about to find out what’s going on here.”

He proceeds to tell them to stay together and keep their eyes and guns trained.

Chapter Text

The air around them changed, frightfully cold that it penetrated the reinforced power armor.

A stark contrast to the humid air outside, it’s enough to make even a ghoul like Vandal shiver, and no amount of movement warmed them as they maneuvered through the darkened factory with the little light helping them avoid bumping into the machinery.

Disturbingly, the machinery didn’t have rust or even a line of dust on it, preserved like the areas of the textile factory, and given the state of the factory, there isn’t a chance someone recreated it using metals scavenged from the wasteland.

Even if there’s salvaged blueprints found stored in the most unlikely of places, a ghoul from this period that had everything memorized down to the intricate nature of the machinery, Vandal doubts someone could replicate it this closely, and Betty kept him warm in this chilling moment as he grips the handle.

Lighting illuminates the factory, allowing them a better look, and it was foreboding to say the least, with machinery that towers above them, and the shadows that looked even more ominous.

Worse, Courtesy didn’t see any hostility or anyone on the VAT, and he quickly checked as he moved through the textile factory floor with the others.

The only thing solid is the music playing above them, which could be from another famous composer or even the same one, but no one knew for certain; they were focused on finding their way out of the textile.

Around them, the music continues, and it serves to deafen them from anyone walking around in the darkened factory.

Emotions running rampant, it took a steady pace from Vandal keeping Betty close and ready to shoot, and as they neared the center of the factory floor, a bright light suddenly shone on them.

“What is this…?” A posh man’s voice called out somewhere in the factory. “Strangers in my adobe?”

Pointing Betty in the direction of the voice, Vandal snidely says, “You’re a lousy host keeping us waiting!”

Chuckling, the man remarks how “crass” Vandal sounds, questioning what type of guests are in his factory.

Irritated, Vandal shouts, “Hey! I can be pretty civil, you know. What’s the deal? Why’re you so bent on taking us for a spin?!”

The posh man made a point by asking if Vandal always greeted people, he didn’t know that suddenly appeared in his home.

Fine, he has him there, but the matter remains.

“Are you raiders?” The posh man asks.

Snorting loudly, Vandal retorts, “Please, I have more standards than one! Do we look like any raiders, to you?”

Lights focus on the catwalk above the factory, and there a man stood with black slicked hair, round glasses, and a perturbed look on his face as he looked down to the group.

“Who are you?” Vandal demanded answers from the man as he walked around the catwalk, studying him and the others from a distance.

Stopping in his spot, the man answered, “My name is Horus West. You are in my textile factory. If there’s anyone asking questions around here, it will be me!”

Displeased at them intruding on his property, Horus grew terse.

Keeping Betty trained on Horus, Vandal listens to the displeased man as he comments on how “security” has been lacking recently.

Seeing Courtesy in the power armor, Horus grits his straightened teeth with further displeasure, and he demands to know the reason for the group’s intrusion in his factory.

“Have you not looked outside? There are tornadoes spawning every direction!” Vandal swats the air with his free hand. “You’re lucky one didn’t make a mess of your damn factory!”

Listening to Vandal make his point, Horus shakes his head as he shows no concern for the storms happening outside the factory walls.

As far as he sees it, Horus was safe in his textile factory, and seeing the group inside only made him concerned that he had taken the safety for granted.

“We’ll leave after the storms, promise!” Rose felt compelled to speak up, only for Horus to retort that she and her “friends” had already made themselves comfortable.

Staring at the power armor, Horus muses aloud how he’ll gladly take it in payment for the “kindness” he afforded them, leading to Mal to point her gun directly at Horus as she threatens to shoot him.

Only amused at the threat, Horus scoffs as he mocks how “uncivilized the wasteland” is before raising his arms outright before he calls out to his “special guests.”

Starting to growl, fur on Max’s spine sticks upright as its tail stiffly moves, its head lowering with its ears folded. It began to smell the threats hidden around them.

The VAT system in the power armor indicates hostiles in the range of ten to fifteen, their outlines doing only enough to frighten Courtesy.

His dark eyes narrowing as shadows emerge, his aim moving from Horus to the closest shadow. Vandal hated being right, as he recognized the outlines pretty well.

There have been stories of them here and there, few ever made sense, but Vandal contributes those to the state of the Wasteland.

Personally, he never encountered these mutants before.

Until now.

Keeping Rose and Max close to them, Harold and Mal kept their guns trained on the shadows closest to them. As the group is surrounded by the shadows, Horus introduces them to his “special guests.”

Nightkin.

Only.

These aren’t the nightkin Vandal heard stories about, more freakish and disturbing, with visible surgical scars and abject horror wrapped up in sculpted pale blue flesh.

Likened to reanimated corpses put back together after time on the cold slab, these nightkin lacked the distinctive problems that arise from their known addictions to stealth boys.

Their milky eyes made sure of destroying any belief that they are true nightkin.

“What are these things?” Rose flinches at the sight as the nightkin expose themselves to the group in their various stages of Horus’ experiments.

Amused at Rose not knowing what they are, Horus smugly asks if she came out from under a rock or, “Perhaps a vault?”

Training her gun on him, again, Mal mocks him by saying how he had the personality of a rotted wooden board to need the company of zombies, to which Horus found it offensive.

“I am only doing a service, you see. The mutants have been dregs on society for far too long, you think the minutemen can wipe out every known cabal in the state alone?” Horus pointedly asks her.

Though he positions himself of doing a noble cause culling the super mutants and turning them into something more “useful” there are underlying tones suggesting Horus isn’t unwilling to pass up turning people into them for his own uses.

Seeing the mutants up close as they positioned themselves where no one can escape their clutches, Vandal saw what Horus done to them, and coming from him, this is a statement.

Death is kinder.

“Now, where was I…?” Horus touches his chin as he remembers his train of thoughts.

Chapter Text

Outgunned and outnumbered, the group weighed their options as Horus planned on dragging them down into the deeper parts of the textile where he wanted to presumably do to them what he had done to those less fortunate.

Having had enough of surprises and their need to stop Henry overwhelmingly more important than a crazed man’s fantasy, Vandal decided that it wouldn’t be a wasteland tradition without doing something foolish in hopes that a plan would work.

Time against him, still, Vandal glanced up around the factory, before seeing what he needed to put an end to Horus.

“Court, open fire on the catwalks above them!” Vandal began ordering the group into action.

Caught off guard, Horus began ordering the nightkin to slaughter them outright, stating he could put the group back together.

To a degree, of course, he noted the difficulty of “fixing” ghouls.

Ducking with Harold and Max, Rose hid as instructed while the others worked together to bring down Horus.

Keeping the nightkin off Courtesy, Mal and Vandal lured them to where the catwalk would do the most damage towards them.

Shouting at the nightkin as he panicked, Horus attempted retaking control of the situation, but unfortunately for him, this wasn’t another group of raiders he could destroy with ease.

He let out a shrill when a stray bullet tore through his left cheek, sending him crumbling to his knees as he felt the sting hit him like a knife.

Shrilling at the top of his lungs, Horus continued shouting at his creations as they went on the attack.

Muttering to himself, Horus glanced towards the lights and ducked when Mal shot at him to keep him from entertaining the thoughts he had on his mind.

Roaring, the nightkin attacked with bloodlust in their milky white eyes, and as they were focused on Mal and Vandal shooting at them as Courtesy used the VAT to dispose of the ones closest to him, Harold led Rose and Max to somewhere safer.

Ducking their heads as bullets and lasers fly in the air, they hide near a machine that only Harold recognizes, and he urges Rose and Max not to get any nearer than they are now.

“What is it?” Rose asks with curiosity as she keeps her head down.

Seeing a nightkin coming near them as it remains distracted by the gunfight, Harold says, “A plan!”

Giving Rose instructions and having Max help, Harold uses the distraction to draw the nightkin to the machine he warned Rose not to get close.

For very good reasons as he shows her as the nightkin absentmindedly opened fire on Courtesy while he protected Vandal and Mal.

Hitting a button beside him and having Max knock the nightkin into the open mouth of the machine on the side, the nightkin instantly disappears into the rotating cylinder.

No blood shot out, no mounds of flesh or other, there was nothing coming out of the machine, but easily Rose knew that the nightkin was dead.

Quickly shutting it off, Harold exhales sharply before ducking back down with the two.

Angrily yelling at the remaining nightkin to dispose of the group, Horus’s voice rattles as he’s prevented from escaping by Mal, and Vandal made sure he couldn’t get far even if he wanted to by having Courtesy shoot down the catwalks adjacent to Horus.

“This is what happens when you mess with the best damn bounty hunter in the south, you prick!” Vandal shouts at him.

Realizing he bit off more than he can chew and that his nightkin weren’t a match against them, Horus switches his tune to pleading with them to let him go, but Mal retorts, “Were you born in a FEV lab?”

Refusing his pleas, Vandal orders Courtesy to fire.

Courtesy uses the BFG to destroy the supports underneath the catwalk underneath Horus.

Keeping the nightkin busy, they were unable to escape as everything came down on them with Horus joining them.

Crashing noises echo throughout the factory floor, and then silence follows shortly after.

Dust accumulates in the air as Vandal pats himself down, dust trickling down the curves of his black leather long coat as he pushes dust out of his exposed nostrils.

Calling out, Vandal listens to the scattered responses from the others as they emerge from the dust-filled air, coughing as they shake off layers of dust.

Confirming they’re unharmed for the most part, Vandal checks on Horus, expecting him to somehow cling onto the last bit of his life as a last-minute gambit to save what little he has left, but something unexpected happens.

“What in the world?” Vandal was taken aback as he checks the wreckage for Horus’s body.