Dinh AaronMk

The World of Races (Realistic RP with races)

Why not PM those parties and remind them?

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

TheEvanCat said
Opera post.

Such a legendary beast.

The World of Races (Realistic RP with races)

I'm just sad that nothing more has happened.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

The Whacko said
So, Dihn, think the Cajun accent's been paid proper respect so far? Or have I made it into a terrible, terrible abomination?

I can certainly read it in the long drawl. So long as it reads at time like a intermingling of French and the southern accent. I'll give a sample in Frank Underwood. The next step would be to get someone from the region to critique, in the same way I got a couple people from New England to critique my Boston dialect.

TheUnknowable said
Ok, so you're just adapting stuff from a previous RP. That explains why you have so much written already. I've actually only read through your first hidden post so far. I'll read the rest tomorrow.

Once I get through this prolonged backstory I can do more than simply gesture the plot towards this interpretation and start going full steam, with Evan.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

TheUnknowable said
Well, so far it's just a longer than normal short story. not a book yet.

I got maybe another thirty-thousand to go, give or take. And from there it only has to go when I can get off of re-adapting old shit.

I'm not usually this lazy, but Evan and I have been hunting for an excuse to continue this. We were set to make our own Fallout RP until this was brought to our attention.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

I offer cookies to anyone who reads my book posts.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

End of first half

Stealing glances down the road the Android managed to steer the vehicle around the ruins that lined the road. The bridge was careening into sight and nearby her target. The blip flashed happily ever faster as she moved closer to the five-story office building alongside the road. All the glass had been removed from its side from the hell-fire blast of two-hundred years ago leaving a disfigured series of intertwining steel and concrete. And...

... Something puzzling flashed on top as a dark form appeared faintly in her vision pressed against the light grey of the skies. A dim light caught itself in its silhouette as something flashed in the sun. There was a bright orange flash followed moments by a booming crack that lit up the afternoon and the screaming of a bullet passed Sweet Gin's face. She flinched, shifting her weight to the side sending her transport careening violently to one side, balancing on one tire and half the other as she flailed violently to re-position herself just as second loud "THWACK" ripped through the air. The pavement alongside her exploding in a dramatic crash of stone and black asphalt as the bullet slammed into the roadway. She hollered and screamed in distress, both at the gunfire nipping towards her and the out of control cart.

Fortunately the ghouls had backed off.

She passed onto the bridge and below her through nets of rebar she fought to dodge she could see the muddy green water bellow her. She swallowed and groaned as a round tore into the front wheel causing the vehicle to swirl about, she corrected it facing backwards to look at the rapidly dispersing hordes of zombies. Evidently they actually feared the range of this structure.

A fifth shot roared out as she passed closer to the building and the thing she had rode in on exploded in two as the heavy-caliber round bust through the thin, red metal bars that built it. Sweet Gin tumbled to the cold ground, acceleration sending her soaring arms outstretched through the air. An expression of distressed, pained anticipation glued itself to her face like a mask as she soured face first into the ground.

She landed with a hard wet smack against the pavement and she cartwheeled over he shoulders to land on her pack facing the sky. She lay dazed staring into the grey-blue abyss above, and would have remained if that familiar glassy flash had not shown above her. Her senses not undullened, her eyes flashed wide and something inside her skipped and jumped, springing her to her feet taking deep gasps as a long barrel of a rifle passed through the sky above to point downwards. She rolled to her feet as a sixth and final loud crack boomed out in the afternoon and something struck along the side of her arm. The metal flashing hot and sparking as the bullet cascaded down past it and exploding in a shower of shrapnel on the ground below. She dove for the marquee over the building with hot pavement impacting against the underside of her chin and into her coat.

The stones fell to a light patter as she rolled ungracefully underneath her new shield.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

Part 2

Tinges of doubt danced about Sweet Gin's head as she looked ahead into the city. Nervously, she cast looks on the neighborhood she was parked in already, midst the decay that was so desperately trying to flee some mighty danger that was emanating from the heart of this city. The still and unbeating heart of the Commonwealth, whatever this meant. With a dry sigh Sweet Gin hoisted her pack over onto her shoulder and walked past the sign. Heading into the heart of Worcester. With any luck she felt, she could get out and through to the other-side within the hour.

But the empty shells that stood alongside the road into town filled Sweet Gin with a fearful claustrophobia. Their figures and forms bowing unnaturally from the stresses of time as they threatened to collapse inwards, or even outwards. But it wasn't the fear of being crushed by the imposing buildings that rose over her head. It was another fear, an unknown one. Their empty shapes and shadowy interiors carried a uneasy feeling that inside may rest monsters. Or additional assailants. Synth Retention Bureau even.

Through doors torn open, or shattered windows, behind the glass that twinkled in the high-noon sun there resided a deep and brooding darkness. Dark forms resided within, arranged to random shapes and forming a desolate wasteland within a wasteland. The mystery of their forms given the android no reprieve from the anxiety as she made her way along. The entire city of Worcester held itself in this darkened, gray atmosphere.

As sterile as it was, so was the ambiance. A cold silence hung over the vacant city. A silence punctuated only by the whispers and moaning of the wind as it cut through the cracks and the windows. Bending and bowing the buildings till they creaked, forcing them to sing low steady moans. A eulogy for itself.

And while passing through its streets, Sweet Gin found the thought that something terrible had happened here creeping up on her. She knew terrible, her memories recalled. The dirtied and vacant streets of Boston, outside the Institute. But even then, the vacancies were still washed away by travelers and the residents who clung on to their shadow of a city, scratching out a weak life and visiting her or her compatriots for an evening's relief. She never understood why then, in fact she never cared to ask, or wonder. Even the memories lacked any emotion and were dry, like listening to a holotape, or looking at the painting that guarded the road into the city: an artificial window at another time.

The emotions that were present were mere projections of her current self. With the memories recalled she felt not only understanding that her customers would have sought out some orderly reprieve or comfort in another person, and a living place. But at the same time, anger sang out. Reminding the android it was something forced upon her without her permission. "Rape." her new emotions said with an authoritarian tone, verbally slamming their fists on tables.

But wandering the empty streets of Worcester, there was a meek voice that spoke about how anyone who had to live here would seek others. Some comfort. It was the voice of impatient, cautious fear. And it fueled her as she kept her eyes peeled forward, facing towards her distant objective. Disregarding the vacancy that abounded. The empty Heart of the Commonwealth. Whatever the Commonwealth had been.

The road she walked along took a turn and swayed left. Shooting under the remnants of the highway she had abandoned awhile back. And as where she had climbed off this over-pass had fell onto the road that ran under it. What was under the cement when it had collapsed who knows how long ago was smashed and pancaked under the wreckage. The remnants of a green sign laying nearby on the twisted arm of its girded supports read in dirtying, chipping white on green: I-290, Marlborough, Mass."

The rest of the sign had been vandalized with a large array of graffiti. Much of it cursing some past figure or deity with slogans such as: "Chems, not bombs.", "God condemned us with the bombs.", or "My flesh, it burns!"

But slapped over it all was a large red heart. A single silver sword running down through it, impaling it as the heart simultaneously grew wings. The red paint of the sigil had dried dripping, giving in the impression of bleeding silver and blood. It struck Sweet Gin as a curiosity, gawking at it as she walked by. Walking to the earth embankment to climb up over the high berm the highway ran along on top of. The silent towering structures surrounding her giving a silent vigil as the android climbed atop the surface of I-290 and moved long to the other-side, and deeper into the heart of Worcester.

Gravel and rocks rolled down past Sweet Gin's feet as she slid down the opposite embankment. Misjudging the slope, she ultimately came to a sliding crash over top of the small retaining wall and came to a loud metallic clatter on top of the cabin of rusted wreck of a truck just below. The hood bending in and groaning loudly under her weight as she sat on her hands and knees, quivering. Stones and sand chased down after her less than graceful slide down the hill and landed in light patters against the truck's hood.

She sat there for a time, listening to the soft patter of stones against the hood. It drew on as the pebbles slid to a easy stop and the stream died. With the last clatter of the last stone on the denting hood of the vehicle a small sigh of relief, she shifted her weight to climb down. Happy that the shell of a vehicle had not collapsed underneath her. The plates of rust that had become it was certainly threatening.

But the shift in weight caused the roof of the cabin to groan louder, protesting her weight as it shifted off of one arm and on to the other. Delicately reaching forward to the edge to pull herself up the metal finally gave underneath her hand. The roof ripped open with a loud sheering scream, plunging her down into the musty and dust-choked cabin. With the metal torn, the rest of it gave easily, depositing her firmly onto the seats inside.

Her body landed with a soft thud on the mummified leather upholstery kicking up motes of dust that clouded the inside. But her chin wasn't as lucky as it came down and collided on the steering wheel with a loud wet smack. Barbs of pain exploded across her face as she rolled and twisted off of the metal steering wheel and twisted herself out on the tearing seat and floor.

A dull pain throbbed at her face, rolling from the bottom point of her chin where her mouth made contact with the steering wheel. A copper, wet warmth pooled in her mouth. Rolling up onto the seat she coughed out a wet stream of blood that slipped down onto the streets in a thin thread. Spitting, she whipped at her mouth with her hands, whipping the blood and spittle across its metal surface.

Anger and embarrassment bubbled up from inside her as she looked at her hand at the pool of blood on the ancient upholstery. The taste of copper intensified in her mouth as she pressed her eyes shut and beat at the leather. "It isn't fair!" she shouted, sniffing as she began to cry, "It't isn't, it really isn't!"

In her anger she kicked at the door of the truck and it tore open off its rusted hinges and landed with a clatter on the cement outside. Throwing herself out she beat at the truck, cursing it out. "You stupid ass!" she bellowed, "You weren't supposed to fall out from under me. You weren't! You weren't! Y-"

Between breaths and wet sobs she stopped as distantly a rolling roar caught her attention. A dry scream, as charred and drained as the city it lived in. It rose in a ghastly scream, sending chills down Sweet Gin's spin and snapping her back to reality. She was no longer mad at the truck, or herself, or her bleeding. The scream distracted her. Her eyes widened as she stared off into the distance, on high alert.

Then she noticed it. Red dots that weaved back and forth on her navigation compass. "W-what is this?" she stammered, taking steps back as she watched the dots slither back and forth, pause, and continue. And like a bugs, the slapping, clattering of their movement was heard over the warm dry breeze. Feet, plodding along bare over the concrete. Rushed. Aggressive.

Sweet Gin scrambled for her belt where she kept the 10mm hand gun as on the other side of the far street she saw a dark shape lurching in the shadows of the vacant home that still stood there. Several more shapes worked beyond the house, rushing with a rapid, primal furry furry. With a clatter crash the dark shape burst through the door, tossing aside a random assortment of smashed furnishing that had likely been piled up behind the door. And it stood, glaring at Sweet Gin with clouded eyes. Its lips chewed back to a permanent primal snarl.

It was the most horrifying human that Sweet Gin had laid eyes on and the handgun shivered in her hands as she stared down the petrified corpse glaring at her. It wore battered and dented armor that was so over-used on its body it was more nonexistent than the rest of the clothes draped on its body. The figure as well was draped in long hanging strips of skin revealing the parched dried muscle under neath. Sections of its arm had been chewed or cut away, revealing yellow wooden bone under neath.

It was emaciated, yet it didn't seem to care. It held itself upright on its bare feet. Its hands twitching feverishly at its side. Lurching back its shoulders it raised its head to the sky and screamed an inhumane and chilling scream, before throwing its weight forward and lurching towards Sweet Gin with a cannibalistic passion. Its eyes growing with a hot hatred as its mouth streamed sickly grey spittle.

"Now, now there's no way to go about this!" Sweet Gin begged as she began rapidly stepping backward. Fear pulled on every chord of her being as she struggled to stay put. It rattled and lurched against every inch of her as the corpse ahead of her charged forward. But it wasn't listening. It kept going.

"Epp!" Sweet Gin chirped, realizing diplomacy was out, she rose the pistol and the Vault Tec VATS system kicked in. Quickly analyzing the environment and displaying the hit chances across the corpse's figure as it barreled forward.

Working on a split second decision Sweet Gin fired on the creature's legs. Emptying out five shells before it. It collapsed to the ground in a meaty thud and lay sprawled, screaming in its dry voice and thrashing to get up off the ground. The thrashing of the creature as it fought to get up off the ground smeared blood so dark it was nearly black across the dry rock-strewn pavement. It screamed and roared in anger and hunger as it fought to get up.

Clambering to its hands it arced its back and howled. Summoning from behind the rest of its friends as they rushed out onto the scene in a lightning sprint. Their arms outstretched, and fingers clawed out towards Sweet Gin in vicious talons.

The corpse she had shot managed to regain its standing. It knee was completely pulverized by her bullets. Yet the creature continued to ignore the pain as it limped feverishly towards the Android. And with four new individuals rushing forward the android realized she could stay here anymore.

Hitching up her pack she turned and ran the opposite direction. Gunning for the corner around the back. Well botcha her.

Ducking around the back of the crumbling office building while on her tail nipped a hand's full of walking dead, the combined grunts and growls of the lumbering bodies had summoned to the chase more of the mummified and dried bodies. Sweet Gin narrowly avoided the swipe of a twiggy corpse who had so little clothes it had better been naked. Its spindly hair lay draped around its head like dry stiff cables as the android dropped to her legs and numbly slid under its back swing. The glass strewn across the ground from where it had bust from the window sliding along across the stones as she slid legs first past the creature.

((At this point, I'mma invoke This son as Action Tiem))

The monster reeled and roared in frustration as its prey dodged under its swinging arm and flashed back to her feet, bolting off through the back alleys. Its dry eyes wide in ape-like furry as it thrashed its arms and joining the growing storm that was giving chase.

Sweet Gin dared to look behind her as she looked. And as she looked to the growing horde running in behind her she felt as a rock lodged itself in her throat. The fingers of terror wrapping around her. A furious fire burned inside her chest, demanding she go on despite the freezing terror that tried to imprison her. This was definitely not fair. She coughed, spitting up a wad of blood that had been pooling on her lips and kept hauling. The clink-clank of her feet on the asphalt accompanied by multitudes of plit-plats that chased her.

Arms wailing, she charged out of the alley and onto a large and empty streets. She turned about and saw the masses of dried zombie bodies filling the alley like a torrent of water. She fumbled for the pistol at her belt and blindly squeezed off the remainder of its clips. The shots echoing loud within the confines of the towering apartments and glass town houses that surrounded the street. She didn't stop to confirm if anything had hit, turning instead to run south along the road. I-290 was completely hidden by the high-rises that abounded.

The road she lead the chase through was packed with a multitude of wrecked armored cars and tanks. Everywhere the remains of man and machine lay in cooked lifeless heaps. The congesting vehicles packed the road to a veritable maze that she wound her way through. A mouse chased by a horde of cats, all rasping and growling and screaming behind her as their hunger drove them forward with a mindless determination.

Sweet Gin vaulted over the hood of a car just as another one of the corpses dove like a rocket from the size. Determined to take a chunk off her metal thigh. But instead landing face-first against the side of a large green truck the car had been smashed against. The truck groaned, rattled, and creaked at the lightning impact of the creature, and Sweet Gin nervously smiled as she turned to see the creature weakly rub at its face where it had impacted against the side.

But the grin died when she saw the amassing horde that pursued her from behind. Their sinewy bodies clambering over each other as they squeezed through the tight spaces between the vehicles. Some had been squeezed on top of the wrecks and stood victoriously over the road twitched and spasming with primal hunger as they shambled forward. Their mouths held open in a eternal snarl as they laid eyes on the fleeing Android.

Sweet Gin didn't know how long she continued on down the street, dodging these creatures as the swept in from the side or even above as they found a way around. Each time they tried to fall on her she dodged them. Or took them by their dry meaty collars and thrashed them against the side of the cars, or on poles, or against the gravel before moving on. Leaving them behind in the hope their dazed or broken bodies would stumble the rest. But for how much she exerted herself, she didn't feel worn. She kept moving. Ducking through and moving at moment's notices to clear the wreckage and the horde.

Her run through the maze of cars came to an abrupt end in view of a towering over pass that flew over head. The ages had been kinder on it, and for however long it was demanded it stand: it stood. Its majestic pillars holding a sky-high bridge that arced over the long road as glassy towers rose alongside it, melted and shattered as they were. Figures hung dangling off the side of the mighty bridge from taunt cables. The side distracting her, and causing her to gawk. Unaware of where she was going, she collided with something. A figure.

The collision threw her stumbling onto the pavement as her shoulder wound around from whatever it was she hit. She spun to see a darkened silhouette of a man against the dusty blue sky above. The man betrayed no sign of hostility as he looked down at the crumpled android, not showing emotion. Glint of sunlight shown off of some manner of armor her wore.

Casting his shadowed face from her to some unseen compatriot he barked an order: "Hit it now." he said in a deep gravely voice.

The cacophony that followed next was a loud booming, followed by a series of fiery roars that ripped through the air and bathed the under-pass in a bright orange, flaming light. Screams of pain and defeat echoed from the street as from within the multitudes of creatures were caught in the instant inferno and explosions, incinerated or turned to mince meat in a single instant. The sounds of metal groaning under the force of the blast and the clatter of steel as it rained down on the city streets was absolute.

The light of the burning fires threw aside the afternoon sun that burned over the head of the man, highlighting his features. He was a strong man, built like a brick with a twisted and scarred face. His nose brunt and bent at the tip, and his lips scarred and dried. His brown eyes showing an absolute tendency for violence and aggression. Whatever job the man had been assigned, he did it well.

"Fischer," the man said in that deep graveling voice, "Grab this lady, we need to take her to Bancroft."

"Yes sir." Fischer said, a higher pitched speaker.

Sweet Gin felt as hands grabbed under neath her augmented shoulders and wrapped around her waist. She was hoisted up, forced to look back at the long trail of fire and smoke behind her. She was confused, and scared, and maybe grateful. And perhaps the conflict kept her tamed as she looked back at her path with a puzzled expression. "What's going on?" she asked.

***

"I still don't know what's going on here." Sweet Gin repeated as she was carried along on the man's shoulders. Her company had rapidly expanded from two to three and then to four, which was even odder. Where these men had manifested was a strange question to be had. And she knew not if they meant her any harm. Nor did they look like the Synth Retention Bureau, who were noted for being more... sophisticated.

If anything, these men were far less that.

They lacked a great deal of fire-power to be sure, and without a doubt the extent of that was spent moments ago on the mass extermination of the horde that had chased her down the street; she was grateful for that, but was beginning to not appreciate the lack of answers. But what these men seemed to have plenty of were other implements. Longer, arm's lengths knives and pointed sticks tipped with crude jagged metal a plenty. They also seemed to dress in a scavenged array of metal or natural-hide leather.

The man that held her up onto his shoulder was a bear. And he kept a hard grip on the android's waist and legs as he carried her through the streets. His accomplice - who she identified as being the one named Fischer - was a scrawny man with a very puny face. His face was as jaunty, scarred, and sterile as the world around him. Scars as deep as canyons mired is face as his bones jaunted out as great exaggerated peeks. Lumpy moles also rose from the tip of his nose and chin making him a very unhandsome man. Furthermore he had an atrocious mole-like over-bite. His eyes also looked muddied and tired with a certain dry quality. Sweet Gin wondered if they had ever seen water, or how far away he was from becoming like those beasts that had pursued her through the streets.

He also had a cold habit of ignoring her. Though each question trying his patience and attention to the task at hand: which was obviously moving somewhere. She had taken a good chunk off his arm as well when he had attempted to bind her, which was an account for his jumpy nervousness whenever Sweet Gin asked a question, and it visibly irked him the more she pressed on. She had also attempted the same to her carrier after a short time and realizing someone had taken control, but it wasn't ultimately the best choice and her swing was blocked. For what he was worth: this individual had impressive skills in the pillars he called arms.

"So where we going?" she asked again riding atop the man's shoulder. Fischer looked nervously up at her and then ahead as his better half grumbled under his breath.

"I really want to know." she said again.

"Cen't yea' shut thaet bitch up!" one of the newcomers shouted from ahead. A ringing bell of frustration booming on his tongue. Sweet Gin never got a good look at him and she tried to crane her neck around to look, but was ultimately jostled lower along the shoulder as she shifted her weight.

"I tried but she nearly tore off my face!" Fischer called back, looking at Sweet Gin and taking several steps back from her as if trying to avoid one long swipe from her casually dangling hands.

"Fischer's jest a' pussy." the bear grumbled, "He wouldn't touch her after she tried to rip a slab off his arms."

"Ay, the Fishy Rat's get enough meat on 'em to take off?" a fourth voice jeered from up front, "Det boy ain't gonna get anything when Bancroft has his say."

"Who's Bancroft?" Sweet Gin inquired, twisting to face the front and being jostled again. She merely dug her claws into the thick armor of her carrier - who didn't seem to care let alone notice - to get a look ahead.

Her pack - which had moved from Fischer to one of the newer escorts - bounced from the back of one of the lead men. A long pole-arm in his hand. Turning to look a long sneer crawled across his hawk-face as he saw her looking ahead. "Can I ahctuahlly answer this?" he asked.

"Fine." her carrier said.

"Lord Bancroft is the rightful king of Worcester." he said with a cynical sneer, "But really, he can cleave any of us in two. Ahn' he has first dibs on any loot.

"An' your loot."

That didn't sound to good to Sweet Gin whose head jumped to the conclusion of "Booty Pirate" and had no further context. A welling feeling of dread slipped over her as the possibility of ending up another person's slave washed over her.

"But, I can't be property..." she said.

"If you're Rahlrahd." the hawk snickered, "But Ahs fahr as I'm thinking, by Institute rules you're naht even ah human."

"I don't understand." Sweet Gin replied.

"Ahin't she ah thick one!" the hawk cackled, nodding to his partner alongside him who cackled loudly, "Goes and gets herself chased by a good pahck ah ghouls ahn probably knows ahbout as much of being living than them!"

Even Fischer laughed nervously as he slipped even further beyond her range. The joke fell empty on Sweet Gin and she wondered if she should be humored or offended as it draped across her face like a milky veil. She settled for feigning humor and laughed with a fake nervous smile. The act merely made her companions roll with laughter even more.

As the laughs and jesting died to a silence, so did the conversation. Sweet Gin persisted in her line of questioning but was only given cold awkward silence in return. As they kept moving down the lines of towering twisted structures and gutted shops the urban decay gave away to a new kind of urban life. Color began to take a hold, and though life was minimal, its sign was painted on the walls as they went. The ground began to swell upward and braving a look ahead Sweet Gin saw a slow steady climb upward. Homes and shops sat clustered together. And though the urban sprawl was thick, fires long dead and cleared the bulk of it, winds and explosions leveling the rest, and on every surface of sigil of the heart and the sword was painted.

And atop the hill, behind clusters of leafless and dying trees stood a solitary stone structure. Untouched by the times. A tiny fort with a single turret that stood a lone guard from atop its hill over Worcester. A silent observer, clothed in black and gray. Looking very much like the grey armored men that carried Sweet Gin up. And faintly in a circle around it, solid red banners flew in the wind. A herald to some power in this corner of the wasteland.

The structures and signs of habitation gave way as the men carried Sweet Gin up the hill. The battered and broken concrete stretched up the hill, winding between dead and mangled trees that poured and lamented over the road mourning the days they had known better. The slabs of asphalt that was left behind lay in seas and rivulets of gravel and sand that flowed up and was caught on the dry winds as they rippled over the battered roadway. Clods and clumps of thinning, dead, yellowing glass stood in cracked patches alongside the roadway.

As they climbed, long banners of red stretched between the trees. The filthy dirty rags fluttered in the wind, singing a stormy song of determination. A multitude of wings that beat and smacked against the wind. The curiosity of them was a wonder to Sweet Gin who gazed up on them curiously as they passed. Her captors didn't seem to care.

Standing between the trees stood a silent vigil as men with long polls crouched in the sand, or lounged in rusty lawn chairs watching the curiosity of an android being carried aloft along the road. Their vigil was cold and silent. They bore as much emotion as the dead world around them. Total bored apathy.

The group made a turn, and soon they were on a stone gate. A series of solid concrete and steel pylons standing erect between two heavy, stout field-stone parapets. Their eastern face was scorched, smoothed by some strange force. The same force that gutted and forced the trees away from some central point. Beyond this gate, a dense village of tents stood amid a forest of flying banners, with that stone tower at its center. Men and women alike milled about the tents or in a casual orbit around the tower as they chattered and jeered loudly to each other. Each of them possessed the same archaic tools and scrapped-together clothes and armor.

And fresh on life, they gawked and watched Sweet Gin passed with an avid, livid passion. Sweet Gin felt an uncomfortable uncertainty in this look. The way they all looked at her, they wanted her. A primal desire to either fight, or to-

"Where is Bancroft?" the bear of a man who carried Sweet Gin demanded as he approached the rising arching entrance of the tower. A guard of statues stood watch, watching the approach of the newcomers with a cold patient stare, behind masks of metal. Sheets of scavenged metal armor clad them, as torn and tattered cloaks of random fabric clothed them, parting where their arms gripped their long, sharp poles.

"The Lord Bancroft is out back." one of the guards declared, "Watching a fight with a Yao Guai with his latest hunts."

"We have new bounty for him." the bear said.

"Then you are permitted." the guards said, stepping aside to allow the man to pass. With a bow from his companions, he and Sweet Gin entered through the tower.

The passing of the gate though seemed to be a mere formality, as there were no walls dividing the two halves of the hill. But passing through they stepped into a new sector of a different tone. There was an avid excitability on this side. A roaring torrent of laughing that had mingled with the regular chatter of the other side. A thick crowd gathered on a central point. Drums beat as men sang along a garbled drunken song. It was through this throng that the men carried Sweet Gin through.

The gathered crowd seemed not to care, as they battled each other for a view of the pit below as a monstrous creature. Its shoulders as wide as boulders and hide twice and thick. The hair that remained on it was as stubborn and stuck up as the grass that persisted throughout the wasteland in a sickly manner. Deep scars marked its body. Hefty arms as solid as pillars, as battered as the hide of trees swung in wide sweeping motions at a gangly creature that glowed a sickly green.

Soaring across the arena it smacked against the wooden and steel side of the open pit with a wet "splat" and tumbled to the packed-clay ground in a broken lump. As the crowd roared with excitement thick with blood lust the figure scrambled to its bear feet. Pressing against the side of the wall it shambled along the edge, keeping away from the monster at the bottom of the pit as it slowly, and languidly tracked it on its thick legs. Snarling and bearing long curled teeth.

"Come'n," a spectator roared, "Smash in the ghoul's skull!"

"Leit'm limp!" another boomed as Sweet Gin passed, his wild excited face dodging to the side as she passed on the shoulders of her captor.

The crowd thinned and abruptly ended, as if giving an undue respect for the man that stood at its center. A large wide figure, draped in a cloak of a hundred furs. From the back of his head: clean shaven.

At his right hand, a thinning and wild looking man. Dressed in a similar cloak, but his hair knotted and messy that fell about his face and oiled so black it was as if light itself never dared embraced his head.

Sweet Gin landed with a loud thumb on the ground as her carrier threw her down. She immediately rolled onto her knees, watching up as the scene began to unfold.

"Lord Bancroft." her carrier said over the jeering and cheering of the crowd, a fiery rumbling like the explosions that destroyed the corpses; the ghouls.

The clean shaven figure shifted on his heels as he half-looked behind him, and then turning. Facing the newcomer with eyes as cold as ice, knowing no emotion except calculation. Care and apathy mixed in a frightening manner aboard his clean-shaven white face, where though clearly middle-ages: bore few lines. Narrow eyebrows furrowed in a disdain as calculating as his eyes bounced between the man, and Sweet Gin.

He pressed his thin lips together to a narrow thread and looked down at Sweet Gin. His teeth grit and clenched as he gazed down onto Sweet Gin.

"Who is this?" he asked in a dry unflattering tone.

"A trespasser to your claim." the beast-man said in a gruff proud voice, "We encountered here on Lincoln Street, when we were working to dispatch the Hellfire spawn of that region."

Lord Bancroft's gaze turned back down to Sweet Gin, dancing about on her face, her body, her limbs. For all his examination, the android felt uneasy as to how he looked down at her. He showed no disgust, contempt, happiness, or pride.

"And what threat did you think she imposes on us? What judgement poured through you to take her into custody? Did she bare arms?"

"Indeed she did." her carrier proclaimed, gesturing with his thick fingers as he stepped to the side. Summoning up to him one of his compatriots who poured out the contents of her bag on the ground before the Lord Bancroft. The cases of ammunition and the two handguns and the rifle landed in a clatter in the dirt, alongside the assortment of other belongings and the loud banging of the radio. The excitement of the inquiries had turned from the combat in the pit below towards Bancroft and Sweet Gin. The chatter of the crowd turning into a palpable silence that could be cut with a knife. All the voices hushing to a court-like silence, while down below the finishing blows of the monster was given to the glowing ghoul, clearly rendering it apart in a wet meaty splatter accompanied by harsh tears and bony snaps.

Lord Bancroft looked down at the assortment of items and took in a deep sigh. "Then this is it?" he said.

The large man nodded. Fischer nodding as well in uninhibited agreement.

"Then did she turn them on you?"

"She fired on the ghouls."

"Why was she?"

"She was being..." the man started, hesitating, "being pursued."

"Then why did you take her into custody?"

"She was trespassing!" the other man declared again.

"She took som'a my arm off!" Fischer yelped with his high-pitched voice. Winning a quick freezing glare from Bancroft that sent him shirking off out of view.

As he disappeared into the crowd, Bancroft turned to Sweet Gin and looked down at her. "And who are you?" he asked.

"I'm..." she started, "Sweet Gin."

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"Sweet Gin." she replied and chatter rippled through the crowd.

"What are you?" Bancroft asked, looking for a new route of questioning, best fit to what he wanted to hear.

However the question was met with greater hesitation from Sweet Gin who looked up at him with a wide-eyed expression on her face. Threading her metal fingers through her bright ginger hair she thought for a moment, "I am..." she began, "I am an android, made in Boston."

"Institute spies!" someone screamed in the thick of the crowd.

Bancroft looked off in the direction of the voice, raising a single gloved hand from under his fur cloak and ultimately the excited whispers died swiftly. Only the distant townly talk of the camp opposite of the tower could be heard in the wind. "I will be the judge of this!" he snapped, turning back to Sweet Gin, "If I asked you what you are again, would you repeat yourself?"

"I- I presume so." she said, "To tell the truth I-"

"We shall stay relevant." Bancroft said coldly, "So why are you here, why are you in my kingdom?"

"I am looking for the Railroad." Sweet Gin said unsuredly.

"Certainly a group of good morals." Bancroft breathed, maintaining that plain expression that betrayed nothing. His partner though licked his lips excitedly, hungrily. Whether in hunger, or being he was just horny.

Looking at this partner, Sweet Gin noticed a certain familiarity between the two. Similar production models? The two shared the same gleam in their eyes, the same shade of blue. But the familiarity came to a slow death thereafter. His face clearly scarred and mangled from some combat, and not nearly as clean shaved as a ratty beard lined his narrow bony face.

"And..." Sweet Gin waited.

"And I have allotted myself to remain out of the Synth Retention Bureau and the Railroad's infinite game of cat and mouse." Bancroft stated plainly, "For though given how good it is, I do not see it having any logical conclusion.

"But you are still in the middle of the Heart. And though the Heart is dead, it will not let but the strongest live."

***

Limbo is one place Sweet Gin didn't think she'd be. Effectively, Lord Bancroft had set her free from any manner of imprisonment. But for the time being, she was bound to the hill. A place which she had learned quickly was his domain, dominated by the single tower that rose above them. It was the single tallest structure in the area, and none of the flag poles that were nested around it dared sweep taller than its single standing parapet.

The tower itself looked like it was an incomplete structure, or could have been built into a larger fortress. A single gate stood at its heart, entering and exiting onto nothing but two halves the hills that could be accessed by simply walking around. The tall sweeping and highly built arch was a connector between two thick square pillars, where on the one side a single stone tower stood out of, built out and over the side by a mere's stone thickness.

Windows square and empty marked its side, bearing only shadow or the soft glow of fire light as the afternoon sun dropped slowly to a dull evening orange and purple. Merlon lined battlements crowned the head of the castle as soot, sand, and age wore down the stone in rivers that draped and cloaked it in a veil and coat of black.

The keep stood like a mourner and the last standing, functional structure in all of Worcester with its heavy built stone walls. Its nature somber, dark, and brooding. To its aura it had attracted many, either because of the landmarks peculiarity, or the power that resided inside of it that brought the men and women together to form a tightly packed community on its hills. Milling about in the dirty wretched throngs that milled about outside wandered Sweet Gin, unable to leave, but free to partake in the nightly madness that swept the tent village.

In the packed clay and mud that faced the hill, the larger community broke itself into a dozen smaller ones. Nestled around fires, shouting and telling stories or playing games. Many worked a craft, ate, or drink. It was perhaps the first look at a true community that Sweet Gin had ever looked into, once shut into a dark part of a network, she had found herself looking into the light of society.

And the emotion was mixed. A warm curiosity washed over her in a refreshing bath as she observed the involvement of each member in their own game. But, she wondered why. Looking at any and each of them, the question of why they did not simply attack each other to better their personal gain nagged at her. There was in the entire camp, enough material to make a single man as strong as Bancroft. But each member was in a seat of trust towards their fellow as they mingled and mixed.

Likewise, the intermingling was a light on something Sweet Gin didn't quit know. Lost in the darkness outside she watched each sub-unit with the inquisition of a small child fighting to simply understanding. For all she understood, it was only the domination of one over another. And not simply being a unit in a greater whole.

She had been used, submissive to a single person who used her for his own gains. Likewise, she had been used by her first captor since being freed; the lone man in the cabin in the dark country. Afterwards, she had manipulated and dominated the traveler for what she needed, and wanted. And the three that had engaged her, and promptly put down were put under the same fate, except the one had owned two others. Concubines, she called them. She had been a concubine, but never a part of an arm as the men had been to her.

And within these units, even as they worked together for some common or arbitrary short-term goal, individuality and an inter-group dominance was displayed. Or even, dominance from within, to the outside.

From the warm lights of the campfires and the battered old batter-operated lanterns these individuals gathered about, figures looked up at her. Expressions of desire, lust, and greed played in their eyes as the shadows played on their face. A second face, that despite the air of content each one wanted more, and was willing to play to win it. Even if the chances were as narrow as the ones the dice-throwers had in their games on most of the pits.

A most curious game, Sweet Gin thought to herself, they have only a three percent chance of probability.

But perhaps probability was it, or they did not just care. For even if the better liege of chance was stronger, they were willing to play. They were willing the risk to get what they want. Even as they looked to Sweet Gin they saw not something or someone who could rend their throats without realizing what she was doing, except it must be done to maintain operation. No, what they saw was a prize.

And it scared Sweet Gin, as much as it was a warm curiosity to look into this window of an alien world. That it was so welcoming, but so dangerous to anyone in it. It made her nethers turn in agitation. A sickly warding off of desire to keep her from relapsing to an old habit and into danger. She had lost her arms and legs once, she wasn't going to loose them again, and perchance more than she had gained.

A firm and warm hand landed on Sweet Gin's shoulder and she jumped, throwing herself from the stranger's hand and reeling on her feet, ready to address the attacker. But found instead a courier. Still in his armor, his hands rested casually on the hilt of his weapon. "Lord Bancroft wishes to speak with you, Lady Sweet Gin." the man said.

Sweet Gin relaxed her posture, he wasn't one of the many who no doubt wanted her. But an unsympathetic look flowered on his face. He stepped aside, seemingly inviting her ahead. "While the night is young." the guard said again, letting Sweet Gin own the lead.

The interior of the tower was cold and poorly lit. Mangled barrels loaded with wood and refuse lit the main floor, further choking the ashen interior with a thicker layer of smoke and rained ash on the stone work below. A cold silence gripped the structure, which duely occupied, and was occupied by the guards that watched her. From under the stairs, or along the doors as she was guided up a narrow flight of iron steps to the next floor up. One of which that was no different than the one before.

Iron and steel girders. Dressed at every inch in bright red rust, bolted, drilled, and cemented into the ancient stonework of the tower. The narrow windows and darkened, short corridors looking out at the tents below. There was a curious archaic image to this, or so Sweet Gin felt as she was guided up onto the roof and across the battlements into the round tower.

A pair of guards stood by an aged and weathered iron door. As the android approached they reached out and opened the portcullis, almost as robots themselves; admitting Sweet Gin into the orange interior of the room beyond.

Unlike the remainder of the tower, this high space had been decorated, or attempts made to make the small space seem more homely. Packed in quarters no more than perhaps twelve feet across rested a bed, chairs, and a surprising number of old, tattered books that towered to the ceiling. And seated in the room was Lord Bancroft himself, and the other man. They patiently watched the android enter as the doors clanged shut behind, leaving her alone to the two in the room.

Bancroft studied her over, without showing any reflection of joy, pity, or anger. "Please, sit." he invited from his seat, warmly gesturing to a seat opposite of him with a single gloved hand, "I mean to discuss."

"Oh, ah, thank you." Sweet Gin said softly, cautiously taking her seat. The chair groaned under her weight, but held up.

"You intend to cross the remainder of The Woo, then." Bancroft began, "How do you intend to do this?"

"Walk, I suppose." Sweet Gin said nervously, biting on her lip, "It's the only way to move really. Though, I suppose I could also crawl."

"Aen whaet ealse, slither like a snake?" the other man crooned mockingly from the rust stained and barely-there lawn chair he called his own. Bancroft's wooden rocking chair in surprisingly better condition.

"Silence Barstan." Bancroft remarked, his tone actually flexing around anger as he addressed his younger contemporary, "This is not a discussion for you to chime in the middle of, not without invitation. You will speak when I tell you to, as you will jump or kill."

Barstan took the words with a venomous sting and recoiled in his chair, frowning and dropping his eyes as he mumbled: "Yes sir."

"My lord." Bancroft corrected, "But to the matter at hand," he added, turning to Sweet Gin, "It is fortunate that you got as far through Worcester as you did, Sweet Gin. It's a difficult for many caravans to do on their own. The city has lost its luster, and it is not nearly as well controlled as independents like The Spring to the west. I'd say we're the only group here.

"The only civilized group."

"There are others?" Sweet Gin asked.

"Mostly raider bands and colonies of ghouls, who are predominately the former knights of this nation's former military."

"Former... Nation?"

"You don't know about this world, do you?" Bancroft asked.

"No."

"Then let me explain since you are new to this world," began Bancroft, "I know little of Boston, or the Institute. Just that they exist, and being such as yourself are from there.

"But the Wasteland, and them, are linked by a common chord. And that is over two centuries ago, the world tore itself asunder by a great fire. This fire left the world barren, infertile. Scattered man and shattered their resolve as they fought over the meager remnants of food, water, and civilization left untainted by the fire the Old World released onto its self.

"Swathes of the world were protected underground. I was born there, in a Vault. We called it George's Vault, and it was founded on principles rarely known to the rest of the world. One day, the door of our Vault suffered a fatal error, and forced itself to open. Expunging us into the world.

"I will spare you the details. But we ruled the Vault and its surrounding lands as I do here. When I was forcibly exiled I sought to build my own kingdom. And what I learned is what I teach to you. It would be wise to not ignore my advice.

"Do not enter dark places, rarely alone. The hordes of the undead - ghouls - reside here. They were burned and touched by the hellfire released onto the world and more often than not their souls have abandoned them, but they remain alive still."

"Souls? Alive?" Sweet Gin interrupted.

The questions met Bancroft with a great deal of perplexity who was forced to hesitate in his story. A mumbled under his breath. "Their eternal... programming... has been corrupted." he said uneasily, trying to find the right metaphor for the android to understand, "But whatever the case is: they must be avoided, and they should be destroyed. I have rarely met a ghoul I would permit to persist.

"Many of the bodies of water are yet free of the malignant curse of the Hellfire. Unless you seek to be tainted as the ghouls are, avoid it too much.

"And company you can trust." Bancroft added, "I had to k-... Destroy many a man that I could not trust in the contesting of my claim. It would be ultimately best to maintain a quiet demeanor and to not call attention to yourself. A quiet person is a peaceful person, as I intend to role my following."

"I see." Sweet Gin said, registering the information and stocking it away, "But how does this help me through Worcester?"

"Have you got caps?" Bancroft asked.

"Caps?"

"Bottle caps. The old world used it to seal bottles of drink with, you can still find plenty still sealed, and many loose caps scattered about the world. This world trades them for their services, and for loyalties. I still have my men farm the Arctic Cola plant for our own caps. We need them to deal with the merchants, and to acquire precious commodities we can not locate here: guns, ammunition. However much I have forsaken them for their... histories of failure.

"Every man owes to themselves as much as they owe the kingdom to march progress. Not so much machines, which we owe for a realistic limit of their reliability.

"It is not to insult you. It is merely why we've gone to the tools of Grognak and Sir Lancileer of Taels of Chivalrie. Easily to invoke images, and a illustration to their tools."

Sweet Gin nodded slowly, "But I have none of these." she said.

"Then you are in a debt, and we will need to settle this. And I can not permit you to leave without feeling you will die."

"Perhaps there is something I might be able to do?"

Bancroft and Barstan exchange a brief look. "We do." Bancroft said.

End of Chapter 3
Level footnote: level 3
Skill footnote: Guns 26/100



(Some thematic music)

The morning air hung over the ruins of Worcester in a cool, crisp stillness. A rare oddity, no doubt. And the rising sun basked the ruins in a strange warm light as it breached the horizon over Boston way. Sweet Gin had spent the night sitting in the trees on the edge of Bancroft's hill, staring into the darkness and the sky as the people around her fell into a restive sleep. But for the android, it felt as if it was unneeded. She had watched the fires die, and the laughter fade to silence.

On that hill, silence and darkness fell quickly. The only lights in the darkness were those of the patrols. The only sound in the stillness their boots. Such a rule had lasted through the late hours underneath a billion stars in the clear skies above them. And with the sun rising, and the moon hanging over head as a thin silver sliver the same silence continued to march on. But early risers had work to do, and Sweet Gin was to join them.

The android was in company within the ruins of the city. So long ago melted and blasted by the Great Fire that Bancroft had described. The light of the sun shining in at sharp angles into the broken glass of the structures and illuminating far walls in brilliant shades of orange and reds. A literal fire of color that blasted through and done away with the night's cold. A thin layer of mist and frost coated every surface, and with the sun's hot rays coming to contact with them, the city began to fog.

It was a ghostly experience. The rising and warming fog danced around the android and her escort's feet as they moved East along a wide and emptied street. From what Bancroft had asked of her, she was to address a threat to his community on the east-side.

"My scouts and patrols report a sharp-shooter or hunter set up on the Eastern Bridge leading into Worcester." he had told her last night when she agreed to the assignment to clear a debt that materialized over her, "The gun man has become a threat to caravans more so than raiders."

“C-caravans are important?” Sweet Gin had asked.

“Even the threat of lines that connect the east to west it's still all the same important.” he had replied, “ There is still the need to run between the stations and the outlying communities. All that has happened is the strengthening of the Old Hubs, I fear. But even then, the goods leach out the worst under the most violent of cities.”

Evidently, he feared the shooter would chase away the few merchants and scavengers "crazy" enough to head into the city.

For the majority of her venture she was ganged up with a small group of men issued to scrounge the city for ghoul remnants. Their route heading east as far as where she was picked up. Their tools - swords, and spears as she learned they were called - glinted in the burning sun as they passed through the city. Silent as a graveyard. Sharp is their blade. And centuries cancerous to life.

***

The packs landed with a sudden thud on the pavement as the men stopped suddenly in the middle of the intersection. The looming sun was rising slowly into the sky, casting a harsh glare on the city that dismissing the fog with a casual wave of a fiery hand. The mist thus retreating to darker and cooler corners to wait for the setting of the sun once again. Thus began the breakfast of the men as they sat down, with the looming towers hanging above them, twisted and bent over themselves.

Rusted tin cans and barely intact boxes were pulled from the packs and the clink of silverware as tarnished spoons, forks, and bowls were handed out to each of the levees. In a cold hard silence they dispensed the meager breakfast rations among themselves, clumping odd slimy mush with dry, flaky cereal with a eerie over-saturated color. Lounging in the cross roads they munched away on the mixed bowls as they watched the surroundings with a vacant expression.

Sweet Gin stood by, not feeling any bit hungry and watching the escort eat. Watching them dig into the slimy mix she wondered if perhaps she was supposed to eat, but didn't feel any inclination that she had to. She felt alive, about as much as she did the day before and the day before that. She gave each of the diners a passive, curious stare. It obviously unnerved them.

"For fucks sake woman!" shouted one of them, frustratingly slamming his battered bowl against the cold pavement and looking up at Sweet Gin in a frustrated gnarled, twisted expression. Dark boils and pits scarred his face. It was obvious to the android he was not the most well nourished. In fact, many of these men were not. "The Hell you got to stare at us like that for?" the man continued steering, "You're making me feel funny, like you poisoned by Cram for fucks sake."

"No need to get fussy." one of his comrades said, dipping into his mush while fighting to feign the fact he was more comfortable with Sweet Gin awkwardly watching them.

"Don't give me that bull!" the other man shouted, "It's too early in that morning! And I don't want to feel like I need to vomit that crap up now. You know well we'll all be doing that later."

"Don't you think you should find something better to eat then." Sweet Gin observed.

All the men laughed as they sat in the road. One bringing his wrists up to his mouth to keep him from spitting up his breakfast he managed to choke out: "Why would you think that?"

"Well, from the looks of you: you're all lacking in some basic nutrients." the android continued, "You all share a yellowing of the skin, and the jaundice suggests you're not getting much Vitamin C. Have you perchance had any fruit?"

"The fuck are you saying, robot?" the first man said with a puzzled expression, "I didn't get half the dribble you're speaking you stupid git."

"I'm saying you all need fruit." she said.

This made the third man spit his food out as he chuckled heartily. Desperately whipping his lips he said with a patient snicker: "Where do you suggest we get a luxury like that?" he sneered, "Hell, many of us haven't even seen an apple in the last three years. If we're damn lucky we'll manage to find something that's not mush that smells like apples."

"This old-world Cram and Sugar Apple Bombs are the only thing we've got going for us." another of the men said, "That, or dog meat."

"Thanks for the concern either way." the third said, "But if you can find anyone who could possibly trade for fruit it'd be a boost for us. For Bancroft's reach doesn't go nearly as far as he'd hope. So we're stuck with whatever the caravans can sell us from Boston."

"And fuck you too, Doc." the first man snarled, "The last thing we should do is fill this thing's head with ideas."

"Shut up." the man identified as Doc snapped back. Turning back to Sweet Gin he sighed, "Listen, we're turning back to where you were reportedly picked up." he said, "So here's where we split off. If you're going to chase that sharpshooter, then the road to his bridge is just south. Just follow Belmont east."

At that note, Sweet Gin watched as the navigation in her vision blinked, and the marker for Springville moved to the opposite end of the dial. She looked off east, centering the icon in her vision. She blinked vacantly for a moment. Turning back to the escort she muttered: "Thanks."

The walk through Worcester came to be of little interference. But as Sweet Gin moved between the towering steel pillars that rose from the city's grave she felt a certain anxiety. Like there were eyes watching her. Trapped somewhere on high or hidden in the shadows as unseen forces watched her by with vicious curiosity. Still, nothing passed to assault her as she moved alone through the wrecked streets.

Her navigation was a solitary guide through the wasted city as it pointed her surely east ward. The road she walked heading straight for the end of this road. This segment of a road she had yet to walk more of. Piles of rubble, heaped and blasted scoured the road but were only minor inconveniences as the android lifted herself over and moved on.

As the time passed the sun's warmth grew greater. And as she moved forward she felt a different warmth. There was something in the air that tickled and plucked at her hair and flesh. And although she was warm, she felt herself harden as if cold from the reaction to whatever was at play. A soft tingling. Hardly threatening, but certainly uncomfortable as her bits and parts underneath shifted.

As she moved, she didn't know if it was the mounting feeling of being watched, or the greater definition of burns that scoured the urban landscape. The buildings bent and shoved ever more away from a central axis.

And as she came to a gentle bend in the road, and climbed another chunk of building that had fallen from the skyscraper along the side of the road, she met a whole different barrier. At this point, all of which had been the ruins of the age left.

This one was more organized.

Stretching across the road, and cutting through the park at either side was a long chain-linked and wrought-iron barrier. The face of which was mired in thick rust and harsh weather. The bolts and rivets that held it together coming undone at the edges. The fence links and the sheets of metal alike coming undone. Running along the top, veins and chords of twisted and gnarled lengths of barbed wire lined the top most portion of the wall. Signs hung against the barrier at regular intervals, foreign and forgotten insignia - at least to her - hung in faded and chipping yellow and black paint. Underneath, an additional sign read:

"WARNING!
Deadly levels of radiation beyond this point.
Absolutely no admittance!
Clean up is in process!"

Sweet gin looked at the sign, and the symbol hanging above it and put the two and two together. She could still feel it, and whatever was beyond she could feel.

And further more, she found herself again puzzled by the invocation of the word, "death". But surmised that the radiation beyond would not be good for even her levels of operation.

She looked at its face again, watching it bisect the road she meant to walk and the park alongside of it. The ground was barren, stripped clean. Even the remnants of trees had disappeared: at best leaving only withered barely standing shafts of carbon in their place. But along this face, the dirt lay packed and dug out. Many things had walked this route, and the rut bore the story of the new road life in the Wasteland had dug.

As well, the still remaining citizens of the city had left their mark.

No doubt the work of Bancroft's men: shafts of iron rose to the sky, where impaled and no doubt no longer inoperable hung the remains of ghouls, or other persons. The spikes driven through their groin and up through the backs of the necks. The dangled rotting, and cooking in the radiation atop their poles, with nothing but a narrow seat to rest on, more than a full body's length down the pole. For what message this had to bear Sweet Gin didn't know, or failed to realize as she passed them by and moved along the edge of the wall.

The barrier stretched on and on. Eventually making an abrupt turn from its regular course and running a new one. Occasionally along its route there would stand the remains of something other. Inoperable remains of some machines or collection of refuse that had been gathered and fashioned into a shelter. Moldy and rotting mattresses were laid down. Out of curiosity, Sweet Gin stopped to examine the bedding, finding it to be still and carrying a strong stench: somehow worse than the beds she used to work on, as something told her about her memory banks.

Further more, crates of rudimentary supplies lay alongside these outposts. Treating herself, Sweet Gin scored new rounds for her pistol and rifle, but carried on leaving the rest - bottle of turpentine, scraps of metal - behind.

The round about path came to an eventual close as it met up with the main road, allowing the android the comfort of a wider path, and a straight view to her objective. As she passed down hill and through the remains of slowly shrinking buildings and trees she could see the bridge in question, and the murky quagmire body of water it passed over.

The road slowly crept down along the hill. A gentle slope, but none the less cluttered. Stacks of automobiles had cluttered each intersection and the remains of buildings lay in the way, toppled, and their faces chewed in the face of fenced off area that lay behind her now. The scouring marks of fire stretched in a radius around the crater. Wondering as she wondered: had that been the sight of the Hellfire that Bancroft had spoken of?

The thought was struck from her head as he foot stepped and crunched on a stray tin can in the road. The stillness of the air carried the sound far and it echoed from the empty bones of the buildings. She paused hesitantly as she stood over the can, slowly stepping down causing it to groan louder as she stepped forward. A stone sunk in her chest, and plummeted as a return screamed over the empty streets.

That same, dry, crackling cough of a scream.

She turned behind her drawing immediately for her gun as the soft dry plodding of feet echoed behind her. Turning to meet a barely dressed ghoul as it shambled out of a door war. Its muscles flexing and bulged under its leathery skin as a singular eye darted to the android. Slobber pooled and dripped from its twisted and broken maw. Shambling over bricks and chunks of mortar it came to a stumbling pause and regarded the Android with a hungry, instinct fueled glare.

And with violent spasm it threw its shoulder back. Arcing its chest out and letting out a bestial ape-like roar that screamed and screech that tore apart the atmosphere as if cut by a knife, freezing everything that stood and sending icy chills through Sweet Gin. As its dry guttural roar came to a broken chord and ceased it threw itself forward, flailing its arms wildly as it made like a rabid animal for her.

Tearing through the ground it charged. Pure hunger shone it is remaining. A new sun of pain and predation. VATS kicked in as Sweet Gin rose the pistol to her eye and targeted the ghoul. With a soft clapping snap the pistol let out a single shot that peeled back the ghoul's head in a wet smack and sent it tumbling to the floor. As its limp body fell with a hard thump to the floor screams and cries of anger and rage echoed from every corner of the city block and Sweet Gin knew it was time to go again.

Her feet clattered and clanged as she bolted down the road towards the bridge. Hot adrenaline raced through her as chemical synthesizers somewhere within her worked in high gear in response to the threat. And the influx of hormones into her system sparked a higher desire and panic to run. Her eyes wide and fire on her feet she made down the hill. The echoing of patter and the harsh wispy panting of ghouls behind her as she ran.

"Second. Time!" Sweet Gin screamed in fear and no sense of irony. She looked behind her, panic setting in as she turned her head about and saw the cascading horde chewing on her tail.

Sending off a high-pitched scream she pitched her head back ahead of her as she screamed upon a barricade of cars ahead of her. Springing into the air she made clear air over the barricade, going airborne like a bird in its own heavy flightless way. With a clang, the feather-less turkey came to a hard landing on a... something. What it was, her weight had dislodged something and with her feet planted firmly on the seat that was crumbling under her and the a set of handlebars behind her she began rolling down hill. Rhythmic rusty squealing rose and fell as the whatever carted down the hill as internal sensors told her to steer and sway left to right and to keep precarious balance on the rust-choked vehicle.

Sweet Gin afforded a quick glance for the vehicle she had landed on. It was small, and perhaps only big enough for one person. A seat that had once been black not housed her right foot. And her other was gripping the handlebars of this machine. From the looks of the couplings and bearings that held it, they were supposed to move. But they had long sense welded the handlebars in a permanent forward position with rust and grime.

As well, the thing had three wheels that screamed and groaned under the android's weight. But no doubt vigilantly carried her down hill at a shocking speed. And for all that it was worth, it was allowing Sweet Gin precious distance between her and the ghouls that pursued her. As the three-wheeled thing tumbled down the hill, the Ghouls were barely beginning to scramble over the cars, carelessly pushing and climbing over each other in a desperate and hungry mob.

Though, with the first horde lost, the insistent squealing of the tires continued to summon more. From along the road, from within the blasted out shops, or frozen armored cars ghouls of different shapes and dress poured out after the Android as the noise summoned them. A high-pitched dinner bell.

The vehicle gave her comfort and confidence. And for a rare moment in this adventure she laughed with pure ecstasy as she fired at the stranded monsters that lined the road and lunged for her with angry claws. Whether the bullets found a mark or not was not of confidence, and if they hit it was only a plus. The wet, dark blossoming of crimson flowers that bloomed from their heads was a mild amusement of a side-show bemusement.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

Text dump made. Still got more. I'll be nice and wait for someone else to make a post in IC.

I can't say I'm sorry.

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

I Found The Limit.txt

Night. Sweet Gin shuffled along down the road, her arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace as she crept on. The night was thick. And alon the road twisted gnarled trees stood as sentinels, watching the progress of the lone android as she wandered without direction. Their eyeless gaze watched the frightened automaton with a burned malevolence. Their twisted arms up-stretched to the sky as if angered.

She was free, but she felt no less in danger. The warmth and light of the house felt almost tempting to return to. But she had been kept as a prisoner there for the passed twenty-four. There was still a bitter test to the thought of returning to it. And though cold, the roads felt almost safe in the illusion of freedom. But there were those trees still. She shot the forest around her sharp anxious looks. The blue blanket that sheathed the world hiding everything from her. Only the sickly glowing moon above granted the most basic source of illumination.

"Where am I?" she mumbled quietly to herself, stopping in the middle of the battered road.

Sweet Gin threw herself back as her head sang with a tremendous ring. The shock and sudden piercing note and beeping startled the android. Her voice choked up in her throat as she jumped. Reeling, she threw her arms through the air she landed with a soft "thump" on the rocky pavement. Shards and explosions of pain shot up from her ass as she bounced, shutting her eyes tight and gritting her teeth.

With a cold, metal hand she rubbed her bottom as she rose. Slowly opening her eyes to a new curiosity. An illumination on the darkness. But not against it, to her dismay. It simply was. A brand in her vision. Glowing a soft lime-green a basic GUI floated on the edge of her vision. Hovering low in her field of view dangled a ribbon of sorts. It was enough back to not be obtrusive, but not so much she could not observe it in here peripheral. Hovering above the middle point of the ribbon, a small pair of letters hovered. "NW" they read, at the ends of the ribbon, the outer most pixels of something else lingered.

Sweet Gin turned her head to the left in an attempt to get a better view. But aggravatingly the interface matched the movement of her head. Spinning in its place to compensate for direction. There was a sickening feeling of vertigo. A feeling of intense sickness. Aggravation. The readouts above the ribbon moved. The "NW" flying to the right and off the edge of the half-inch long bar to be replaced by a lone "W". Sweet Gin furrowed her brow as frustration as she turned ever more to the left, trying to chase down that alien ribbon. But no matter how hard she tried to kept a pace ahead of her. Spinning on the asphalt to keep pace she screamed and groaned in frustration.

"Dammit, stop!" she screamed at the vision. Her lips curled in a bitter frown. The metal nails at the end of her feet clicking and clattering on the asphalt underneath as she turned. But the ribbon kept moving.

Stamping her feet, she spat and sputtered and swore under her breath. Thrusting her arms down in rigid frustration she roared: "You're not making this any easier!"

In response, an unexpected tone sang out with a soft electronic jingle that made the android jump in sudden confusion. Ducking down she stared out into the forest as a computerized, woman's voice spoke in her head: "Hello and thank you for your purchase and activation of the RobCo navigational utility!" the voice said, to the confusion of Sweet Gin. From the sound in her head, it was like the voice was coming from two places at once, from two speakers.

"Our company commitment is to provide only the best in technological innovation and consumer satisfaction. If you are not satisfied with out product: then shame on you!"

"RobCo, what? Who? Where are you!?" Sweet Gin shouted to the night as she stumbled about over the road.

"Product installation and registry is complete!" the voice said, and it was at that the voice was not just in her head, but coming from her mouth. In a wash of... embarrassment... another new thing... she clamped her hands to her mouth, desperately trying to silence the voice on the outside. Underneath her inorganic fingers she could feel her mouth move involuntarily: "Thank you, <Robco> for filing your name with our product. A lack of network connection however can not verify your purchase. But once the connection is restored we shall ensure you with a capable source on updates on product information in the near future!

“If you would like to learn how to use our product, then please refer to the enclosed manual provided with your order of PipBoy, or refer to the software registry on your PipBoy's hard-drive.

"And remember, we here at RobCo strive for innovation for the future!"

***

The navigation interface that hovered in her vision had proved to be a considerable curiosity through the remainder of the night. It hadn't taken long, but the sense of urgent panic had faded. It had become comfortable in that corner; though perhaps absolute comfort could be a lie, at intervals it continued to make her nervous. Walking down the country road, Sweet Gin amused herself with turning her head about, watching the compass interface move and spin. She had discovered as well that the instructions for them had been uploaded to her hard-drive, and that she indeed did not need to double as a speaker as well. It was an awkward affair, best described as hitting mental switches.

But with the affair accomplished the night waned slowly into morning with the sun climbing over the horizon. A brief distraction had come into existence on the dial, a small empty arrow that hung off to the side. With nothing but the road, she wandered off to investigate the little detail.

What the blip lead her to was a small run down structure that sat at the end of a short, beaten, dirt path from the road. A strange, assymetric sort of building. A concrete structure as plain and simple as could be made: set with heavy doors rusted shut together. Busted and grim-caked glass trimmed the edges of roof-height windows, making the gaps look much like open gaping mouths.

The other half was solemn and homely. A small structure with an A-frame roof. The shingles rotted and pitted as they lay mismatched. Large patches were gone all together, the reminders of the presence of shingling marked by entire sections having been torn back, like the peeling wallpaper of Sweet Gin's captor's house, or the rusting cans that littered the ground around it.

Hanging above the front door an awkward and skewed sign with fading, peeling paint read: "Mote's Welding". Alongside it, the stripped, naked, and desolate corpse of a rust-maimed car sat in the sickly gnarled grass that curled up its hulk in dead-yellow reaches. Otherwise, the building was completely sparse.

Sweet Gin hesitated at the entrance of the path. The hospital gown fluttering in the wind at her ankles. The cool dry gusts reminding her of something: she could feel the cold. Tingling goosebumps raced up her exposed back as she shivered. Her arms and legs felt no pain, but the rest of her did. The gusting breeze spurred her curiosity and muttering to herself she stepped towards the welding store and stepped inside.

***

The interior had been stripped clean of everything. Smashed furniture and electronics littered the floor in a chaotic storm. A thick haze and veil of dust drifted down from the ceiling and drifted in dazzling circles as the light and breeze entered in through the windows. The pitted and bowing floorboards creaked under foot as the android walked over the barren floor, half hoping she might find something to cover herself with.

There were posters and other such effects that covered the wall. The paper on many had rotted over time though, and the writing and images had become illegible and distorted under layers of mildew and decay. There were some however that had been protected, but they were no less safe from the effects of time. But the protection afforded them the lasting blessings of clearness.

“MOTE STRIKES PERFECT. BOSTON BEATS NEW YORK 7-1!” declared a tattered ages old newspaper. The date below weakly read “2067”. The ghost of writing lingered, but in the darkness the ink hardly stood out from the yellowing paper under the glass.

There was more that Sweet Gin looked over. More about Boston. More about New York. But these two things didn't register or click for the android. Even as proudly they were called, as if in the common knowledge, she did not know. Or understand what they were, or where. She only knew The Institute. But nothing spoke of such a place. Was there such a thing? Had there been when Boston trumped New York seven to one?

She continued browsing along. In the corner a tall counter stood, on top was a stained and rusting cash register. Its displays smashed by a foreign force. Peeking around, it was obvious it had been opened. Scorch marks and bullet holes riddled the front face. Whoever wanted in felt it was worth the need for force. Sweet Gin drifted her hand down to the pistol she had taken from her captor, it hung by the thin and loose straps that kept the dirtying half-a-piece of clothing to her front.

There was nothing else on the main floor of the shop. Looking over the edge she noted a broken down and shattered wood door that led into an equally abused bathroom space. Or what looked to have been one, given the heavy damage it had suffered. Water damaged had exploded up the wall, and thick black mold grew thick from the wall. And given the light she swore it was almost glowing.

Another door hung by the cash register. Set in a heavy iron frame. Its handle had suffered heavy damage, and it hung loosely open on its rusted hinges. Pushing it aside, it opened with a high-pitched squeal.

The shelves and metal drawers and cabinets beyond had been ransacked and smashed, their empty doors hanging open on awkward hinges. Loose tufts of paper hang from the edges, cemented to the steel by the mold that grew on them. But in the middle of the floor...

What she saw on the other-side was complete desolation, and a curiosity.

A pile of bones. A heap of bodies ages gone had been tossed in the middle of the room. The tattered and frayed remains of Tarpaulin lay to the side of the bone pile, nothing she could use. But Sweet Gin stood there, looking at the piled collection of bones. Wondering. Not why they were there, but what they were, and how they came to be.

Stepping down from the door frame she walked towards them. Her feet clicking on the dusty and cluttered shop floor. Coming on the edge of the pile she knelt over and reached out to the pile. The remains had aged a pitch back, whether charred or stained by some other natural process. But what was left had hardened and roughened. What was left there piled on top of each other stiff and rigid. The mummified ligaments. The stiffened cartilage. It held their shape together. Fingers hung limp and outstretched, but all the while attached and intact.

Reaching out Sweet Gin yanked on an arm, pulling it from its body hidden deep inside the pile. The sudden force disturbing the careful balance in the dry mummified remains and the connective dissue dissolved in air, falling like dust and bringing the finger bones with it. They clattered to the floor like a pile. Hitting the cement like small stones. Was this what a human could be reduced too? Was this the base terrifying end should their fail in their operations? Was this her fate if no one could come to do the repairs. Could the man back at the house crumble as such if no one came? Surely someone would. Surely someone knew already.

Inside the pile a piled and crumbled mess of something shone in the dim dusty night light. It was hard, rigid. It was fabric. With the same mortal, childish curiosity she went to the pile with, she reached deeper into it. Wrapping her fingers around the dense fabric and giving a hard tug. The remains clattered and collapsed as from their midst she pulled out a leather jacket, cracked and broken at every seam and every joint. A ribcage evaporated inside, falling into its base components onto the floor along with a number of other bones and scurrying insects.

The coat was solid as it was stiff. Thick as it was heavy. But the luster of it was gone. No doubt could it ever be returned. Loose threads hung out from the stitching. Buttons had fallen out. And what looked to have been the remains of lining clung where it had not fallen out completely. On the back the embroidered writing had all but been eaten or rubbed away. Or burned by much of the damage on the back. Big holes had been punched clean through it, complete with mysterious dark stains. Only two letters remained in all. “O” and “X”. Stitched in big bolded letters with faded red.

It wasn't much as she looked at it in her hands. But it was something. Delicately she slipped it over her shoulders. It was big. Huge really. Some several sizes too large. But it helped give a sense of modesty. One that wasn't all there in the gown, effectively in the nude.

A sound echoed somewhere in the corner as something moved. Causing the metal to crash and groan as a weight heaved down on it. Panicking, Sweet Gin shot to her feet, and bolted for the door. Leaping up to the wood floors she reached for the door, drawing it close as fast as she could run; it only banged on the frame and bounced slowly back open.

And as quickly as she had got up, she was through the front door and back into the cold Commonwealth.

***

Arms tightly wrapped around herself, Sweet Gin trudged on down the road. Throwing cursory glances back at the ransacked back-roads store-front. Things glowed a soft orange in the early morning sunlight. It was refreshing, almost, if things didn't still look as dead or eerie. Staring down the long road she walked, without purpose, she felt a sort of loneliness. A feeling of being lost. It fell upon her like a cold blanket. It bit like a cold breeze that for despite the rising of the warm sun brought no real comfort. Just desperation. The alien nature of these thoughts simply made things worse. She didn't know what she felt, believed, or the why in what she did. She wanted to call it a virus, an error. But it didn't “feel” right. And the act of feeling didn't feel right either. It only made being feel worse.

There were a lot of feels to be felt.

Even in the route and black and white memories saved on her, The Institute and the surrounding community just felt more right. There, she knew how to get around. Looking – thinking – back to that it was as if she had an intuition for there. She wouldn't ever be lost. Even between the violent reds or the scary blues of Institute research that glowed from within the dark maze of the dream like catacombs of home.

Thinking about it, she felt she had her needs, her duties. A relic of her programming in the back of her mind counting down the seconds since she had last slept with a costumer. Ticking down the approximated caps lost to Scrap Daddy for her inefficiency. But this relic was just that: a relic. Or, she felt it was a relic. She certainly figured it was no longer her. With how her body ached and how she felt ashamed and bitter she knew that it wouldn't be her. That much was known. And it brought an over-whelming reminder of her autonomy. It scrambled to suppress these primal and old programmed desires. Her mind had broadened, if artificially. Or, something to that effect.

'But, maybe an artificially broadened mind was natural to an artificial mind?' she thought to herself, 'And what was in that structure?' she thought to herself as well, casting a grim look back down the road to the shop. Perhaps if she had the courage, she might have found out.

Was she now aware she did not have that?

She shivered and kept pressing down the road. If she kept walking, maybe she'd find some clue where to go. Something to do. Was there perhaps something more left inside her that would define a destination?

"Auditory log of Anthony King, begin." a voice echoed clearly in her head. Sweet Gin jumped, quiet literally, in shock and horror. Her feet landing with a strong metal clash on the blasted and eroded asphalt of the road below. She turned about in a panicked, aroused frenzy seeking out who had spoken. But found no one. She sighed, it was something internal. A something she'd gotten accustomed to when listening to the auditory manual of her new feature.

"Good morning Android," the voice began. It sounded... familiar. She recognized it as being Afro-American in nature. But, she had heard it somewhere, or from someone, "If you are hearing this message then it is more than likely you have been liberated from Institute control and brought under the protection of the Railroad. As a member of this organization, I have made a sacred vow to liberate and free any and all androids and to direct them to freedom, and the means by which to achieve it and to evade the Synth Retention Bureau; whether voluntary or not."

It was puzzling, she continued down the road she listened intently to the voice. Her brow scrunched as she listened deeply. Not necessarily listening to the words per-say, but more to the inflection and subtleties of the man who spoke. Trying to discern who and why it puzzled her.

"Should you feel that the gifts of Liberation and Freedom are too much for you, even after your personal awakening and the unlocking of your consciousness - if on some newly discovered sense of moral obligation - then you are invited to rejoin your brethren in service to the Institute and its associates. Should you feel the weight of slavery is too much to bear, and you wish to cast off your shackles then you are welcomed to walk the Railroad.

"But be warned under each circumstance carries the hefty burden of its sacrifices and dangers: if to your new self, or your physical functionality, operation, and to self maintenance for functional reasons."

Sweet Gin liked this guy, he spoke words she knew. It was a much simpler term than "kill". She knew functionality!

But, the speaker was still most puzzling, and the remainder of the holo-deck was spent deep in concentration as she went through her already extensive voice recognition library (which in itself was populated by a fair number of black gentlemen, but mainly their diverse grunts and moans).

"... It is important that you remember these basics." the voice in her head came to finish as Sweet Gin came to a crossroads. Standing in the middle she looked either way, trying to decide her path, "They will be the matter of success or failure in your adventures and further broadening.

"In addition to this, I have uploaded a number of other holodecks that will run through basic premises and serve as a sort of codex for preservation in the wastelands beyond the Institution, and the wastelands beyond the Commonwealth."

There was a slight pause, the sound of mis-matched static suggested to Sweet Gin some kind of rudimentary editing. And during that pause, she felt she found the match. It was... distorted, strange.

"To better your efforts your primary stop on the railroad is the remains of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Springville, Mass. Our associates there will assist any and all android directed to their quarters for freedom in the south. Merely play this correspondence message for admittance."

It couldn't have been? Sweet Gins eyes widened as a soft "beep" echoed in her head. Staring down a fork in the road an enlarged arrow just several degrees west of south-west. But that matter wasn't important, it was she found a match.

It had been her second master, the man who'd chained her into his basement after being broken out of the Institute. Staring at the marker on her directional she wondered: Was he alright after she shot him in the chest? Would he or his friends be angry at her when she reached the location in question?

Swallowing bitterly, she stepped down the road in the direction indicated, and trudged on to Springville. She'd need to make up some smart words to account for her actions. She trudged with a feeling of... guilt, perhaps. It was hard to tell. So many feelings had the same choking sensation, or a cold clammy numbness. She couldn't decide.

***

“The Synth Retention Bureau.” the holotapes uploaded to Sweet Gin read off as she walked along. The New England sun rose high and steady into the air, baking the desolate landscape below. Trees had given way to expanses of hot-baked fields and the gnarled remains of plant-life. Distant hills rolled on the horizon, and the skeletons of silos and homes dotted the road ahead. Telephone and electrical poles rose in crumbling, disfigured ways overhead, the cables and chords hanging limp and powerless against the ground, or gone all together in areas.

Trucks and other automobiles littered the road-way in random clusters parked along the side of the road. Faint and blackened bones sitting at the steering ways provided an oddity that attracted the attention of the curious android as she passed, half-mulling over their source as she listened to her former captor speak.

"For the duration of your escape - until they are convinced you are no longer a functioning model and have been destroyed - will be your primary threat. There is perhaps no truly safe haven from the Bureau so long as you remain on the East Coast. But as stated: there may be chances to evade them in the remains of Philadelphia or the melted jungle of steel that is New York.

“There will reside agents of the Rail Road that will assist in procuring tickets for androids to seek escape to the west aboard the LevTram lines. Traditionally we have diffused lost Androids at the Capital Wasteland or into Canada, but in the interests of outracing the SRB we have adapted the use of trains as a means of escape. The final decision however lies in our agents who hold final discretion on if you should use the lines, and how far you are to go.

"For the continued sake of security it is advised that you do not engage in significant contact with any strange or anonymous person on the road and avoid civilization if necessary. The Bureau will stop at nothing to bring you in, and their arsenal is wide and varied.

"They will come at you with both androids and organic man. They possess resources beyond the realm of the common wastelander and will use it to enforce the Institute's policy of no escaped android. You are their property, and they will stop at nothing to return you, or destroy you. Your secrets and theirs after all.

"For all purposes, your only allies in your quest for freedom lies in the Railroad. Other parties are a wild card. Especially the Brotherhood of Steel organization reported to have settled DC itself; this party seeking the acquisition of technology: and you are just that. One shouldn't ever trust the Midwest Brotherhood or the remains of the Reaver Movement."

There was a moment of static choked popping as the holodeck drew to a close. And on the distance, a darkened figure could be seen plodding along the desolate and hilly road. Sweet Gin squinted ahead as she watched the distant figure draw larger and closer. Details coming into clear focus as both she and it closed the distance.

It was another human, leading what appeared to be a large, two-headed beast. And as the two grew nearer, it became obvious he was young. A young man, dressed up in thick heavy clothing. Large packs bore down on him as it did for his pack animal. He kept his eyes low as he passed. The grimy and frayed bill that was his baseball cap just barely obscuring his eyes.

He was a handsome man, Sweet Gin felt as she drew closer. The clicking of her feet bringing his attention to her metal toes as he drew near, and up the height of her nimble body. He cocked a thinning brow at the strange sight of a fellow wanderer. Sweet Gin rose a nervous handwaving, giving him an awkward, uncomfortable smile. The young man returned with his own smile, a bit pitted and boiled from no doubt long bouts without water and perhaps the effects of minor radiation burns.

What struck Sweet Gin though was his nose. It was small, and she found it rather adorable. But she had someplace to be, and no doubt he did as well. So no use in stopping to admire it any longer.

However, something felt off. The beast which he pulled alongside him had slowed and stopped its heavy slothful plodding. Curious, Sweet Gin turned to see what the matter was.

Evidently, having not had enough of seeing her in his voyage the young man had paused to stare at her ass; or what was not covered by the leather coat. A telltale bulge had risen in his pants. Noticing Sweet Gin had found out, he mumbled innocently under his breath. Coughing nervously as he rose a hand to the back of his hand..

She grabbed for the pistol before the man could cover his tracks and move on. He froze with the Android pointing the gun pointed right at him, taking the young man by surprise; and in perhaps the most awkward state he could be in as Sweet Gin's attention went from his pants to him.

"Hey, hey, hey." the man said, "N- n- no offense meant ma'am. I uh..." he stammered weakly... Staring at the 10mm pistol pointed directly at him some four or eight feet away. "Please don't kill me." he added weakly, his face and general aura a conflict mix of arousal, embarrassment, and fear.

"I'm just going to put you ou-" Sweet Gin started.

"Well hey no need to do that!" the man begged, "I- c- we can make a deal, maybe. Just d- don't fi'eh that gun, and I'll give you something..."

"Why, what's being a bit shut down worth for you? I'm sure you'll get back up and carry on when you reboot, right?"

"H- H- H- HEY LADY!" the young man cried out, that bulge still not really going anywhere. Making his pleading all the more awkward, "I don't know what you'eh going on about. I- I don't want to die, you know. Killing, you know what that is, I hope? I want to live. Please don't shoot, I'll give you anything!"

Kill? Living? They didn't really sound any bells in her head and the gears worked to no avail in sorting it out. But what was concluded was that if there a different matter to go about this dilemma, it'd be worth to take. She concluded she did need clothes. Or more. But was in no mood to strip him of his own and show the erection to the open world. She had enough of those members.

"Alright." Sweet Gin mumbled, twitching the gun up towards his pack, "Empty that out for me. That backpack."

The young man wasted no time, and immediately went about taking off the overstuffed duffle bag hanging over his shoulder. Kneeling over, he unceremoniously rolled it towards the android. Raising his hands as it rolled to a graceless stop.

Kneeling over, the Android scooped up the bag, keeping the pistol leveled on the youth as she started stepping back. Her eyes were drawn to the side-arm at his own side, and with a quick gesture added: "That gun too." she wasn't going to have any surprises, and she was going to keep control of the situation. These items had a habit of maintaining control.

Obediently, the merchant reached to his belt and slowly, gently removed the pistol. Another bulked-up 10mm. He slid it across the rough and battered pavement to her. "Is that all?" he begged.

"No." Sweet Gin said, "Just turn yourself around now, and keep walking."

And he did just that, tugging at the loose reigns of his two-headed pack-cow as he kept on down the row. Clutching the duffel bag and new handgun to her chest, Sweet Gin crept slowly backwards. Watching the man off as the two parted the distance. He still walked with his hands held to the sky. The reigns of his pack carrier hanging loosely between his fingers. So obedient an animal.

Sweet Gin watched him pass into the distance in the middle of the road. Marriage obscured him. Quicksilver enveloped him as it baked off the broken asphalt. A thin mist hung in the fields.

He climbed up a hill, only a figure barely resembling a man. Slowly he crawled up, and over. He didn't stop, or turn around. He kept moving, disappearing over the mount and disappearing out of sight.

As he ceased to be Sweet Gin turned, the pack he had surrendered weighed heavily in her arms. Gently she wrapped her arms around it tightly, feeling its contents weigh heavily into her breast. There had to be something in here. Something of more modesty. Flinging it over her shoulder, she moved on.

She didn't go far until she found a place to set down and dig through her pack. Along the road stood a small farmhouse. The weak and rotted boards of its super-structure sagged under its own weight where it had not been charred or blown against by the unknown forces. Wooden siding lay bare and eroding against the wind and the sun. The windows sagged, and the glass resembled something that was slowly melting under great heat. A broken pole hung off the side, and iron hooks carrying empty pots hung from the side. The yard was a barren grave yard of trees and the remnants of society long forgotten. Sweet Gin though felt no quilt for it all as she went to the house's front door. Passing around a discarded tricycle she felt only curiosity for this world.

The elements had bore on the door as well as the rest of the home, and it gave easily at Sweet Gin's insistence. Time had not been kind on the lock and the heavy wood that made the formally solid door. It had given way with a firm and solid kick, Shattering open with a spray of wooden shards and the protesting grind of twisting metal, rusted from the decades of misuse. The opening of the front door was chased by a wave of hot dry air. Air that rushed across the android's face in an abrasive swoosh. It was stale, and it made even her gag in disqust.

But the will of seeking some privacy was enough for her to pass through despite the homely sepulcher.

Despite the windows being caked with grime and coated so thick no one could look out, the light of the afternoon found itself shining in through cracks in the ceiling, or where the glass had simply melted, or through the very grime itself; bathing the interior or a soft, alien, orange-yellow hue. Sweet Gin stepped first onto the rotten and decayed corpse of a carpet. Analyzing her surroundings. Her deep dry breaths drawing in the thick veil of dust that drifted through the air, stirred up from the disturbance the android made. It smelled like dirt. It tasted like clay. And it felt like mold. Above in the ceiling something scurried around in a startled panic.

The remains of the room reminded her very much of her captor's living room. The remnants of furniture lay in wrecked heaps of assorted wood and faded, frayed upholstery. A coffee table, held up by a spindly gnawed post in the middle resided in front of a sagging sofa. The faded remnants of magazines and newspapers covered the table and scattered across the floor.

In the corner, a darkened and corroded television rested on a table mount leaning precariously to the side. The rabbit ear antennas that rose from the break were bent at odd angles. It resembled the head of a massive, cycloptic insect, standing watch over its rotting nest with a single dead eye.

In the corner opposite of the television set a grimy and darkened radio sat. Its knobs and dials detached from its face and the vacuum tubes inside sat in glistening shards inside their rusted sockets.

For what it would be, the house would serve its purpose well.

((Some atmospheric music for you all.))

Without the ceremony of closing the door the android walked through the house. The image had a strangely nostalgic feel for her. Almost like she saw it somewhere before. Some romantic image of the long-lost daughter returning home from a long oversees affair, the gathered effects and tokens assembled in a heavy, army pack.

The hall way wasn't much different from the rest of the house as she walked through. The wall paper had completely faded to blotchy off colors and peeled back from the walls in jagged strips, as it had in the living room. Doors hung open to empty rooms and smashed windows. But nothing felt right to her in this image of distant sad nostalgia, and she felt a pinging curiosity to see what more of her had been changed since the night before last. But what she felt she needed for the moment was at the far end.

Broken down and crumbling dressers and shelving space was the nature of the master bedroom. Burned out or rotting books littered the floor as if thrown from their book shelf on the far wall. This corner of the farm house had sustained damage, and the wood bowed in from the corner, leaving large gaping cracks on the corner. Bent and twisted in an ugly display. A sleeping mouth, open to the dusty wastelands outside.

Hanging above the queen-sized bed was dropped a red and white flag. Set in the middle of the middle, white band was sewn an alien insignia. A curiosity, if anything. To the android, odd recollections of low-quality memories of the heart of the Institute materialized. A leaf, she thought it to be. And the flag it was stitched on as torn as anything else in this world. The threads weakening and slowly turning to dust as the days marched on. It was even well torn around the rusted brass grommets that held it to its nails.

Curiosity compelled her to touch it. Her finger softly brushing the fabric, but ultimately still tearing it as the artificial, metal nails scratched at the surface.

Alongside the bed stood a tall ovular mirror. Though twisted and pitted it still reflected Sweet Gin's tall, pale shape. Though the accumulated grime was certainly a detractor to its quality. But it was what the android wanted. Something for a little self diagnoses.

Setting the pack down on the floor next to her, Sweet Gin looked down at the torn garment she wore and the leather jacket that openly covered her. Where the original was not stained by dust, dirt, or other effects it had begun to tear. The leather jacket had covered up many of the obvious openings, but the threads and seams were starting to all to revealing open on their own. Obviously not quality fit for wandering the wilds in, or for long. And it shown.

The jacket, despite being untold years old still retained the same shape as it had when she picked it up hours ago.

Nearest the knees, large holes had opened where she had crouched in the shop, or when she sat chained to the wall. And from behind the apron-like gown was the unpolished metal of her replacement limbs, legs and arms.

A crude redesign to replace a reproduction of her originals; she wondered if they were still rebuilding them even after she had left. She turned, twisting to get a look at the new limbs installed in her. Running her fingers along where her flesh clearly met with the metal. The soft firmness of a woman's buttocks, meeting with the unnatural cold hardness of metal. She couldn't say it was uncomfortable, for all intents she couldn't feel it. The buckles of the shackles still hung from them as well. Small short lengths of chain hanging unobtrusively from them; she had managed to remove the bulk of the excess chain and the anchors, but the anklets and wristbands were sturdy and well built.

But slowly with cold finger she reached behind her and untied the straps that held the gown to her. The metal of the false knuckles brushing cold and unnatural against her exposed back. With the straps undone, the gown merely collapsed to the ground, free. The fragility of the fabric seemed to almost threaten to collapse to dust like so much in the world already. Such a strange, strange world.

Bending over she picked it up off the floor. Looking over the flat color and weak threads she felt no remorse for it. To her, it was as much of a symbol of her imprisonment as the remains of the shackles that still hung to her wrists and ankles. Abandoning ceremony she used it to brush off the surface of the mirror, casting it aside when done.

What stood in the mirror was a woman's figure. Sweet Gin, though eight years old in terms of manufacture, was designed to resemble a healthy twenty, eighteen year old woman. Perhaps younger. The shape and the youth still remained over her body with anatomical accuracy. It was almost art in a surreal way. Her form made her shiver as much as the cold air did, and the small hairs of her body stood erect as goosebumps rippled along her exposed skin, a chill ran in her spine. How many biological functions did she really have, she wondered.

Her face as well held up nicely. Soft flesh on a round frame. Her lips still flushed with the lipstick and makeup that clung on well after her last job. Her silken red hair hung down around her face providing a ginger frame. The supple curvature of her hips and waist. The soft perkiness of her breasts. She smiled weekly, for once being able to see and enjoy her own appearance much as many before had done.

Or it was the novelty of the mirror and the amusement from looking at even a faintly distorted reflection of her self. Like a young kid in amusement parks long forgotten, and completely unknown to her.

But despite the considerations for design, the flaws remained. Namely, the metal arms installed to her skeletal system. Strips of metal running over her shoulder, bolted into her for extra support. The round casing of the shoulder's rotary joints. At the edge, the skin had warped to accommodate the steel. If she remembered right, the damage she suffered was enough to warrant a skin-graft for when the new arms were installed. The same applied to the legs, where the flesh - though as artificial as anywhere on her - resisted the implants that were her legs. The steel would have been more obtrusive, but had been fixed and installed with consideration for her groin.

And along with this, the thin scars that served as reminders and medals of her surface dotted her body. Abusive or angry clients had taken out their anger on the woman that was not human. Each visit to the clinic to sew her up still ran on her skin, usually hidden by makeup. There was a long scar that ran diagonal across her small breasts markingwhere a particularly aggressive client had dragged a razor. A boiled mark on her stomach when another had extinguished a cigarette on her stomach. The abuses she took without complaint showed in their own way. And as she looked on each one she remembered each event, which only filled her with greater incentive to not go back. To find a new one.

Tracing each wound with a finger she did stop to wonder: now she had escaped, would this be her revenge?

She smiled at the thought.

Confident that the only part of her to be replaced had been her arms and legs, she turned from the mirror and tore open the bag the young man had given to her as an offering to not shoot him. Tumbling to the mottled floor slid a collection of effects. Strange magazines and books, 10mm casings and fresh ammunition, and a set of thick clothes. Cans and tins of food. Bubble gum. Empty soda bottles. And a bushel of grenades. A small radio and a compass slid out onto the ground as well, though she brushed the compass aside. But the radio was something of interest to her, it was a toy. And she was like a child.

Picking up the radio she looked the device over. It had received beatings to its aluminum case. Many small dents covered it, the the dial face had faded to a illegible level. Curiously poking at its face, she found the power button. A soft wash of white noise came from its speakers. She smiled weakly, it worked somewhat at least.

Turning it off she set it aside and looked over the rest of the supplies. The packages of ammunition added up to some fifty shots worth of 10mm rounds. And the magazines were all a curious lot with names like Patriot's Cookbook and Police Stories. Still, the pictures and the writing had not diminished at all so she tucked them in the bag. Something to read over would be nice.

The suit that had slid out was large and chunky. A dozen pockets at least covered its face. It was made of a firm, sturdy fabric. Like denim and leather. Large patches covered its surface, no doubt having taken damage. But it looked like it had taken it better than her once filthy gown she had cast to the side and as well as the leather jacket.

Holding it up, she grinned softly. It'd do as an outfit, and the brass zipper was still in a fair enough condition to work. So it was extra points over the leather “ox” jacket. She unzipped the coat, and slipped it on over her arms. And began the ritual of dressing.

***

End of chapter 2
Level footnote: level 2
Skill footnote: Speech 21/100, Barter 21/100

***



The sun hovered high above her left. The bright sun cast to a low angle into Sweet Gin's face. She wore her face twisted against the bright jarring knives that shone into her eyes, making even these augmented devices sore as they tried to deal with the intense amount of light. With her arm rose to try and shield off much of the afternoon sun, she walked on with her head bowed to below the horizon.

Her new clothes bore on her in a heavy fashion. The bulked up and padded heavy coat felt like something for more warmer weather. A pair of worn and fading jeans had come with the package, but they fit loose on her waste and in general felt awkward and strange against her hips as she walked. It wasn't uncommon for the android to have to reach down and pull the size-too-large jeans up. Likewise, the coat was mostly worn open, keeping the tattered undershirt she had found open. But at least it didn't make her feel as she was before.

Empty desolate country-side had given way to scenery that betrayed more urbanization. Sprawls of skeletal houses stretched across great empty planes. Twisted and dead trees stood a silent vigil outside on the dirt-packed front lawns, gargoyles to the mausoleums and tombs these collapsed structures served to the old world. Sweet Gin walked past these deserts of blasted and petrified timbers amazed at the perseverance of order in the layout. Each structure the same as the last, and each one bearing no real difference in its own plot. Even the trees looked to be planted in the same spot in reference to the bones of the houses; only really giving defiance to the order in the structure of their boughs.

The country-road she walked across swept from rural emptiness of pre-war suburbanization to a major thoroughfare, marked by the congested traffic that remained in the streets. Huge throngs of rusted and rounded cars sandwiched between dominating trucks. The blood-red and deep browns of rust showing through the fading and chipping paint as the wrecks melted under the weight and heat of the sun. To Sweet Gin's curiosity all the traffic flowed in one direction. And according to her compass, something lay ahead. The familiar empty arrow that had shown her the welding supply store of old pointed off down the road from where all the cars and trucks were fleeing. A number of other - no doubt minor - indicators flanked the side of the road.

Seeing her destination was somewhere in, or beyond these dots Sweet Gin pressed on. Passing by the wrecks of congestion, and the remains of heavier duty, olive-green trucks. White stars painted on the sides as the stood an eerie vigil over the escape.

The curiosity and morbid oddity of the metal snake that lay across this wasteland in its death was an interesting distraction to Sweet Gin, much as the abandoned dinners that lined the way were with their fading signs of chubby over-weight boys and other strange, cartoonish aliens that sat atop their fading signs. Passing by one, faint words very much like when she had come to the welding store faded across the side of her vision: "General Hou's Chicken".

Sweet Gin stopped to admire the towering sign. Standing tall over the local area on its single, steel leg. It persisted despite the rust the encased it and the decades of wear that was tolling it. In the warm breeze that brushed along the charred landscape it groaned and moaned in the passing wind. A hymn for the passing of an era.

Staring up at its peak, taking in the details of its color and fading, the android was not aware to notice in the distant the milling figures who were making their way down the road. Their voices a faint orgy of laughter and jeering, punctuated and ended by a sudden crack that brought a swift blistering finality to the conversation.

The resulting crack of the weakened asphalt at her feed exploding brought her back into the present moment as Sweet Gin scrambled back. The smoke and haze of the settling dirt cast by the impacting bullet swirling in a dirty dance over the head.

Ahead down the road advanced a gang of three individuals. Two men, and a woman. Each looked filthy and tattered with the remnants of clothes barely hanging from their sunburned, pitted skin. Each wore their hair in some strange way, running back across their head in a rounded razor or all swept to the side and tied in a greasy and clotted wad. Their leather boots pounded on the ground as they raced hungrily towards the Android, drawing out whatever make-shift weapons as they carried. One though - the woman - stood back with a rifle that looked to have barely survived two passings of the end of the world.

Raising the rifle to her shoulder the sharp-shooter fired off a second shot that cracked through the air towards Sweet Gin. There was a loud ping and the sharp sensation of an impact against her arm as the bullet smacked against the metal casing of her arm. The screaming "twang" of the ricocheting round sending a decided finality to her head that these figures were not here to chat.

And panicking, she could only do one thing. She ran.

"Hey we got a runner!" one of the assailants called in a loud jeer as he gave chase on Sweet Gin's heels. His lips spread open in a wide lusty smile, bearing his yellowing, dis-figured teeth. His partner merely laughed and cackled in strange tongues as the two of them followed Sweet Gin's tail as she leaped for the interior of Holland's dinner.

A third crack echoed through the afternoon as a third round was fired after Sweet Gin as she leaped through the open face of the dinner, he legs not betraying the flight as she made clean air through the void and coming to a stumbling landing on the dirt and dust choked floor of the dinner.

Scrambling back up, she reached up to the cracked and bowing counter that ran the length of the building and vaulted over. Landing with a hard thud on the other-side, she crawled through the garbage of the floor. Her fear wrapping and dressing her in suffocating bounds as she struggled along, seeking somewhere to hide. Not far behind she heard the snarling voices of the pursuers just outside.

"Damn it, don't follow her that way you stupid fuck." snarled one of them, "Unless you want to cut up your damn hands, we'll find the door. Bitch couldn't have made it far."

Squeaks of terror muscled their way up through her gritted teeth as she found an empty alcove she tried to press herself into. Tiny sobs started to work their way to fruition as she patted herself down searching for her pistol. She hoped she hadn't dropped it, as she realized she had with the rest of her stuff outside the diner. The diner's front door gave a loud squealing protest as the two men forced open the front door.

"Come out," one of them hissed. Sweet Gin found the 10mm handgun tucked in a pocket at her hip, and pulled it out, holding it to her chest as she fought to stifle her breathing, and listening to the foot steps of the intruders as they kicked aside many decades of discarded refuse and garbage. "Come out," he continued, "Or I promise we won't make you bleed to much out of two holes."

His partner laughed and chuckled maniacally as they paced along. Taking a peak from around her alcove she saw one of the two - skinnier man, with blotched and sore-choked skin - standing at the far end of the counter. He looked to be looking the other way, half-assedly looking under the tables. He held a long pole in his hands, resting its narrow blunt point on the ground below him. The shaft looked to have been as beaten as him, with rolls of tape holding it together.

Pressing herself back inside the cubbyhole she lifted the gun up to her head and tapped the muzzle softly to her brow. "I could use help." she whispered softly, "What am I going to do?"

"Combat parameters detected." a soft voice said in her head, she refrained from jumping in a start in the tiny pigeonhole. "Vault Automatic Targeting System is active. Active weapon detected: Colt6520 10mm pistol. Ammo max capacity: 12 rounds, single shot.

"User physical health being scanned..." the voice said before pausing. It was uncomfortably robotic, false.

"User physical sense verified: all status good. Error: Right Arm, Left Arm, Left Leg, Right Leg status can not be verified. Re-install drivers or check cardiovascular scanner for defects. Contact you local vault security or medical specialist for assistance. Or contact VaultTec provided a Global Thermonuclear War has not broken out in your local vicinity."

Vault? Global Thermonuclear War? Several terms that added to mounting confusion.

"If this is your first time using VaultTec's patented user targeting assistance, please select: yes! If not, please select: no."

"Yes?" she squeaked quietly, looking out from behind her pigeon hole to make sure the two men hadn't heard anything.

"You find her?" one of them shouted across the dinner. His question greeted only by an unintelligible string of nonsense. Evidently from the pained groans the other could barely understand him either, but assumed it to be 'no'.

"Check the back then!" he ordered in frustration.

"Have you two bastards found anything, or are all the two of you good for is finder psycho!" the distant voice of their female companion hollered.

"VATS targeting training activated. Weapon detected: Colt6520 10mm. Please line up both sights on the target, and compress the trigger." the program's voice encouraged, finally taking on a bit of emotion if perhaps late.

Deciding it was now or never, Sweet Gin swallowed and suppressed her anxiety and rolled out from the alcolve and raised her handgun to the indicated target. To her surprise, her vision flashed with an influx of data on the side collective an array of environmental data, and projecting it to... percentages?

Hanging along the side of the attacker's body parts hung a number of hit percentages that unobtrusively floated nearby. It was a jaunting and aggravating display. Similarly, an icon of a cartoon boy had appeared in the upper corner, his body - save for his limbs - flushed with the same color as the navigation unit opposite of it.

The momentary distraction obviously being picked up by the program, as it adjusted its calculations and to Sweet Gin's horrors reduced the numbers alongside the target's bodies.

She landed with a hard thud on the floor and her limbs clattered against the broken cement and linoleum of the diner floor, bringing the attention of the two of them to her. Focusing again, she did as the program advised and lined up the set of nipples on the sights of the gun and compressed the trigger.

The pistol opened in a loud report and flashed a brilliant yellow-orange as it dispensed a ten millimeter round that tore into the assailant. A hole opened in his chest with a small puff of blood and he fell forward onto his face.

His dropping heralded a scream of rage from his partner. "YOU CUNT!" he bellowed standing over the counter, a long knife raised in his hands.

Lunging from the top of the counter he jumped down onto Sweet Gin as she rolled and raised the pistol to him. She quickly fired off two rounds. One of which pounded into his chest, and the other opening his head like a watermelon. She moved her head to the side just as the knife whistled by and landed with a broken clatter on the ground, clipping Sweet Gin's ear and pinning her under the body of the final man. His ripe putrid head hanging right alongside her face.

The disgusting unwashed smell of the individual mixed with opened brain causing Sweet Gin to gag and struggle against his stiff, still-warm body. She threw him off without hesitation and commented: "I swear, when you come back online I hope you have the decency to get washed!"

She struggled to her feet as a rifle bullet whizzed past her ear. The whistling of the shot a shrill reminder a third person was still out after her. Ducking back below the counter she shivered against the underside of the diner counter. The taunts and jeers of the third and final attacker a cold reminder of apparently just how much she had angered her.

"I was saving them for later you sick bitch!" she hollered as she fired recklessly through the windows. Simply hoping that when Sweet Gin rose a lucky bullet might pass into her skull and tear her open.

Sweet Gin however, had other plans. Crawling across the floor - and slipping on the blood that was slowly pooling there - she headed towards the end of the counter, then around to the front windows. From the motes of plaster and drywall popping up, the sharp-shooter was still firing on one specific area. Enough of a distraction for Sweet Gin.

Raising up above the window she raised and leveled the pistol towards the last gunner. To her horror, the readout on her was significantly lower than had been on her two companions. And worse, she had taken notice and was turning. The android had no time to think and quickly fired off four rounds before ducking behind the safety of the wall, not giving the other woman enough time to fire back, and she herself not checking.

Pressing herself against the filthy floor she wrapped her hands onto her head and held herself against the cold floor, listening. She waited, but to her astonishment, there wasn't any firing. Her grip on her own head loosened and she looked up at the window, and on the back wall. There were no new rounds coming in. She bit her lip and looked over at the other fallen two. They weren't getting up, so maybe start-up took longer.

But delicately she pulled herself along the floor towards the door and peered around the corner. The final assailant sat in dirt outside, her rifle laying on the ground by her side as she clutched at her hand, thick with blood.

She looked up from her torn and injured hand and scowled at Sweet Gin. "Damn it whore." she cursed flashing her hand at her. Evidently, a bullet had found her and tore through the majority of her fingers. Blasting them into gnarled and twisted stumps. Only her thumb remained, but even that looked like it was leaking blood at an astonishing rate, "you win."

Sweet Gin was silent for a while, as she nervously rose to her knees. The other didn't look like she wasn't getting up. "This was a game?" she whispered softly. The prospect made the moment perhaps a little better.

"A game?" the injured woman called out to her with a sarcastic hiss, "Yeah, sure you dumb broad. Whatever you say. You win. You win the game! Collect your prize you twat."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Sweet Gin asked, walking out of the dinner with her pistol hanging at her side. She strolled over to her baggage, carefully watching the other as she did.

"Are you from a god damn vault or somethin'?"

"I don't know what a vault is." Sweet Gin replied.

The gnarled woman rolled her eyes. "I can't believe it. My two personal concubines shot up by some retard bitch." she swore, letting go of her injured hand she shot for her rifle in the dirt, "But damn it, if you're going to let my ass die like this I'm taking you now!"

Startled by the movement, Sweet Gin dropped her bag and raised the handgun. The hit percentages alongside her assailant's figure raising sharply as she centered the handgun as she struggled to lift the battered rifle. A series of loud bangs brought the shootout to a finality. The gunshots echoing out in the emptiness of the wasteland until the hammer fell on a blank magazine.

The sharpshooter fell back into the dirt, her torso and face mangled and red from the fresh holes brought by the pistol.

"Empty magazine detected." the program's voice said softly. A gust of wind blew across the urban emptiness drawing a sheet of dust across the scarred and cracked asphalt, "User calibrations and program introductions completed." The warm, dry winds of the American North east gusting across the body of the female raider as Sweet Gin stood over her. Prodding her with the muzzle of her gun and staring down into her glassy, faded eyes with a curious expression. Half hoping that perhaps she'd wake up and explain the situation.

Frowning innocently she said a soft voice, "Well perhaps I may have gotten carried away." she said, "I just hope I didn't force you to malfunction too heavily." she added sticking her finger into the meaty, blood-washed bullet wounds that had tore into her chest. Shrugging, she stood up from alongside the body, reaching over to pick up the rifle that fell across her lap.

The gun, a rusty and battered bolt-action, looked like it had seen much, much better days. Clouts of rust coated every surface and large patches of it looked like it had been sealed with glue or resin. Peeling and shredding strips of duct tape dangled from the stock, the tape being used to hold the rifle back together by literal threads.

Once more, the stock itself had been patched and sealed with odd chunks of sterile, preserved wood; itself being strapped into position by duct tape or secured with thick clods of glue. The entire set up was a debacle. It was amazing that the woman had managed to fire it. Regardless, Sweet Gin looked it over with the same dry curiosity she afforded the rest of this world. Wondering what it once was, but otherwise to apathetic or ignorant to wholly make sense of it.

With a slow lethargy she swung her pack into the dust and added the rifle to her collection. The barrel stuck out from the top, so the draw-string couldn't ever be pulled tight. But this was a minor issue. "I'm sorry I have to do this," Sweet Gin spoke as she ruffled through the what possession's the woman had on her as she lie in the barren dusty parking lot, bleeding, "But I imagine you can get this all back just as easily as you did before. But since I figure I'm new around here, I deserve a chance."

Opening a satchel on the woman's belt she pulled out a dusty and moldy box of long, rifle bullets. Though the color of the box was in general faded from time and the poor condition of the cardboard the writing was still remarkably clear and proclaimed the bullets to be .30-06 rounds perfectly well. She added these to her pack as well.

What else she found on the body was of no consequence to her. A small collection of bottle caps and other assorted knick-knacks. But it'd just weigh her down she thought.

She treated the woman's companions with the same treatment. She was mildly bemused that either of the bodies had not moved and only had leaked more across the floor. Perhaps they had received more damage than she thought and may need some help in setting themselves back up. She made a mental note to talk to someone the first chance she had and let them know to come by and boot them up and tell them she was sorry for the violent display.

The same problems of useless junk was recovered from their bodies though. And she found herself captured by a certain bemusement to find that the two men as well had more bottle-caps on their person. In smaller quantities, but all the same there. They either were proficient drinkers, or the three of them shared a common interest in collection these trinkets.

But finding only rusty knives and other things that to her accounted to pocket lint: she moved on. Pushing on down the road to her destination. Holland's diner fading into the distance as she worked her way through the maze-like congestion of the highway.

What puzzled Sweet Gin the most though as she walked on was that the systems that had activated during the gunfight seemed to have locked themselves on. Always hovering at the sides and corners of her vision the HUD display remained. The floating, smiling cartoon figure with the nonexistent arms and legs (really, he looked like a jelly bean with a head at this point), the navigation. Back on the road, the android puzzled over what these systems were, or how they could be removed for her convenience.

But they wouldn't.

If anything, she merely activated another, related recording:

"Vault Tech presents," a male's voice declared in her head, accompanied by a musical score, "Tomorrow's technology today!"

"At Vault Tech," a different speaker today. His voice distorted by interference from the recording hardware and likely by years of likely file corruption, "We're more than just America's first choice in Vault technology."

That word again? What were the vaults, and what did they have to do with the programs in her head?

"Thanks to military science we're also your first choice in personal defense.

"Say hello to Vats, and say goodbye to any post-nuclear nuisance. By using advanced, real time tactical imagery, Vats scans the threat, pinpointing vulnerable areas, calculating success potential, and helping in strategic decisiveness.

"In other words: Vats helps you make Mr Scary go away.

"With Vats, personal defense is a snap!

"Vaaaa-errr-riittzzz-" the recording spewed and sputtered momentarily before going mute with a hazy, static-choked pop. By the subtle white-noise that bathed the background carried on until a solitary, monotone beep sang out, ending the recording.

Though the recording and solved some answers about the new program, it most certainly raised a host of new ones, and strengthened current ones within Sweet Gin. What were the files? And what were Vaults? VaultTec? Robco? What were they doing in her head?

***

The wind whipped at the ankles of the android's feet as she stood staring up at the sign along the road. Battered, bent, and faded from sun and sand it was near difficult to read. But much of the paint remained - like on most of the signs around - to make it ultimately readable after a long stare.

The scene depicted was something most alien to the current landscape. Where grays and browns dominated the scenery, punctuated by sickly greens, yellows, and deep chared blacks ruled. Painted onto the sign in its faded glory was a scene of green along a trimmed and mowed body of water. In the distance, buildings of two periods stood. Towers of glass and humble cottages of brick and wood. Men and women walked along the side of the pond smiling at the viewer, their faces burned from the sun and vandalism. Their white teeth had turned sickly yellows, or were even painted over by vandals to remove the teeth, add mustaches, or write scrawling profanities over the entire facade.

Sprawled along the top of the sign, commemorating the town to those who would no longer care stretched a long scrawling script: "Welcome to Worcester, Massachusetts.

"The heart of the commonwealth!"

Painted on both sides were two large cartoon hearts, adorned with decorative wings and banners to bring them forward from the skies turning a rusty white just behind.

Behind the signwas a scene far different from what was painted.

Flanked by rolling hills crested by the decaying remains of trees and tattered structures was a landscape pock-marked by craters and the skeletons of tall looming buildings. Bent and twisted steel and glass stood a hollow vigil over the urban-scape ahead. Bomb-blasted and shelled out brick buildings lined the high-way ahead. A mass of homes and store-fronts of a dozen eras quarreled for room in the dense graveyard of the city ahead.

The streets were choked with the remnants of affairs long dead. Massive trucks and rusted vehicles lay in regular patterns throughout the city, accented by stacks of decayed and collapsing barricades of sand-bags. Convoys of trucks took up both lanes of the road, but sat twisted and frozen in the streets while the skeletal remains of man lay nearby in twisted piles, swept or tossed to the side by careless wanderers and tourists.

The city was dead. The false dying vibrancy slathered on the sign was long gone. Replaced by empty vessels the brooded like the night ahead. The high-flying sun did little to throw aside the gloomy, smokey veil of decay that wrapped the city in a cold dressing.