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“The purifier your father helped create has the ability to provide clean water to the whole of this "Capital Wasteland". With a simple modification, it can be used to distribute agents that destroy mutated creatures upon ingestion. In time, we could eliminate all mutations in the Wasteland at the same time the good people of the world regain their health. I need you to make the modification necessary for this to succeed.”

Delilah shook her head, a shiver of disbelief crawling down her spine as she listened to Eden’s words. Why was her father’s work so haunted? It seemed the world, the universe, didn't want it to happen. Why? It was for the good, it always was. Just like her father was good. Or was he? Nowadays she wondered who he really was, he’d lied to her all her life, saying he was born and raised in Vault 101. But he wasn’t. He was born out here, in the wasteland. Delilah’s mind was filled with questions. Questions that would never be answered no matter how she longed for them. He was dead and now the only things she had were her memories of him: his gentleness, his kindness, the soft way he spoke, and his work. The Purifier. Which she’d sworn to protect. The idea of the Enclave using it for harm put a pit in her stomach, black and poisoned. She growled, clenching her teeth.

“And if I helped you,” Delilah asked, eyes narrowing, aggression in her voice. “How exactly would I manage to do that?”

“There is a vial in front of you, filled with a modified FEV virus. It needs to be inserted into the control console for the purifier,” Eden explained. “Once that is done, and the activation code is entered, the purifier will be activated and the process will be automated. It's not too much to ask of you, is it?”

Not too much!? NOT TOO MUCH!? Not too much to kill everyone!? Friends? Innocent people? Not too much to sully her father’s name!? His work!? Delilah clench her firsts. She wanted to punch this monster, destroy it then and there. But… she knew a better way.

“You must be insane,” Delilah shook her head. “I’m not exterminating 90% of the population.”

“I find that unfortunate, and most disappointing,” Eden said. “I must impress upon you the severity of the situation. I cannot allow you to leave unless the vial is in your possession.”

Delilah smirked, slowly, a devilish glint in her eyes. It was time. “I don’t think you’ll believe this but you can’t make me do anything. I have the upper hand,” she stood up straighter. “I have your self-destruct code.”

“Oh come now, bluffing's not really your style, is it?” Eden barely sounded surprised. “And there's certainly no need to threaten me.”

Delilah laughed. “You know, you think you’re so smart, but you let me into your own home. And now I don’t need to threaten you. I can simply kill you,” Delilah stepped forward. “The code is “Priority Override, Authorization code 420-03-20-9,” goodbye mother fucker!”

“I… oh… oh my-” finally, the damn computer sounded shocked, scared. Good. He went quiet for a moment, before speaking again, robotically. “Root level access granted. Override O-923. Authorization J-512. Self-destruct sequence initialized. Civilian is requested to secure FEV vial and vacate the facility at once.”

Delilah sighed. Even when singing his last song, he still has one demand: to take the vial of FEV. An oleander in the daisies. She considered briefly the idea of leaving it, but a flower that toxic couldn’t be left. Left to be a danger to all, left to spread in the air. So she took it before leaving the room.

As Delilah shot through to the exit, executing any and all Enclave soldiers she came across, she felt a pang of sadness. Not for what she had initiated, but for the fact she couldn’t make every single member suffer. She knew how it felt to dispatch justice with her own hands, she had massacred the slavers at Paradise Falls. Almost every single one of them met the end of her gun or her fist. They deserve every bruise, every wound, every single wink of pain she caused them. Their screams of terror and pain as their thick, crimson blood spilt almost gave her a sick feeling of joy. She wanted every member of the Enclave to meet that fate, she wanted them to suffer.

She knew that this would help destroy the Enclave, she knew this would help the Brotherhood take back Project Purity. She knew justice would be served. It didn’t help, she couldn’t shake the feeling. Leaving Ravenrock made her wonder, maybe that violent, bloody longing hadn’t been for the Enclave as a whole. Maybe it was for a specific person. Colonel Autumn had been the one to speak to her father, threatening him, threatening Project Purity, threatening those he held dear. Delilah remembered it so clearly, Autumn executed Janice, one of the scientists who had worked to help restart the project, in order to gain control over the facility. She remembered her body, laying motionless on the ground, eyes still wide with terror, a pool of crimson and meaty gray matter scattered around her head. Delilah looked on in terror while her father’s gaze, though sympathetic, held a familiarity with the situation, or perhaps simply the sight. Maybe it wasn’t Project Purity that was haunted, maybe, it was him. As Delilah’s father spoke calmly, claiming to comply, it made her stomach drop. The sinking feeling of that was only topped when radiation was released into that room. Father pulled himself up to the glass while Autumn and his men collapsed around him. In his final moments he managed to croak out a “Run!”

Despite the radiation, Autumn managed to survive then, even managed to be the one to interrogate Delilah when she had been brought to Ravenrock. She hoped he’d be caught in that explosion, that he would die, even if not as painful as she had wished. If Autumn survived and the two ever came face to face, Delilah would make sure he wouldn’t get the chance to come back. She’d stab him and stab him and stab him. Slicing his flesh, pulling out blood. She knew he’d scream, he’d gurgle and choke on his own blood. She wouldn’t stop until he died, she wouldn’t stop until he was unrecognizable, until he’d felt every measure of pain he’d caused her. She’d stab him until her body couldn’t take it, she’d stab him until she’d have her vengeance. And she’d enjoy it.

July 13, 2263

Delilah turned five today, she’s already so strong, so smart. I’m proud to be her dad. I found and fixed up a plush dog, which thankfully, she loved. She sleeps with it in her arms in the only bed of our room. Her and her friend, Amata, spent so long playing with it, running down the small hallways around the vault. It reminded me of when I would play with my friends, even if their faces are a blur now. I’ll never see them again, not because I’m living in this vault, but because I would have to cross the entire wasteland and hope they’re still alive.

Delilah wanted me to join in. I tried, I really did, but I must’ve moved wrong. A familiar pain stabbed through my back. I had to sit down, I couldn’t stand, I could barely move. I know Delilah and Amata weren’t upset by my inability to play, but I felt guilty. I still feel guilty. At least I know she won’t ever have to deal with the same issues I do. At least she’s safe. Safe from the mutants outside, safe from the pollution of the wastes, safe from the animals that fight far, far away from here. Delilah’s safe. That’s all that matters.

I’m glad she’ll never have to push through pain like I did, like I still do. It happened before I met Catherine. It was me and eight others camping, waiting for the tenth member of our little party. Unfortunately, a large, lizard-like creature, a deathclaw, crashed into the camp. The struggle remains a blur, but I remember the sky. Blue. A pure color. I remember the feeling of those claws digging into my back, deep into my flesh. In the end, I was lucky to be able to walk, even if painfully, something I’d find my own solution to eventually. Unfortunately, only one of the deaths were quick, because the other doctor had lost an arm in the chaos, it was a struggle to keep the rest alive and five more died from infection. There was one member who had emerged unharmed, a man who’d lead us into worse. He caused a lot of things, a lot of pain, a lot of suffering, a lot of images in my mind that never fade. Full of crimson. I hope he isn’t still out there.

I try not to think about that, I try to put it all behind me. It’s all so far away. The only people within the Capital that knew about this were Catherine and Madison. So I guess that makes only two people who know.

Although, I’m not the best at letting go of things. I am still looking for anything that could possibly help with Project Purity, still searching. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s for Catherine. Maybe it’s to distract from the nagging pain in my back. Or maybe it’s the ghosts, ghosts of everyone I’ve failed, everyone I couldn’t save. Maybe it is. I am a haunted man.

I refuse to allow my daughter to join them. I refuse to allow her to suffer. I refuse to let her be a victim of the violent world outside. I still wish to make the outside world a better place. It still nags me like the pain that made its home in my back; all of which I must keep quiet about.

I close my eyes as I try to cast these thoughts from my head. Deep breaths. Maybe I should lay down. But I can't sleep on the couch, not tonight, my back hurts more than usual.

I moved into my daughter’s room, she stirred as she felt my weight on the bed. Looking at me, half asleep, Delilah scooted closer to me. “Dada? Why are you in here?”

“I just… had a nightmare,” I lied. One of many lies I’ve told her. Barely notable. “I was hoping you didn’t mind my company

“Of course dad!” Delilah’s eyes sparkled. Blue. Purer than the sky.

“Thank you,” I whispered, putting an arm around my daughter as she drifted to sleep.

I held her close to me as tears rolled down my face. My mind raced and my back throbbed. I hoped she would be ok whenever I was gone. Someday, she would have to. Closing my eyes, it took me a while before I drifted into sleep, leaving the vault and entering into hopeful dreams.

Cyrus didn’t understand what happened. One moment, they’re speaking to Vulpes Inculta, member of Caesar's Legion; the next, both him and all of his men are dead. Their blood was on his hands, he was covered in it and had not a clue what had happened. Despite the apparent massacre, Cyrus was not covered in wounds, sure they were sore, sure they had a few cuts, but nothing too serious. It was so very strange. Something was wrong and the look, smell, and feel of the blood made them sick. Had they just killed that many people?

The Legion had massacred Nipton, you wouldn’t have to be told what exactly happened to understand that. They played this cruel game of lottery, some were crucified, some were taken as slaves, among other things. Just for that they deserved to die right? Cyrus wasn’t sure. He didn’t like killing people, not even in self defense. They still felt sick every time they did, no matter what they told themself. His family never understood why; it was the wasteland, killing people is a part of everyday life. Cyrus simply couldn’t see it that way, so they tried to avoid it was much as possible.

Cyrus tumbled out of Nipton, trying to make sense of what happened. Looking at their hands, they felt like they hadn’t killed those Legionaries. But then who? Did it have to do with the strange feeling he’d felt since he’d woken up from being shot in the head? That someone was following them? As they pondered they thought they heard a distant, ghostly voice of a woman say “It had to be done.” But that wouldn’t make sense? Ghosts weren’t real, right?

This thought twirled around in Cyrus’s head as they stared at their feet, until a different thought arose. The Legion would not be happy about these deaths. They shivered at the thought. What would that mean for him? For the search for his shooter and the Platinum chip? What about his job? The road was bumpier than they had thought, much like the pre-war pathways that littered the wastes: damaged, fragmented, missing pieces. But like those roads, he needed to keep moving. Looking off through the Mojave, they were aware where they needed to go. And so Cyrus followed the broken, lonesome road.

A MESSAGE FROM THE QUARRY CARAVAN COMPANY

The mountains of Appalachia hold a cave system that should be avoided at any cost. Many caravans have crossed by this cave and have spoken of trying to access it. PLEASE DON’T. Of the seven caravans that have entered the cave system, there have only been three reports of people leaving the cave that we know of, two of them being children. The third survivor, Barbatos, who’s been the only adult, describes the place as a “labyrinth” and “a never ending purgatory.” There are apparently Ferals that roam but don’t attack, but she said that "wasn't the reason the others died” and that “there is someone, something much worse”. We suspect it to be radiation, judging by the ferals and the state of Barbato’s health.

DO. NOT. ENTER. THIS. CAVE. If one of the members of the caravan goes missing and their trail leads into the cave, DON'T FOLLOW THEM. Unless you want to be one of the mindless ferals inside.

Ophelia walked around the heart of Diamond City. Circles, circles, circles. Pondering. Pondering how to find her son, pondering where he could be, pondering on who the Institute was, and what they were about. Over her shoulder, a feminine voice, close but ghostly whispered. “Kill them.”

The speaker was a woman - younger than Ophellia- with white, steel-colored hair. Her piercing blue eyes stared into her, one had a water droplet, the other an X. What caught her eye really was the Blue and yellow vault suite that matched hers. Almost. The difference was a zero between the ones. Ophellia’s suit read “111” while the ghostly lady’s read “101”. Ophellia tried to keep her composure, taking a deep breath before saying “Sorry? Who are you?”

“Great,” The ghost sighed. “You can see me…that’s better I guess,” she shrugged.

“Better?” Ophellia narrowed her eyes. It sounded like she’d been stalked by this ghost. It was insane, but the insanity of this situation was nothing compared to everything that her home had become. Seeing ghosts? At this point, sure. Cool. Whatever.

“Better to communicate,” the ghost grinned. “Get you to do what is needed. Not like you haven’t been doing it on your own.”

“Ok, ok, ok,” Ophellia took a deep breath. “Tell me your name and why you are here.”

There was a moment where the air felt tense, where it was hard to breath before the ghost spoke again. “My name is Delilah,” she replied. “And I need you to take down the Institute.”

Goodneighbor.

Honestly, it was the last place I imagined I’d live. Somewhere this nice that allows ghouls like me? The only place for everyone? The only places I could imagine were west, most in NCR territory, where you weren’t supposed to discriminate, but they did anyway. That’s how it always worked, even before the war, someone always has to exclude somebody else. Goodneighbor seems to be different, “of the people, for the people” as our mayor, John Hancock, always says. I don’t entirely believe it, there has to be something… this place seems too good to be true.

I lived alone in California for almost 200 years after the war. Before the bombs dropped, my father left and my mother had passed away, and I was left to take care of my younger sister. I lost her when the bombs had dropped. I miss her still. Most settlements close to my home would not allow ghouls, but that was okay, no place like home, right? 200 years of loneliness almost drove me mad and I was ready to lay down and let the wasteland take me when Wallis showed up. Dr. Wallis Galton was a little Vault Dweller who’d been taken in by the Brotherhood. Only, he didn’t agree with many of their beliefs and set it upon himself to find a cure for ghouls behind their back. I was his assistant and bodyguard, I tried my best to help, we came close, but ultimately got caught and chased out of California.

We wandered for a long time, just trying to get away from the Brotherhood, traveling what felt like everywhere: The Mojave, the Midwest, Appalachia. I kept Wallis under my protection - as he misses almost every shot - and he kept me healed. I don’t mind this arrangement, I wouldn’t even if he couldn’t help medically, I care about him deeply, like a brother, I would never want something to happen to him, I don’t want him to end up like my sister. Which is why I tried to get him to live in Diamond City, it was safer, even if I wasn’t allowed there. Wallis refused, saying that he didn’t want to live somewhere without me. I told him that he wouldn’t need a body guard, but he shook his head. “No, we’re family,” He said “We stick together.” And he was right, we are family, so we moved onto Goodneighbor.

Wallis came from Vault 7, where the goal was making the most intelligent people possible. It was unfortunately common for people to experiment on each other. Wallis was too compassionate for that, that compassion got him exiled from the vault. The details I won’t say, that is his business, all I will say is that he can’t put on the suit without having an episode. He’d lost his family then, and he’d lost his family when he’d been chased from the Brotherhood. So now I am his family. And I would never change that.

Hancock took a liking to us. Maybe it’s our work, but I think it’s more likely to be Wallis’s jet-making skills. I don’t trust him. There is no way he could be that kind, no way he could be the sort of person he is. Nobody is like that, everyone always wants something. Nobody’s ever simply good.

There is definitely something going on, something being run through that Memory Den. I’ve never used it myself, not yet away, but I’ve watched it from a distance. People going in and out… I wonder if Hancock knows, I wonder what they’re doing. Slave trade maybe? But why? Maybe that’s what’s wrong here.

Until I figure that out, I’ll be at Wallis’s side. Up every road, down every stairway. When we go to one of Hancock’s speeches, I will keep my family close. Suspicious over every single neighbor as they all call “of the people, for the people!”

Chems. Nice, comforting, to Specter at least, even if it was a ‘distraction’ according to Caesar. Even if it supposedly made the Legion weak. He saw that as untrue, because Caesar still affirmed and complimented him. So long as he kept it a secret, it would be okay. Even if he was caught, he couldn’t see Caesar exacting punishment on him. He was like a father in Specter’s eyes, someone kind and always by his side. Chems were strictly forbidden in the Legion, and if caught, the price would be crucifixion.

Specter got a hold of this contraband via his close friends: Bacchus and Varro. Bacchus was the main culprit for getting his hands on chems, he’d been doing it before Specter had arrived. He’d been born in the Khans, but ended up in the legion very young. The two of them were about the same age, Specter wondered if he’d lost his family around the time he lost his. Despite his sneakiness, Bacchus was not slimy, he genuinely cared about those around him. He was particularly loyal to Specter, willing to do anything for him. In his eyes, Specter could do no wrong. That comforted him. To have a loyal friend. Even if his eyes were blue - a trait that had usually spooked him.

Varro on the other hand, Specter didn’t really trust. He was a former member of the Hangdogs, although he joined the Legion long before their annexation. He was the first hound master, but had been a scout of some sort for much longer. What his exact rank in the Legion was, Specter wasn't sure. He seemed… oddly individual. Like he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a bull in a china shop. He had to be useful to Caesar in some way. No other reason he still breathed, it seemed so unlikely. He was the brains here, finding connections, it’s not like the Khans Drug Runners would work with us willingly, even with Bachuss’s history.

And then sometimes there was another, Vulcan. He wasn’t around much, supposedly spying on the NCR, but really just stalking this woman named Colonel Reed. That day he wasn’t around, obviously busy “spying.” It was normal, didn’t bother anyone. What did bother Specter was being interrupted in the middle of his nap, even if it was by an excited Bacchus. It took him a minute to realize what he was saying, but it sure woke him up. “We’re going to Vegas tonight! Varro said that the chem-“

Specter put his hands over Bacchus’s mouth. “Shhh!” He sighed. “Stop yelling, ok!?”

“Ohhh yeah, I will,” Bacchus whispered.

“Why are we going to Vegas?”

“Varro told me that our guy will be meeting us there!”

That was… an interesting thing to do. Varro was always so cautious, but bringing both Specter and Bacchus went against everything. He usually didn't even bring them if it was too close to the legion or Vegas. But with the invitation, Specter put on the red suit he’d found off a dead carabiner and stashed away, it was the right colors of the Legion, even had a yellow bow tie. Bacchus didn’t wear a suit, but something he always seemed to wear when trying to be separate from his faction, a red bandana with sunflowers.

The lights and noise of New Vegas were almost noisating. The last two cities he remembered walking the streets of were very dead. While people still roamed the streets, The Capital was filled with supermutants, and Chicago was at war. They also had little to no lighting. This place was filled with lights. Music too. It was awful. Especially for someone who’s spent so much time so far away in the Legion’s camp.

Bacchus on the other hand, was overjoyed. Hopping around with excitement, both Specter and Varro had to tell him to calm down, keep his head down. Didn’t want to get caught or noticed. Varro barely said anything to Specter as they walked in and into the casino they were headed towards. The Tops.

As soon as they got in, Varro sat us down and said he’d be back. Specter watched him from a distance. Talking to a lady with red hair and a lab coat. Definitely not our drug guy. What was he doing? This woman was definitely not a legionary. Was he trying to betray Caesar? Should Specter tell him? No… No, that would be too risky.

Specter looked over to see a book sitting on a seat next to him. Abandoned. He checked it only to see if it was worth reading. But he suppressed a growl when he read the words The Wasteland Survival guide. He hated that damn thing. He hated that damn reaper. Specter had to wait to destroy it. Someone like that, someone with all that blood on their hands should not have an eye on them. Their words weren’t worth a damn. Eyes too pure for that devil.

One, two, three.

Horrors I see.

One, two, three.

It is something we must flee.

One, two, three.

I keep seeing visions, I just want to be free.

I want to be free. Free from the gut-wrenching feeling that has filled my brain and made my body shake for the third time now. I hate the visions, I hate my inability to be certain. Some things I know for sure, my son’s desertion from the New California Republic, the death of General Oliver. I don’t know where my son is. And I had mispredicted much of the situation surrounding that second battle of Hoover Dam; I thought there would at least be someone else to pick up the pieces, but no, those people were all gone. And now it was me. Why me? That’s why I had traveled this far. Those feelings were not the same as the one now. The other two times was when I saw a mushroom cloud. Once it sprouted over what is now known as the divide, then it sprouted over the Legion. I knew I’d see that orange cloud again, I just hoped it wasn’t going to sprout from my destination: Shady Sands.

The imagery of my curse as I move forward becomes

Something like a play barely remembered, picked up crumbs:

“By the pricking of my thumbs

Something wicked this way comes.”

But am I, am I the one?

It’s not done when my enemy is down the barrel of my gun.

It’s “When the hurlyburly’s done.”

It’s “When the battle’s lost and won.”

It’s when upbeat music and light flair.

Is cut out by an unsettling, pure-eyed stare.

“Fair is foul and foul is fair

Hover through the fog and filthy air.”

As I walk through the wasteland, as I come closer to Shady Sands, I feel worse, like I had been punched in the stomach. The images of the cloud burn my mind and I try to push it away. But then Shady Sands way just over the hill and the world went silent. Quiet. quiet. quiet. Then the word blew up again. Then the mushroom sprouted from the ground, its overgrowth taking the distant city in its wake. I knew it, but I couldn’t breath, I couldn’t move.

Then in my visions, I see a woman filled with fire, a woman free.

A woman with fair skin like Annabel Lee.

“In this kingdom by the sea.”

But I only wish to “chill”, I wish to “kill” this Annabel Lee.

She dips her head away from the vision that I see.

Maybe she’s the Raven. Maybe she’s far from Annabel Lee.

I hope, I ponder if she could be the master

Or if she was simply someone vaster

“Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore.”

I look up at this raven, asking about my kingdom, my kingdom by the shore.

I ask for something more.

And expectantly, wings flaming as she circled, circled the war.

Cawing and cawing, “Never, never, nevermore.”

I watched as the mushroom grew and died, becoming one with the air and the sky. And the ground. Quite possibly the one I was standing on. For a moment I was torn, do I go in and try to help the residents of Shady Sands, or do I go back to the Mojave? It took me such little time to decide as I turned my back on the city I once adored.

Whether I am a witch or king who gave in.

Whether she was Annabell or Raven.

The world still seemed like static, static that forebore.

Static that filled me right to the very core.

Sand of California, sand of Mojave all the same.

I cannot claim who I believe can blame.

I just had to tell them of the flame.

And the mushroom, the shame.

My men had mixed reactions to the news, distress filled the air, gasps and cries. Cries of grief, cries of justice. But one person stayed quiet, the one who I needed the most. He was angry with me, wished I hadn’t come back, wished I had helped them. I tried my best to explain myself, but every reason he ignored. And there went my other son, now brothers long gone. I wonder where they went, where they are, but I know better than to follow. I must keep the NCR here, in the Mojave, alive, in spite of everything.

One, two, three.

Horrors I see.

One, two, three.

It is something we must flee.

One, two, three.

I keep seeing visions, I just want to be free.

Oh god please, please let me be free

Hestia knew better than to get close to Ceres. She just wanted to feel numb when his death inevitably came. Being a Legacy was a dangerous job. Deadly. She’s lasted longer than any other, she’d been around to see the reason behind the Turbine’s abandonment of the role. She was so young, they were too. Her friend had died protecting her, and she still blamed herself. Despite this, despite all the death, Arroyo had held the idea close. Someone had to be their little Chosen One, especially after his disappearance. Hestia did not blame him. If she could, she’d run, get Ceres to run, but it was useless.

What always caught Hestia’s eyes was the stained glass pane of the chosen one. There were a lot of that sort around him, status, murals, all that, he was Arroyo’s hero after all. But did he have a choice? She didn’t think so. She didn’t, and now Ceres didn’t. While he looked at the glass in wonder and excitement, Hestia looked at it with disdain. Not for him, not for the Chosen, but for Arroyo.

Those who’d left to find him were lucky, especially those who’d formed or been born in the Turbine. At the same time.. Arroyo itself wasn’t so bad for those whose families weren’t from Vault 13. It was just those residents who’d be trapped. Trapped because they didn’t want to abandon those who needed help, those like Hestia.

It’s funny how the color of blood mixes into those ugly red uniforms, makes it awfully hard to see the extent of the damage I’ve caused. Maybe that’s the point, Caesar wants his soldiers to be “strong” so they could what? Take over the wasteland with their murderous ways? Not happening. Especially not the state they’d found his father in, a bloody, unrecognizable mess… his face had been smashed in. They’d been the reason Boulder City had been blown up in the Battle of Hoover Dam, my brother had run into the city in an attempt to be a hero. That killed him too. Now all I have left is my mother, a colonel, who’d also been injured by those stupid Legionaries in red. I have to inflict what I inflict in secret, the NCR has laws against it. All I want is for them to fear me, to scream for mercy as I cut away at things, as I burn them, as I prolong their suffering. They need to know that the NCR is stronger and that the republic won’t take their bullshit. Besides, I feel stronger doing it…

*

If things weren’t bad enough, my mother, who is now the General after that bastard Courier threw Oliver off the Hoover Dam, Shady Sands has been blown up. My mother watched it happen, but she did nothing! How!? She helped nobody, she didn’t try to find the culprit, she simply fucking turned around and came back here! I refuse to allow this to go unpunished. Shady Sands was my home, I’d grown up there, but now it’s destroyed… how dare they. I left the Mojave so I could take this into my own hands. There’s nothing for me there anyways, nobody is going to help them, sure, but that’s simply karma. Karma for not helping Shady Sands. I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine under the command of a different woman. A different mother. One of fire.

*

I followed the fire, known as Moldaver, to a set of vaults: 31, 32, and 33. I knew she was up to something, I just wanted to know. No, needed to know. She’d hired a group of raiders, to raid one of these vaults - Vault 33. When I confronted her outside the vault, she told me why they were doing this; for Cold Fusion. As much as I wouldn’t care normally, that I cared about. She also mentioned they were involved in Shady Sands’s destruction. I didn't listen any further, I asked to join. I wanted a taste of revenge again. I wanted to destroy any peace they’d had and replace it with fear, replace it with terror. After some convincing, she let me join, let me pretend to be a dweller from 32… I was excited, I couldn’t wait to crash a wedding.

The wedding was mid at best, boring really. Sort of embarrassing, I understand why Moldaver hired raiders, but have they really never eaten anything normally? The boredom of waiting was interrupted by fury. Once. When the overseer of Vault 33 spoke:

“Good evening and welcome to the proud denizens of Vault 32. We are bonded not just as neighbors but by a shared duty. To keep the candle of civilization lit. While the rest of the world has been cast into darkness.”

Wrong. Offensive. We’re already lit, we’re already civilized. God I hated this already. And god.. how ugly that man was.

“Soon, if our measurements are correct, radiation levels on the surface are dropping fast enough that the next generation, Lucy and Monty’s children, will be able to recolonize.”

Recolonize? Gross. Look, I know where the NCR roots are from. But to my knowledge, that certainly wasn’t their goal.

“After 200 years… we don’t know much about what’s up there. Desperation, violence, lawlessness. These survivors will need to be shown a better way.”

A better way!? What!? We were perfectly fine, we didn’t need a better way! What was he going on about? This was absolutely ridiculous!

“I’ll admit I’m sometimes afraid that mean old world will change us instead.”

It should.

“But then I look at my daughter…who’s such a beautiful bride, and her new husband.”

It’s funny how you’re falling for this shit.

“And I am not afraid.”

You should be.

“I feel hope.”

You shouldn’t.

“To Lucy MacLean. And to this marriage.”

The cheers faded out as I held my own anger inside me, as I waited for the signal from Moldaver. The moment she gave it, I let it out, like a volcano. I let the lava flow, I let it burn down into this shelter. I made sure they felt the same pain I did. I must’ve killed a few, the exact amount I don’t know. All I was sure about was the red, how well it showed up in the blue and yellow of the jumpsuit. It made me happy.

I was lucky enough to make it out. Make it out happy. Alive. We even kidnapped that ugly overseer. What do you think of the outside world, huh? Nice ain’t it?

*

You know, I had fought the brotherhood many times before. In my head, they are just annoying foes, hard to get a bullet in, but not too much of a threat. I thought.

I was more annoyed than anything when my entertainment between that stupid overseer - whom I’d learned by then had been the one to launch that nuke on Shady Sands - had everything be told to his daughter. I had to admit I felt a little sorry for the young Vault Dweller. It was her wedding that became this, she didn’t even agree with her father… horrifying news. I would’ve preferred to have killed him already, but of course Moldaver needed her head. But then I heard the fire of a vertibird being brought down from the sky and I followed Moldaver out of the Observatory and into the fray.

We were separated fast, not like it mattered, at least not at the time. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw the woman. I was doing pretty well, most of the people here weren’t military - or I guess rangers like me, so I really had to pick up their screwups. I took them down, one after one after one, but eventually it caught up to me.

I had killed one of their trainees, squires I believe. I was letting him bleed out when I saw a shadow come up from behind me and- I don’t remember. I don’t remember what battle took place, I just know it took me off guard. I just know that for once, in a very, very long time, I was defeated.

*

I don’t know where exactly I’d dragged myself to. It was far enough away from the observatory that the Brotherhood had just attacked, but not too far… I could still see the outline of what used to be LA… what used to be Shady Sands. I was dragging myself towards it, I couldn’t really move, I could move my lower body, it was certainly frustrating, but I was too… tired. Eventually I collapsed, staring into the city, it felt like it was infinite darkness. Is that what I was going to see? But then the city became alive, Cold Fusion had been activated. And I felt hope for the first time in a long time as the lights shone and shimmered in my eye. There was something about it, something so very peaceful, peaceful enough for me to allow fate to decide what would happen to me.

Terrified.

That’s how I felt the moment my eyes landed on the Ranger. Ex-Ranger. Or was he? My fellow elder, Sinatra, said so, the ranger said so. I don’t believe him. He said his name was Irwin, I don’t believe that either. I don’t know what it is, I don't know why, but he sent shivers down my spine. Just the look of him.

Being in the Midwest, overtaking Vault 0, and then Chicago, I don’t think we’re on bad terms with this New California Republic. I knew about them, of course, heard about them, but they didn’t really bother me. Not until now. Why would they send this Ranger? To assassinate me? He looks at me like he already knows everything, all my crimes. It’s terrifying.

But he offered to help as a temporary doctor, said he knows more about it than your average Ranger. Was that a lie too? Was his help worth it? We didn’t have one at the moment, we certainly need one. Sinatra insists… and… we have to. We have to have him help. We don’t have a choice.

He’s just terrifying, that’s all.

Caw! Caw! Caw! The cries of crows filled Cyrus’s ears as he stared down into Cottonwood Cove. His ears rang as he glanced to his allies, an eyebot, ED-E, and a Follower of the Apocalypse, their partner, Arcade Gannon. His ears rang as he felt the piercing eyes of purity on his back. “Cottonwood Cove… we’re here to-” Cyrus held their breath, biting his lip. Why couldn’t he say it? “I mean we have to..”

“Are you alright? You seem.. Relatively shakier than usual,” Arcade asked.

The pure eyes stabbed into me.

“Yes,” I said, sliding into the camp, it was empty, unsettling.

I can feel her presence, but she wasn't threatening me, she was focused on Arcade. She’d never liked him, tried to say she was sure of things that made him (and ED-E) untrustworthy. That she knew better and that it was better to kill them now rather than suffer in the future betrayal. Cyrus didn’t believe her. Why would he? Arcade was a fantastic person, he cared, he was smart and handsome and- Cyrus shook their head and continued forward, only to be stopped by Arcade’s voice.

“I need to talk to you about something, if you have a minute,” He said, there was an odd blue glint in his eyes. Cyrus could see her, the ghost, grinning next to him.

“Yeah? What is it?” Cyrus whispered, turning towards his lover and walking forward.

“I know I'm just along for the ride, but it's made me think about the past.”

The spirit grinned. Cyrus frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn't always with the Followers, or with the NCR,” Arcade walked forward. As he continued to speak there was a strain in his voice, like he wasn’t actually sure he wanted to speak. “I was with the enclave…” Arcade trailed off, before snapping back, as if he was trying not to speak “Memories being short around here, not a whole lot of people remember them. But they did bad things. Terrorized communities, kidnapped people. Eventually, someone stopped them. I was born a few years later at one of their military bases.”

The Enclave. That story roughly sounded familiar to Cyrus. Not from the East, but from wherever he’d come from before. But they didn’t remember. Couldn’t recall where. “Where did the enclave go?” He asked.

“The Enclave went to a lot of different places. I only know what I was told,” Arcade took a deep breath, suddenly talking seemed easier, “Some of them were cut down by the NCR and the Brotherhood, and some of them went east. My mother and I went south with some troopers from my father’s old unit, and integrated into the NCR. When the NCR learned that Enclave personnel had integrated, we had to keep moving to the fringes. It's one of the reasons why I wound up out here. Even so, I've managed to keep in contact with them over the years.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Why would you tell me this?”

“I… just felt you had a right to know..” Arcade hesitated before continuing; this time it felt less forced, flinching as the blue glint was gone, “The Enclave did a lot of bad things, but there were good people at Navarro. Good people with a lot of experience. I know the enclave has a bad reputation, but I think they could make a difference, if we could reach out to them” Arcade’s voice grew shaky, a blue glint returning to his eyes, but this time it was different. Tears. “A-and- and I hope this doesn’t change things between us-“

Cyrus suddenly had their arms around Arcade. “I don’t care,” he told him. “I love you, and I will do it. We’ll get a hold of them.”

The ghost growled, pacing the two. “You heard what he said! He’s part of the Enclave!” She spat. “There’s a reason I killed every single one I came across! There’s a reason I blew them up, twice! There’s a reason I stabbed their colonel. Over and over and over, why I made them suffer!”

Cyrus ignored her, continuing to move forward towards the raft, Arcade’s hand in his. The ghost continued. “They’re the reason my father died! Why the closest thing I had to a mother is dead! They tried to poison the Capital Wasteland! Kill him, Cyrus! Kill him before he could cause harm!”

They ignored her, staring into the flowing water. Cyrus didn’t want to kill the Legion. He wasn’t. He would refuse to. The ghost could tell it by his face, and she knew that she’d have to do it herself.

+

“Stay here Arcade.”

Arcade blinked, a bit confused, not just because of the command, but because of how much Cyrus had changed. Their mood, their posture, even their voice. That and the fact Cyrus started walking alway immediately after. Something… was wrong.

“Okay. Just don't be gone long. I sunburn easily,” Arcade called, a small grin on his face. It was meant to be a joke, but Cyrus completely ignored it. A shiver came up his spine as he wondered, was that really him?

+

Every legionary looked to Cyrus, the courier, as they walked through the Fort. There were talks, whispers, all ignored. The red, the crimson, all blurred together as they made their way to Caesar’s tent. There was already a young legionary, quivering, speaking up to the other side of the room, a place where a man sat as if he were the king of the world. He was unhappy at the legionary, but especially unhappy at the courier’s presence, but the man, practically bald with a gold medal, kept his composure. He seemed calm, yet spoke with anger.

“You're the courier who's caused so much trouble for my Legion, and yet you dare come before me,” If the man was standing he would’ve been pacing. “Vulpes Inculta, the best of my frumentarii, is dead. The garrison I established at Nelson has been wiped out. Years of meticulous scheming to place a mole at Camp McCarran - wasted.” The courier stood still, not saying anything. “So tell me this, because I really want to know. I am feared - with good reason. But you - of all people - dare to come here and stand before me, the mighty Caesar. What were you thinking?”

The courier held back a laugh. “You know, when I killed every single slaver in Paradise Falls, Eulogy was the first to go. He didn’t get to see his world crumble. He died from a bullet to the back of the head. Died quickly. I didn’t get to see his face. I didn’t get to hear him scream. I wonder… how loud will you scream?”

Caesar seemed taken aback by this, signaling to his praetorians to be ready, just in case. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m here, Caesar,” The courier stared into Caesar’s eyes. This time, the courier's eyes weren’t the orange that matched the Mojave, but blue. A pure blue. “The grimreaper herself, killer of slavers, freer of slaves, the lone wanderer… Delilah Crawford.”

Caesar tilted his head. “You’re lying. That person never existed. even if she did, she’s far away, and is beyond dead.”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Delilah hummed, “I was going to come back later, but I had some… inspiration from a little… “old friend” of yours. I bet the Burned Man will be relieved to hear of your death.”

Caesar stood, about to bark out a command, but Delilah pulled out a .45 auto pistol from the jacket of Cyrus’s coat and shot him in the chest. This pistol had been gifted by Joshua himself. It felt fitting.

Caesar fell forward, blood gushing out of his chest. He couldn’t move, but was still alive, and would be alive for a little while longer. Exactly how Delilah wanted it. His praetorians weren’t too much of an issue. Delilah either shot or slammed them into the ground, her strength giving her the key to cause maximum damage. None of them survived, even the one who tried to run got shot. Caesar got to watch this. And he would get to watch longer as Delilah dragged him out of the tent.

“Oh dear Legionaries! Your leader is down, you will all now fall, fall by my hand!” Delilah called over the whole of the fort.

Legionaries looked up at her in fear, in anger, many charging towards her in an unplanned attempt at vengeance. But they all died, slowly, so she could watch the fear in their eyes, hear their pleas for mercy. So she could taste their blood.

Not a single man in red was safe. Some simply had bones snapped, and left to die slowly, some were shot by her gun of justice. A man would scream while she’d crush him underneath a cross. Delilah inflicted as much pain as she could, as much pain as they had caused. Every scream, every drop of blood made her enjoy this moment more. This is what she missed. This is why she stayed. This was the best thing she’d ever done, her entire body covered in crimson. Sweet, sweet crimson.

When the battle had finished, and bodies lined the fort, Delilah caught her breath. Glancing at the now former slaves, she could tell they had a bag of mixed emotions. But she decided to ignore that. She was a symbol of hope, had to be. She waved before making her way back to Caesar. Pure terror filled his eyes as he gasped for air, blood pooling and dripping down the small hill. He was barely conscious, his fear being all that kept him awake. Stepping over him, Delilah reentered his tent, finding something, something quite perfect in the back. A bull’s skull. Removing one of the horns was easy enough. Tossing it in small circles, Delilah made her way back out, looking down at Caesar.

“You thought you would win, but like those before you, you didn’t. In fact, you made the same fatal mistake they did: inviting me into your home,” Delilah laughed, crouching down to see Caesar’s face. “You were so powerful, but in moments? You’re just pathetic,” she grinned, brushing the side of his head with the horn.

Caesar shook, eyes widening more. “You…” He couldn’t even get a word out.

Delilah laughed. “You can burn in hell, burn like your.. boyfriend. Only you won’t be coming back. And the Legion will die,” she readied her arm with the bull horn. “You caused all of this suffering, you were ruthless. And so I was ruthless back.”

“No..” Caesar whimpered weakly.

“Goodbye, Edward Sallow,” Delilah said, emotionless as she shoved the horn into his head.

Caesar was alive for only a few moments longer before his body became completely limp, and all life left his eyes. She dragged his body back into the tent, grinning, imagining the reaction from the remnants when they returned. Delilah then turned to leave, job done. This body was not worth her time. And so she left him to rot, to allow the maggots to pick up every piece. And in their mind it was hope, but the hope would crumble. It would become dust and become one with the sand of the Mojave. Because the Legion was filled with ideals that ruined them from the start. And just like the Enclave, every Legion soldier was evil, deserving every second of pain inflicted in their death. And so Caesar and the rest of the Legion at the Fort would sit there, and rot, and rot and rot, until the Legion was simply a memory.

I have this component in my hands, its odd shape rolling slightly as I move. As I shake. This belonged to a friend of mine, a friend that I shared many, many, memories with. Someone I cared for, comforted, loved in the same way one would love a brother. He was a brother, even if those figures that once followed him, targeted him, said otherwise.

Every time I think I feel a pit in my chest: grief, sadness, pain, guilt. Even when I remember something good, something enduring:

I sang a song I heard in the Mojave, “I got spurs that jingle jangle-jingle”

He asked me what that means, “Jangles the Moon Monkey?”

“No,” I told him. “They’re shoe accessories.”

“Jangles probably wears them,” He said, jokingly. “Especially if they jingle jangle.”

I hold back tears as I squeeze the only piece I still have of my dear friend, the component that, in many people’s eyes, disqualified him from humanity. But he was human. And I failed him. Just like I failed the NCR, just like I failed my family. I wonder what my mom would think, would she be proud? That I tried to protect, that I sit here now? I wish to see the future, even if in vague poems, maybe that would bring him comfort, it would take this off my mind anyway.

Today, a paladin found someone, a ghoul, half dead in front of an old art museum. I was taken there, shown, asked if I could help, or if we should put him out of his misery. Blood covered those stairs, caked it, the lions that had stood there for hundreds of years, green with age, had blood splattered along their manes, dripping from their muzzles. As if they were to blame, but they weren't, no lion could do such a thing, it was a different animal, filthy, cowardly. Maybe the same one that killed my old friend. But I know I can catch them, pull them into the water, tear them to bits. I knew I had to help this ghoul, they were the key, so I said yes, and we brought them back to camp. I refuse to fail him. I refuse to fail anyone else ever again. I, the crocodile, will behead the pig.

Specter pulled himself through the underbrush. It was green, but not the sickly, toxic green he’d become accustomed to, that he’d grown up in, lived in, until recently.

This area of Appalachia was surprisingly lively, the soil was still caked in radiation, but the trees grew tall and healthy in spite of it. He’d wondered if this place was important before the war. It had to have been. Despite the few days he’d spent without running into another person, the mountains revealed a place that was once somewhere lived.

Large towers scraped the sky with big open maws. They had to have done something, had to have been important, but not important enough to fire at? What confused him more were the houses: streets decorated in red, then later green. Were they here for the water that apparently once ran through here? The plant? Or both?

It didn’t matter too much, Specter wouldn’t have a chance to figure it out, running from anything that would come after him. Especially ghouls. Those creatures had taken out the whole caravan he’d been traveling with in that cave, sacrificed them, and tried to sacrifice him to this entity known as ‘The Mothman’. He wouldn’t let the vile things do it, he’d make it out alive, alive with his skin.

Specter's time on the run muddied and ripped up his clothes, but at least he was alive, even if ragged. Maybe he was lucky. He’d heard of an infection that had become a scourge throughout the wasteland years ago, leaving behind creatures like feral ghouls, but more conscious, that had wandered Appalachia. They were gone now, most likely. He’d heard stories of their occasional appearances, though he never saw one personally.

As his thoughts subsided, Specter spotted a group of people, people with brahmin! Caravaners! He ran towards them as fast as his sour feat could move. He yelled for help as his eyes filled with tears—crying out for help. Crying out for anything.

The caravaners were from the same company as the one before, though different people than he remembered. They were saddened to hear of his story, but offered to help him, clean him up. They were kind enough to stop, and glad to be out of those dirty rags, Specter continued forward with them.

Now safe, Specter took the time to return to his thoughts, of his travels, his challenges, of that Mothman. Its eyes glowed blue, a blue that almost- no- absolutely matched her eyes. Pure. Too pure. It made him sick, made him want nothing more than to be free of this green prison. Those towers reminded him too much of the one that stabbed the sky where he used to live, solid white, like her hair. The green of these mountains of this town reminded him too much of her. He wanted to get as far away from it all as possible. Put the past away. Put her away.

White.

Once white.

Bright.

Once bright.

Right.

Once right.

This was my home.

Once full and affectionate.

Now alone.

Now desolate.

I had a family here.

I had a husband and a child.

Now they’re both gone wild.

I miss you, my dear.

I miss our lives.

Yet I’m the only one who survives.

We escaped underground.

Where the bombs made not a sound.

Still, cold, on ice.

Shot you once. Froze me twice.

But they took our son.

Now I must find our young one.

These destroyed fences

Almost hurtful to my senses

White.

Once white.

I brush my hands across their light.

Still glow slightly in the dead of night.

No one will stop me.

I will do it all, do it all for he.

“It was all because of the codex. Supposedly.”

Snowball’s words rang in my ears as I watched my prey, shrouded in the shadows.

“Supposedly, the Knight Armstrong had gone against orders. Supposedly, he had to be dealt with. Supposedly, that deal, that action, was to kill him. And supposedly, it wasn’t important enough to tell anyone, not anyone of any importance. Not his knights, not his paladins, nor his scribes, nor his medic. Supposedly, it wasn’t even worth telling his fellow elder.”

Snowball’s eyes had cut into his brother, Napoleon, as he listed his crimes. Snowball was mildly aware of how close myself and “Armstrong” - who actually went by Moonrise - had been. He knew I’d be angry, but moved on quickly to the rest of the list. He didn’t seem to know how long I’d tried, how long I’d worked to find out Moonrise’s killer. I remembered the sleepless nights I'd spent, laying wide awake, rolling around that component in my hand, knowing it had to have been Napoleon, knowing it, but having no proof. I knew, I knew that it could not have been a courser. They don’t follow to kill, they follow to take, and Moonrise had very much been killed. But the truth was shrouded, shrouded in shadows.

“Each of these members deserved better,” Snowball had said, finishing his speech. “Each of these members deserve justice.”

Justice. Justice that now came far too late. Moonrise had told me, he had warned me. I was aware Napoleon was bad, everything he’d told me made him sound like Caesar, as stupid as I know that roman cosplayer was. Napoleon was dumber, I knew he feared me, which was why he’d covered up his tracks. Just enough. He simply didn’t know that someone had been watching. He didn’t know every single thing he’d done would be announced in front of every single member of his chapter. Which I followed him out of, which is why I’m here now, watching, stalking, shrouded in shadows.

‘Irwin, listen, he has no shame for his actions, only shame of getting caught with them.’ Is what I told myself while I stalked and stalked, closer and closer. Napoleon was looking into the water, quietly, with apathy. He didn’t notice me, he didn’t see me, despite the red glow that emitted from my armor’s eyes. I guess it’s because I have, regretfully, done this before. Only this time, this is for myself, for Moonrise.

I can imagine what my family back in the NCR would think. My mother would be proud. I know this. She always told me that she’d always be. She never lied to me. My brother though? I can imagine his face, a grimace as jealousy coursed through every inch of his veins. I can’t imagine anyone else, as I'd seen their bodies, dull. Lifeless. Familiar. It makes me wonder if they’re still alive, but I shook that worry away. Of course they are. They have to be, or I’d have to question my desertion. I have yet to question that, and I’m not going to.

“You’re a coward,” I said, calmly, calculatedly, to Napoleon as I removed my helmet and stepped out of the deep, shrouding shadow.

Napoleon flinched, eyes looking everywhere. Everywhere but where I stood. He eventually noticed me. I expected him to sprint, to try to get away, instead he stood. Frozen. A pig to the slaughter. “Why-”

“I think you know why,” I growled, voice low. Shrouded. “You hid for a reason. Your actions were for a reason. Power. Fear. Maybe that’s why you like being in charge. Except you don’t like the idea of allowing others power. You don’t even claim that ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others’, you are too cowardly. You want them below you. And when they have a bit of power you destroy it. You’re only hurting us. So I have to take care of it.”

“No…” Napoleon whimpered. Pathetically. He stood frozen still. “Please…”

I ignored him, stepping out, grabbing him, pulling him in. It was then he struggled, absolute terror in his eyes. “Please! Please! Nonono! Please!” Napoleon cried, squealing like a pig, but there was nobody listening. Any plea, shrouded.

“This is for everyone. Especially Moonrise,” I flipped out the knife from his sleeve, Napoleon breathing shakily as I put the sharp, metallic, edge upon his throat. My ears rushed, it felt like the world had blown. Like mushroom clouds filled the sky once again. He squealed and squealed, but as the world became red, it stopped.

Napoleon struggled on the ground for only a moment. Only a moment before he was too weak, before the puddle of blood grew too big, it glistened like water. Water the crocodile had grabbed the pig from, pulling down, down, down, into the water. Into the deep, shrouded, darkness of death.

I felt a small pang of guilt. I don’t like killing people, but it had to be done. And if I didn’t kill him, how long until someone else would? The world was better, yet it swirled. I had to leave. Go to someone. Someone who’d help, someone who’d wash me. Someone who’d cure my dizziness.

Napoleon rotted there, next to Lake Michigan until the next day. The cries that came out of Sinatra, the other, weaker, elder almost sent shivers down my spine. Snowball, however, stared at it. Gears turning. He looked at me like I once looked at Napoleon. He knew. And I knew. But he simply stared. Said nothing. Did he care? I wasn’t sure. He simply then looked to the shadows, likely wondering how I did it.

And I won’t tell him.

It’ll always be a secret.

Shadowed.

Shrouded.

It was almost odd to me how Paradise Falls treated their slaves. I knew many, no, all synths that escaped the Institute did so because they were slaves. Was I inclined to believe them? Maybe. But I always had a job to do. The job that led me here. The institute actually gave them something to do, even if miserable, even if not within their will - of which I’m well aware of. But here, in Paradise Falls, most of us just sit. I swear the only ones that work were under Eulogy, “body guards” like Clover. Like Neavah - or rather X2-85, used to be.

He’s still upset about her, not because he actually cared, but because he lost a tool. And now a young child is all that is left of his little endeavor. I don’t know what he was expecting, some super child? Neavah was the reason I was here, a runaway courser, she’d had her memory wiped, but ended up in the wrong hands, ended up here. And somehow, the Institute expected me to bring her back. Not that I will, that was not going to happen, especially not when I noticed what was happening then, I needed to observe. I didn’t know we were capable of reproduction, I didn’t know that a synth, even a courser, could give birth to a living, breathing child. I had killed her in the process, no way of getting her back home, no point in her living. And in the end, I decided to study, study like the men who made us, my focus being on the spawn.

Eulogy was unimpressed with the child, christened Specter. Despite the kid's attempts and love for his father, Eulogy was cold, taking every moment to ignore him. Event tried to sell him. Multiple times. I’m what stopped that. Specter is my subject, like a rat I observe to see if his fur and teeth fall out, if he runs in circles until he seises on the floor and dies, like a wolf-pup I watch as it is clenched within a cougar’s jaws, crying and crying for a now-dead mother as it is taken away from home, and I’m on the mountain watching, recording, noting. I try to imagine that is what I see at least. But when i look at him, I look into his future, I see hell.

Traveling, traveling, traveling.

Into the darkness, secrets unraveling.

People he followed as radiation grew.

He ran from a winged creature with eyes of blue.

Traveling into the Windy City.

He met a group who thought he was witty.

But never did he stay.

He was too rough, kicked away.

This worried me, and worried me greatly.

After that I see a future, red and stately.

Fire, fire burning harsh and bright.

The lapping heat, ready to bite.

People screaming, crying for mercy to the stars.

But they don’t get it, they're too far.

Blood and fear, but he’s not the one.

He’s below a man, now someone else’s son.

Standing in the middle of it all

A man that makes everyone around him so small.

With a golden metal on his chest and eyes of brown.

I feel I must look down.

But what worries me worst of all

Is the kid there instead of the man, standing tall.

A flower sprouting from his chest.

A horn over the ear, the best, his best.

He sees me, haunting, hauntingly.

He comes towards me, dauntingly.

And I merely make it out alive.

Really I was lucky to survive.

I always cut back to reality, the hell still burning in my mind. How could he have seen me in my own vision? Maybe it didn’t matter as I was always out of his reach. Still not great though. I’m prepared for the worst, always have been. I can always leave, run. These people in Paradise Falls don’t hold me, they think they own me but I own them. Same with the Institute. I’m merely an observer of it all. Even if… the kid. Not to worry, that future may not come true as soon, soon enough I see another vision:

A woman of revolution.

A woman, who is finally the solution.

A woman who brings death.

A woman who strikes fear with every breath.

She’ll bring power, help the others rise.

I’ll look into her blue, pure eyes.

I think of the future and people I despise.

I think of that thickening red sky.

I know that kid is innocent and shy.

I know for a fact, he has to die.

In my head, despite my best efforts, I plead.

Save us.

Save us please.

Watch, listen, but don’t tell people. That’s what my father always said. He worked as a prop master, often bringing me around to his job. He always wanted me to stay quiet about what I had seen, not to spoil the movie or show or whatever he was working on. The younger me was so naive. He wasn’t just there for props, he had something sinister going on.

I remember watching the fall of that famous actor - what was it? Cooper Howard! That was his name. My dad worked on every single movie he’d made. I remember when they fired the original writer of his last movie. For what? I don’t remember.

It was odd to see what was on screen in person. Then later see it again. And again. And again. My sister loved his movies, but she never saw them be made. Maybe I had special clearance. Maybe he thought she was too young.

Or maybe it was about the times I saw him speaking to people - important people - about things that certainly were not related to movies. I should have said nothing, but I did what my father told me - what he always told me - Watch, listen, but don’t tell people.

Cyrus couldn’t breathe. Breathless, just like the body in a checkered suit that lay motionless in front of him. This was their doing, they knew they’d killed him, they remembered it, but it was hard to process.

It was revenge, sure, but it’s not like Benny was going to fight back now. He was shocked. Why would he? Cyrus needed the platinum chip… and he just couldn’t get that ghostly, female voice to stop berating him. Why did she want him dead? They weren’t sure. But now at least he could get the job he was here to do, he was now able to return the platinum chip.

Holding it up, shiny, bloodied, they could see their own reflection. Was it? He didn’t like it. But behind him he could see a woman, smiling, like she’d just won the jackpot.

“We’ve done it. You’ve done it. We have something worth more than caps, more than gold, the key to Vegas. It’s better than every once of riches this place has.”

That was it huh?

Greater than riches?

Hm. Riches.

So much of this feels like cause and effect.

The group came in and we refused to let them go…

So Edward Sallow had an audience.

Because Sallow had an audience…

He managed to start his Legion.

Because he started this mess…

We had to follow his rules.

Because his rules were bullshit…

My wife, Ember, attempted to kill him.

Because Ember had been caught attempting to kill him…

She was sentenced to death.

Because she was sentenced, I now stood, in a crowd of people, of everyone who bowed down to that cult leader, to everyone who called him by the name “Caesar”.

Everyone had told me that Ember wasn’t worth it, that she was only trouble, they were only scared of a woman who could outmatch them. I liked that. I felt comfortable with that. We lived, and loved, and had three children: Emeric, Unique, and Flame - or as the Legionaries kept calling him, Vulcan. They stood around me, watching, watching, watching. Above, Sallow watched with his little posse: Joshua Graham, the wettest of wet blankets; and Bill Calhoun, whom I knew as the local midwife, and was always unsure of everything Sallow ever did. Bill had, in fact, midwifed Flame’s birth. He was the one to do it because he’d put his foot down. Even when a friend of his begged to do it. Who was he? I can’t remember him. All I remember was his overworking in spite of a back injury. He and Bill did not scare me like the other two men did.

I watched as four legionaries walked forward and began to circle Ember. Sallow announced something, said something, but it didn’t process, I couldn’t fathom that he’d managed to gather not one, but four people who were willing to fight her. Ember had gone on for so long without challenge. Nobody from any tribe, any group that Sallow and his men had conquered, had dared to fight her. So in spite of the Legion’s laws, she lived her own life, free of fear. I envied her in a way. Maybe these four men weren’t actually from here, I didn’t recognize them.

As soon as the battle started, Ember quickly took out one of the four, swiftly circling around him before slitting his throat in seconds. The man fell to the ground, gasping for air as he died in the same colors he had fallen for. The crowd gasped, roaring, I was unsure of what they felt.

After a few more moments, another man fell, maybe having lived if he hadn’t fallen onto the ground below with such force, his head oozed blood. It bubbled and popped as his chest slowly stopped heaving. Ember managed to score a hatchet in order to behead the third. That death had to have been quick, I stepped back as the head rolled down to my feet. Even with all this, she’d gotten merely a few scraps and bruises.

I wondered what would happen if she’d have won. Would Sallow’s reign end? Would every person realize his laws were bogus? Or would they try to kill her anyway? Or killed us, myself, Emeric, Unique, and Flame. Flame watched the battle quietly, nervously. His body was tense, eyes wide, fearful. I looked up to Sallow, Joshua, Bill. Sallow and Joshua watched from above, quiet, emotionless, while Bill’s was a mix of sorrow and horror. What were they thinking? Were they-

My thought process was interrupted by a scream, my eyes darted back to the battle. Horror, sickness. I wanted to scream myself, I wanted to cry, but it was all caught in my throat. All caught as I watched the final legionary stab into Ember, tear through her skin, cutting it like a pair of scissors. The world spun as I watched her collapse on the ground, as I watched her take her final breaths. As I watched them get rid of the body.

He did it, he actually did it. He managed to kill her, kill my wife. Someone stronger, more powerful, who surpassed me in every way. I remember her beating me in every arm wrestle, every little game we played. I remember her fire burning brightly, burning everyone who dared to challenge her. I remembered it lighting up the dark night, whenever I was sad or lonely, or when she needed to guide her children into the right path. I remember her glow just bright enough as we looked up at the stars, as she told me what secrets they held. Who they were. Their identities. Even now the man, covered in blood, collapsed, heaving his last breath, was burned by her. But now, her flame was silenced, snuffed out by villainy. By darkness. And now, I had to live with it, in the darkness, void of her light.

Because she died,

Emeric refused to let anyone close to his partner.

Because she died,

Unique disappeared.

Because she died,

Vulcan lost himself in fantasies

Because she died,

Bill left the legion.

And because she died,

I gave up my own will to Caesar.

I would follow every order, every task, in fear of ending up like her. He had me, using the scuttle to carry me farther and farther away from who I was. I followed him, into war, and into the fire. Oh Ember, how you would have loved that fire.

Peace.

The feeling I felt while I looked out into the landscape of the Windy Wastes. The war, the battle, the blood, it didn’t matter here. This land was safe, holy. Every step in the rusty, dead grass, every step in the cracked, concrete roads that rose over the swampy land below, each and every step felt like the clouds above. Every inch of suffering, fear, and war covered in the golden sparkle of the future, of hope.

Peace.

The feeling I felt back when a group of caravaners spoke of a lone woman who single handedly saved the Capital Wasteland. Who purified the waters, whose pure eyes burned with justice. The recount of it all reminded me of home, reminded me of the man who saved my life.

Peace.

Is what I felt, somehow, as I watched the mushroom cloud raise above the water. They’d attacked me, attacked us, and I was just a kid. They’d destroyed my peace, a peace I'd have if only my hero had come sooner, with a piece of technology. Technology that now brought purity to the waters of both sides, both worlds. Now though, I was safe, surrounded by my kin, sitting next to my hero, the hero we’d chosen from birth.

Peace.

The feeling when someone defeated the monsters out to get you. A man I love, a man I adore, I met that way. He defeated the darkness with ease then, but then again, he was willing to lay his life down for myself, and for someone else. That someone, a friend, had worse monsters, but my love gave him peace. He gave me peace. He gave us all peace.

Peace.

The feeling that sprawled through my chest, with my friend and love by my side, with the stories of heroes on my mind. As I walk through the streets of the windy city. As I walk past the bronze lions that guard the doors of a once flourishing museum. As I talk past the bridges and trains, unroad and unmoving. Past the shining bean that bridges the gap between the factions that fight for this land. Past an ancient building, that of water, surviving fire. Past the ancient beings, tucked away safely, claws and teeth on display. Past the home where technology showed itself, technology we’ll never see again. Past the building that reach to the sky as if it were a contest.

Peace.

Is what I feel when I’m home, a place formally meant to display the stars, to tell what was beyond us. Something few care for now. I sit outside, city behind me, reflecting in the water, the Great Lake, a lake that stretches as far as I can see. It feels bigger than it is, it feels like an ocean, when I know, I know that it only stretches a fraction of one. But it feels as if it goes on forever, forever and ever.

I am reminded of an old song I heard on the travels, when I traveled the contrasting mountains, with my long-gone father. It sang with such love, such devotion to home - “almost heaven, West Virginia.” Well, to me, that place was a mere blip in my life. It was empty, lost, but here I feel hope. This is it, this is what beat that desolate place. This was heaven, this was Chicago.

“Isn’t this place lovely?”

James’s calm voice rang in Bill’s ears. It sounded like an ocean, brushing back and forth peacefully, slowly rising to wash away any negative thoughts that crossed his mind. The two - or rather nine, they were a group - had just come upon the grand canyon. Bill had never truly understood that name until now, grand, but now, upon seeing it, he could appreciate its astronomical size and the beauty of the earth, layer, layer, layering. And untouched by nuclear fire. Bill smiled at the sight, at James’s remark, opening his mouth to respond, but someone else blurted out something that made him wish to scream.

“Too much open space,” Spoke up a man, named Edward Sallow, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. Nobody liked him, in fact James recruited me to try to get rid of the man, but they sent him with us anyways. Just because he was an anthropologist didn’t mean he’d benefit the group in any way whatsoever. Nobody liked him, he was argumentative and yelled at anyone if they didn’t do what he wanted. Threw fits, like a fucking manchild. “Makes it too difficult to defend.”

“It’s something new,” Benjamin, the unofficial leader of the group, grumbled. “Nicer than the Boneyard.”

“And it’s not that exciting, we have things to do, not admire-” Edward’s fiery words were interrupted by James’s calm ocean.

“We have to wait for that New Canaan guy to meet us and we have no idea where he is. We can’t communicate with anyone - unless they speak English. We can waste some time, Edward, you can relax,” he smiled. “So, you don’t have to stress, okay?”

They all knew - or maybe all but James knew, that Edward wasn’t actually stressed out. He was just a jerk. In fact, he would usually continue to berate him, and he would continue to try to soothe him. This time, however, Edward stayed quiet, following the rest of the group as they moved forward. James stood tall with a smile as he continued to look out upon the canyon. The sun above made him glow.

Patient river, calm voice

The aura of an angel

~

“This isn’t even bandaged properly” Once again the nails were scraping. Not only did the group have to convince Edward that he needed to have the cut looked at, but now he’d been complaining. “And the stuff on my arm makes it hurt more!”

“I’m applying it to prevent any infection,” James responded calmly, trying to adjust the bandage for the third time. It’d have been fine if he’d listened the first time. “Now please stand still… it’s making my job harder.”

Bill watched from the corner, watching James while refusing to meet Edward’s eyes. He tried to help first, but couldn’t put up with the verbal abuse. Somehow, James was able to brave it. Why was he being so nice? How did he keep doing that? An impossible task.

After a few moments, James stepped back from Edward and nodded. “That’ll be good. I made sure to wrap it in a way that-“

“It better not fall off this time.” Edward grumbled as he brushed out of the tent. Back out to do whatever he wanted to do. Probably read those stupid Roman books he found.

Bill made his way over to James, leaning on him. Lovingly, he looked back at him, putting an arm around him. They stayed like that, drawing comfort from each other. That was until they once again heard those nails, yelling about that stupid cut.

“James, you don’t have to go help him,” Bill whispered. “It’s a small cut, it probably doesn’t need to be covered.”

“Maybe… but it’s my duty, besides, someone has to take one for the team. Give the poor guy some patience and attention,” James replied, lightly removing himself from Bill’s embrace before going outside to look for Edward.

Bill waited, waited for just a little bit, hoping James would just tell Edward to suck it up and come back to their moment. But that thought was cut short as the sound of footsteps and growling startled him. Bill's eyes widened in terror as he heard the footsteps of a giant beast, growling, he recognized it immediately: a deathclaw.

It was all a blur. Bill remembered everyone trying to stop the monster, trying to fight it off, but being picked off one by one. He remembered watching James try to fend it off and- the claws digging deeply into his back. That Benjamin, in an attempt to stop the Deathclaw, ended up in its jaws. How it came towards Bill, how trying to stop it from destroying his medical supplies ended up in his arm getting caught. The pain, the blood, and then it faded.

The next thing Bill remembered was James, swaying, trying to patch him up. He smiled a bit, but then fell sideways. Despite the pain he felt, he needed to help him. His love, he had to. James’s bleeding hadn’t stopped, probably why he passed out. While trying to stop it, to stitch him up, Bill noticed something, someone, Edward always sitting in the corner. Just watching. Why? Why wasn’t he helping!? What the hell?

After a while James woke up, looking to his back with a wince, then back to Bill. “You’re okay…” he whispered.

“You’re the one that almost died,” Bill blinked slowly at him.

“As long as everyone else is safe. Are they okay?”

“…I don’t know I just-“

James was already up, trying to make sure everyone was fine. Everyone other than Bill and James, who were stricken with terrible injuries, or the unharmed Edward, was dead or dying. James tried his best to keep calm in spite of the terror in his eyes. The terror made Bill sick. With every moment he winced, flinched. He grit his teeth as he began to do what he could. He whimpered, making small, heartbreaking noises as he worked. Bill tried his best to help while Edward stayed in the corner. Watching. Useless. James took initiative, despite the pain he was in. He was convinced he had to save them.

Seriously,

What an angel.

~

“DAMMIT!”

James’s loud yell awoke Bill, looking up from his makeshift bed. It’d been a few days, all but one of them had passed away despite the best efforts of the two. Nothing from Caesar. Bill’s eyes rounded as he noticed his partner’s shaking, crying. “…James?” He whispered, walking closer. Basil, the plant expert of the group, lay on the ground, cold and still, eyes void of life.

“T-They’re gone… I-I couldn’t save them,” James spoke shakily, tears rolling down his face. “I tried everything I could and they all died…! I tried everything… I tried everything…but they still died…” he stared at Basil’s body for a long while. “They all… died…” he whimpered as he erupted in sobs in tears.

Bill put his hand on James’s back as he continued. “I failed… I failed everyone…” he whispered.

“You tried,” Bill told him. “That’s what matters. Besides, you saved me.”

“But they could’ve lived… they could’ve lived and I couldn’t save them..”

“It’s not your fault. That deathclaw… destroyed almost all of our supplies. You tried your best with what you had. You did your best and you did good,” Bill leaned into James. “They all rest easy knowing you tried,” suddenly, he got a sour taste in his mouth. “No thanks to Edward.”

James gave Bill a quick look of concern.

“If anyone’s to blame it’s him. He sat aside while we struggled,” Bill growled.

“While I agree he didn’t help… I don’t know about that,” James looked away. “Nobody deserves the weight of the dead on their shoulders…”

“OH REALLY!?” Bill spat. “Talk to him. Tell him everything. He won’t care. Edward Sallow cares for no one.”

James was quick for a moment, before sighing. “Maybe I should talk to him… at least let him know about Basil…” he looked back at Bill, the. Turned to leave. “I just… hope you're wrong about Edward…”

Almost out the door, Bill spoke again. “…James?”

James looked back at him.

“I appreciate your kindness, but your naivety will get you or someone you care about shot. You have to understand that some people are just… evil. And they lie. Don’t let that man lie to you.”

James nodded and left.

A while later, he came back, a tired expression on his face. Following him was Edward.. And a new face. Bill remembered that someone was meant to meet them… oh shit! how could he have forgotten. This new guy’s name was Joshua Graham, and while James tried to explain everything to him, Edward interrupted them. He never really let James speak to him. But he didn’t care, seemed optimistic, “At least he’s got a buddy now,” he said. “At least he won’t be lonely.”

He’s so innocent,

Such an angel.

~

The screams of pain, screams of terror, would haunt the nightmares of both of them. I changed nothing, they’d gone to do what they’d gone to do, but it ended poorly. Someone must’ve done something. Bill believed it was Edward or Joshua’s fault. Had to have been. Everything seemed fine, why would the Blackfoots immediately turn on them? Well, Edward decided to convince them towards violence. Lead them to kill everyone, everyone from the first group attacked. It was a horrific sight, Bill and James didn’t fight. Staring at a dead woman, for once, James was not so calm.

“Something has to be done…” James growled. “Someone must do something…”

“How?” Bill whispered. “He’ll just kill them.”

“Maybe ” James took a deep breath, clenching his fist. “He just needs a talking to.”

“Didn’t that do nothing last time?”

“It’s worth a shot, with so many lives at risk,” he smiled.

“...Okay,” Bill leaned onto him. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” James started walking, carefully, painfully turning away, before looking back. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Bill whispered in response.

And then James walked off. For the last time. He disappeared after that. Deep, into his ocean. Bill asked and asked and asked where he was, ignored by an unhelpful Edward, shot with a confused Joshua. Bill watched as things got worse, as Edward’s little cult grew, calling him Caesar. He watched and watched and finally, broke under it all. He left, eventually motivated by a growing threat, the loudest those nails scraped that chalkboard.

“You dare to defy me? You’ll end up dead, just like James.”

A part of me didn’t believe it.

He couldn’t be dead.

Not my angel

~

It was sometime in 2278 when Bill heard of James’s name again. He was doing his own thing, still with the followers, but alone and distant. He was surprised a courier could even have found him. At first he thought this courier was an NCR ranger, but their armor and jacket bore no symbols or marks, merely an “06” upon the neck piece.

They smiled, handing over a letter, eyes filled with excitement. “Came allll the way from the Capital Wasteland!”

“That far? You sure it’s for me?” Bill asked, brushing his fingers across it. Had the brotherhood emblem on it. Strange. It was addressed to him. Hesitantly, he opened it.

Caesar appeared to have lied, James was alive. Only he’d ended up on the other side of the wasteland. Only he’d found a new family, a wife, and a child. Only he’d spent several years in a vault, raising that child before going out to help the wasteland. Only he died, suicide, radiation poisoning when trying to stop another evil man from destroying the wasteland, poisoning it like Edward.

Bill’s tears rolled down his cheek as he started to sob,it felt the world had fallen. Shattered.

He was gone.

He was truly an angel now.

“Survival of the fittest”

Never spoken out loud,

Never spoken to the crowd,

But spoken nonetheless.

His cult follows this.

And my echoes against it are quiet nonetheless.

Man of great evil,

Holding great power, lethal.

“Survival of the fittest”

That’s what he must believe.

One man tried to talk to him, trying to relieve.

He was told to go, accidentally forced to leave.

Another tried to kill him, but the plan was misconceived.

And she died, calmly left to grieve.

“Survival of the fittest”

Is what he must thought

When it was the NCR we fought.

And when we failed something had to be taught.

When I saw those flames of home, hot.

All because like him I’d been caught.

I remember what he taught.

“Survival of the fittest”

Was the apparent key.

At least that’s what he told a kid who hated the sea.

The pure, blue sea.

That poor child can’t see.

I hope he gets to open his eyes, I plea.

But I know better than to believe that.

“Survival of the fittest”

Is what I hope is wrong.

A dog and a bull, dancing, singing along.

They believe they are atop each other, all life long.

But in the end, we all end with the same song…

But which one was fittest?

Neither. That was a lie.

Together, they both die.

And that’s ok, I know why.

At least I got to say goodbye.

James was the most friendly person that Catherine and Madison knew, he seemed to get along with anyone and everyone. It was almost odd, almost absurd. How could anyone be like that out here? Especially after what he’d told them about? Catherine didn’t fully understand, but she admired it. Admired him. And that’s all that mattered.

It was strange, the stormy night Catherine died and Delilah was brought into this world, that James, even when his heart was shattered, could stay the way he was. It was odd from the perspective of many how the paladin that escorted him matched him so well. Maybe in another world they’d be together, but probably not. Maybe his good helped him into safety, into the vault, maybe it did matter.

Delilah always saw her dad as perfect, and someone who could do no wrong. That was until he left. But she never held it against him, maybe a trait she’d earned from her father. He was trying. Even with his final breath.

I saw Galton’s eyes sparkle as he looked up at the sky. Rain. But not just any rain, it was green, toxic. I could feel the stress fill my body,quickly like an electric shock. Grabbing him by the arm, I pulled him underneath an awning of an old, abandoned building.

He shook himself, confusion filling his gaze. “What was that?” He asked. “I haven’t seen rain before, I wanted to feel-“

“You have no protection against the hazardous materials in it,” I told him. I hated this, I hated feeling rude. “I don’t want you to get radiation poisoning. Or worse…”

“Worse?” Galton tilted his head, but I didn’t respond.

We sat there, watching the green bits of water fall down from the sky, landing gently onto the ground. “Is your father going to be ok?” Galton whispered.

“He’s wearing power armor, he’s safe,” I smiled. “He’ll be safe. He’s always safe.”

“Will he keep us safe?”

“Of course he will,” I smiled. “And we can keep each other safe too, I promise.”

Safety.

That was a promise I could never keep.

The Circle of Steel. A fancy name, a fancy title for someone who was so easy to take out. Knight Cardinal Pinkerton of the Circle claimed that Irwin was a danger to the Midwestern brotherhood. He wasn’t a danger to the Midwestern Brotherhood, but she was. And he was a danger to her.

So once again, he knew he’d have to swallow his pride and take care of it. He wondered, no, he knew the circle would wonder what happened to her, although at the same time, he wondered if they would care enough to look into it. It didn’t matter. Regardless of the outcome, it would be too dangerous for her to be alive.

So he ignored the memories and regret that echoed in his head that cried for no more bloodshed, for no more justice. Irwin wished to agree, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let this slide. Not when everything was at risk.

So he followed her to a place where no one would hear what took place. Followed her in the shadows, not revealing himself, not even a little. The kill was quiet, quick, not a sound, a quick snap and it was already done. She was dead. And Irwin would have to deal with the aftermath.

Cyrus didn’t expect an argument to leave him alone, to make him have to watch over Vegas by himself. Delilah, ghostly woman with eyes so pure they felt almost… Wrong, had argued with him so often that it almost felt normal. They didn’t expect that putting their foot down - truly putting their foot down - would make her leave, would make her go. After everything, every extreme that Delilah went through, even as far as possessing his body, Cyrus was surprised by her disappearance.

Good riddance. Cyrus was free, free from her, right? They could do whatever they desired. But no.. no… They were left in a position of power, a position in no way desirable. At least to them. He didn’t want to rule New Vegas, or really rule anything, he just wanted to be a courier. That was what they enjoyed. But no… he had to be forced into this… spotlight.

And at the worst time too. Tensions were rising again. Especially as the NCR had lost Shady Sands… the new general, General Reed, had slowly become more and more aggressive, coming closer to an attack. An attack Cyrus knew about, but didn’t know when, couldn’t stop. Would he be killed? He didn’t know. He could only hope for a peaceful ending.

And so Cyrus looked out the glass window of the Lucky 38. Over an unstable target. Over something he wished he could run from. But they didn’t even have help, that help was gone. He was alone. And so there he was, a lonely king, looking out over his kingdom.

That man needed to die. Delilah knew this, was glad of it. Dr. Zimmer was a danger to not only Harkness, whom he was here for, but a danger to Rivet City, and a danger to the Capital Wasteland. And so she’d gotten permission to take him down. He was a part of the Institute, a slaver, the very way he spoke pissed her off. She really wanted to but the idea of her father’s reaction stopped her. That was until she had permission, that was ok, right? And the Wasteland would be better off. Sure, she’d killed those who attacked first, but the only other time she’d done this was taking care of Mr. Burke. It was a… unique feeling, killing him, a feeling she’d never felt before, her heart beat as crimson covered her, her head spun, oh the thrill. He deserved what was coming, his father would agree, right? It’s not like he needed to know, he was still missing afterall.

Delilah watched from the shadows, waiting for him to be… alone. Or rather as alone as possible, he still had that body guard.. Her heart felt a pang of guilt at the fact she had to kill him too. No way of convincing him, not that she could see. As soon as the world seemed calm, Delilah made her move running forward, he turned to notice her as she struck him in the face. He fell back, nose bloody. Delilah stood a moment, she wasn't expecting him to be taken down so easily, so quickly. Between that and the fear in his eyes… She felt so powerful. Like she owned the world.

“Awe! So now you feel the fear that you caused so many others,” Delilah told him, chuckling. “You tracked them down, made them suffer,” she stepped forward, the world around her felt like a void, the spotlight only on her and the monster she was slaying. Pulling out her gun, she held his head with the tip, his terror fueling her. “Who’s laughing now?”

And then she pulled the trigger, and he bled, he bled a lot. More than she expected. She could feel the pride of it swell in her chest as he gasped once, and then went limp. And then her fun was over. And then, glancing at his frozen bodyguard, she knew what was coming.

She felt no justice killing him. He attacked first, was more of a challenge, but it felt as if… it wasn't justice. But it had to be, he was working with a monster, yeah. And a well-placed shot to the head put an end to that. She could move on and not think about that.

Pride swelled as justice bloomed, Delilah achieved something good, even if not notable next to the other achievements of her work. She brought justice again and again and again. Her pure eyes watched over the wasteland. But at that time, she was looking for her father. And so she went into the wasteland. Into her future.

Inside the house—her house, the house she’d lived with her family—it was almost normal. In spite of the missing pieces in the walls, the leaking roof, the damage of 200 years untouched, to Ophelia it was still home. She could remember, almost like shadows, the memory of life, life of living happily. The slow, rainy days where she and Spencer would sit and watch as rain fell, despite its descent, still graceful. The memories of rocking Shaun, he was so small. The memories swirled in her head, making her eyes well.

As Ophelia circled, touching lightly the dust and dirt across the counter, he recounted things that still stood that she had. Dishes still in the sink after use, the abraxo cleaner, still unopened, it was all a reminder of the past, the past that she’d lost. The past that would never return.

Hesitant and careful, Ophellia made her way into a room she was hesitant upon. It still had everything, crib, toys on the floor. The colors still covered the walls. And in the corner sat a crib, empty, without purpose. She rubbed her finger across its surface. “I’ll find you, Shaun,” She whispered. “I promise.”

And then she let her tears fall.

Gracefully like the rain.

Gone. That's what I must be to you. I think about that often, despite my efforts. The world still reminds me, my back still hurts. I wished I could at least say goodbye, at least tell you why I was gone, why I can't come back. But I can’t. Now I can’t even try. I hope you’re safe, Bill. Despite my moving on, I still look in the mirror, and I still confess… I still love you.

You are safe, I hope, I hope that Edward spoke the truth, I hope he changed, shifted that focus. But… I doubt it. He’s probably out there causing more harm. Killing more people, even children… his operation has probably grown. That fact makes me sick, I wish I could go back, I wish I could fix it. But I can’t. I have responsibilities here.

How I met Catherine still seems like a blur, with many, many details filling up the film, the snapshots of memory that swirl in my head. I can remember it, but no way I can properly describe it. You’d never believe me anyways. She was beautiful, but it took me a while to move on, accept that I’ll never see you again, never feel your comfort. But I’m across an entire wasteland, a deadly, rotting wasteland. And so I’ll never see you again. And that’s okay.

I loved her like I loved you. I still love you. Together we started a project, her project, Project Purity. Together we were making the world better. Us and our teams, we got so far, but not close. Not enough. Especially when it all slowed, because Catherine was pregnant, pregnant with my daughter. I was so excited to be a father; she was excited to be a mother. But she never will be. Because she died upon her birth. And so I have another person’s death on my hands.

I know you’d love her anyways, my daughter. She’s so sweet, so small. I love her with a love I’ve never felt. I know this world is dangerous, I know this world isn’t safe. She’s so small, so helpless, isn’t ready for the world. Which is why I do this, which is why I live in a Vault, Vault 101. We’ll be safe, she’ll be safe.

I try not to think about you, about either of you.

But my back still hurts.

And the verse Catherine loved circled in my head, telling me it isn’t over.

It makes me wonder if this is right, the Vault, the Capital… if I’m making the right decisions. But I can’t take her with me, when she’s not even a week old, across the unknowing wasteland. I know there is someone like me with you, another man of faith. But faith doesn’t dictate whether you are good or evil. Doesn’t stop you from bad decisions, going down a dark path, like I knew he was, even if I can’t remember his name.

I know what faith is meant to be: hope.

And when I look to my daughter, that’s what I feel.

So I will tell her as much as I can, about me, about my life. Teach her as many lessons as I could. But she’ll never know you, about who we were together. About what it’s like to love like that twice. About the pain of losing someone suddenly. But she’ll know about her mother, about her smile, about her personality, and her favorite passage:

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.”

I repeat that, at least once a day. To myself. It stings, but it reminds me of her. It certainly doesn’t hurt as much as the pain in my back. The pain I must ignore. The pain I must work through. Worth through for her.

Delilah was not expecting to end up here. The world swirled with a world dark, darker than she’d seen in a long time. She wasn’t in the Mojave, that was for sure. But where was she? The question rang like an alarm as she slowly became aware that she wasn’t alone, that people were surrounding her, people in crimson. She felt herself stiffen as two things became apparent:

An explosive collar hand around her neck, cold and heavy.

And the fact these people spoke that “the demon must die”

Who? Her? Delilah wasn’t sure what they were doing - trying to do, but she knew she needed out. So she pulled off the collar - it did not detonate, she knew how to remove one safely, she had done it again and again. Throwing it into the group, she used the collar as a grenade as she ran. The exit was a circular set of stairs, spiraling down. A lighthouse. That’s where they were. But where- Point Lookout. Jesus, what? That couldn’t be farther from the Mojave! At least now she knew how to get herself - and whoever's body she was in - safe.

She ran, as fast as she could, to get her bearings, to know what’s happening. She circled her way around, quickly moving towards the old docks, eventually coming upon the Duchess Gambit. She remembered it, remembered who now owned it, but she didn’t have time to look, to ask, she’d give it back later she decided.

Once sailing, Delilah tried to exit this body, to get out. Like she had with Cyrus time and time again, but she didn’t feel her freedom. She couldn’t get out of this body. That’s when she noticed the amount of pain she was in, her body sore, legs wobbly. Not only did she never experience this in Cyrus’s body, but she rarely felt it on her own when she lived.

Then the questions circled in Delilah’s head. Who were these people? They were certainly not a part of those tribals, in fact, where were they? Her eyes rounded when she realized the color and design of the armor they wore. Crimson. Wearing pads that ultimately wouldn’t give any projection in warfare. There was only one faction she could remember with armor like that: The Legion.

But why were they here? She’d wiped them out - almost completely - how were they still around, let alone here? And why were they doing such a ritual? She always saw them as crazy cultists, but nothing like this. What did this mean for the Capital? Were they in danger or worse, under Legion control?

Delilah pondered, and she pondered, and pondered. Eventually she could see DC, buildings that touched the sky, not as high as Vegas, and not so lively. It felt as though the world was now covered in a shade of green - a green that filled her with familiarity. As she docked, she could once again smell the air, and the light breeze that beckoned her, called out to her.

With a cheer, it celebrated

Welcome home.