- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah I was about to say lmao
Eve of Destruction Part 2: All Along the Watchtower (Update: Now back to regular turns)
- Thread starter The Bird
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi Superhero
-
- Tags
- fallout series atompunk (punk) dystopia political thriller (thriller) pre-post apocalypse (apocalyptic) sci-fi communist mc cryptids weird science (science fantasy) plan quest fate of the future mechanic there is no golden ending what matters is what you can live with in the end you can't save everyone
A House Visit (Chellewalker) (Canonicity Pending)
chellewalker
President of the Water Seeker Fan Club
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A House Visit
In a dimly lit office of a smog-filled night, Carol lounged against an ornate oak desk as she took in the view of the streets below. She nursed a cooling cup of coffee in her hand, her personal blend long settled within the dark brew. With only a small lamb illuminating her surroundings in a soft glow, the middle-aged woman set aside the mug and idly eyed over the strewn contents of the disheveled workspace.
Barely sparing a glace at the spreadsheets of sales figures, Carol's bored gaze instead falls on a folded newspaper, one of a dozen rags competing for the attention of Atlanta's well-to-do. The headline was little surprise; not even the recent breakthrough of troops in Asia had drawn attention away from the Louisiana attacks, no matter how many bureaucrats kept yelling about it. She doubted this rag had anything to say she hadn't heard already, but little else was there to hold Carol's attention, so a quick flip opened the paper had her skimming through the sensational drivel.
Yes… just as she'd expected: several long-winded rants of the insanity and pearl-clutching about the police coming under fire (both literal and morally, though Carol doubted the pun was intentional), a handful of dog-whistles blaming the strikers for the build up to it all, and a rather odd tangent about… oh, right. Tibodeux's 'death districts' were still being pushed by the Patriot Party, as though that would have changed anything during the attacks. Curiously, there wasn't any mention of the Pinkertons in this particular rag; Carol supposed they'd used all the space to fit in more cop apologia.
What was particularly drawing her ire however… "'These brutal attacks of terrorism on the brave men of the city show a clear lack of empathy and humanity by the indiscriminate actions of NEXT…,'" she read aloud in annoyance. "Because I suppose any group of idiots with a guns must be part of NEXT. Nevermind that-" Carol takes a moment to try and remember the name, "-RADICAL, right. Nevermind that RADICAL is nothing more than a bunch of copy-cats running around like they're the moral paragons; no, they're also insufferable snobs offended that the dissent we built and they used is rightly associated with us." She let out a huff and turned to the room's other occupant. "You're an expert on this kind of ungrateful theft, right? How would you feel if someone stole years of your life in so irksome a manner Mr. Dunkle?"
The twitching form of the soon-to-be former chem executive had no argument against her frustration; his soundless gasps doing nothing more than releasing dark puffs of smoke. Carol- no, Pyromania was rather curious to see if suffocation would do him in before the fire in his organs did. It hadn't happened when she'd done her testing on on rats, but human testing… wasn't really possible even with NEXT's resources. But if she needed to kill Dr. Dunkle, then why wouldn't she do a bit of field-testing? His dying throes were already proving to be quite informative.
The idea had come to her months ago when mulling over the reactions of chems in the bloodstream. A rather niche chem had been developed as part of the Boost program that drew the oxygen out of blood. Carol had idly considered that with the lungs right there, you could potentially get enough airflow to ignite someone's organs from the inside-out! Of course, organs by themselves weren't especially flammable, so she'd had to work in an accelerant to keep the blaze going long enough for the fire to sustain itself, but that was a problem she could readily solve with a bit of effort.
There was even the unintended side-effect of keeping any victims from talking, as with their bodies forced into a kind of closed-airflow network, they lacked the air needed to call out for help.
Thank heavens that NEXT had snatched her up when they did. Carol doubted she would have been able to get it nearly as effective without a proper lab space, and she definitely wouldn't have been able to sneak it into Dunkle's coffee without her new Cloaker; now the man who'd stolen her life's work silently wheezed in pain as she felt a sense of catharsis she'd not felt in years.
Pyromania smiled at the dying man, turning back to hogwash she'd been reading with a hum. "RADICAL… I don't know if them also using an acronym made is easier for everyone to conflate them with us, but I do wonder what it stands for…" She paused to wave away a cloud of smoke near her face; Dunkle was started to prove an impolite host with all that smoking. "What they said about the strikers during the attacks could make them honest-to-goodness communist, which could be the 'C,' but that word's been so tainted I don't know if even communists would call themselves communists now." Dr. Dunkle convulsed in agreement, his shaking moving his head in what Pyromania interpreted as a nod. "Hmm… they most definitely made the acronym and worked their way backwards I would think."
The smoldering body went still at that, and Pyromania gave the body a quick look-over. "Mr. Dunkle? Are you quite done with your tantrums?" The corpse didn't respond.
A nudge with her foot had the corpse similarly unresponsive, leaving Pyromania finally satisfied with the man's death. A look to the clock on the wall gave the time, and a bit of quick math from when she'd heard him hit the ground gave her a rough estimate in the timeline of her concoction. "A little longer than I expected," she commented to the corpse in reproach, as it was his fault that he'd taken so long to die.
"I supposed the rats' organs being closer together made it all burn faster." She mused aloud. Already her mind considered adjustments to the formula; a higher ratio of accelerant to blood de-oxidizer perhaps? It was important to stay "on-theme" in NEXT, and while fire-breathing wasn't really potent enough for her tastes (and her attempts had just awful after-tastes), she also didn't want to have to wait so long for a man to burn to death, even if it had been much more therapeutic then she'd expected.
Smoke was starting to rise from Mr. Dunkle's face much more consistently now (she didn't think his struggles had slowed down the fire in any meaningful way, but that might be something else to test in the future), so the neighbors would probably start to notice something was wrong in… oh, ten or so minutes? Best she take care of any last loose ends then. Most of the executive's paperwork was right next to the coming source of the fire (she'd struck when she had because he'd always left the safe readily unlocked while he worked), so it was well positioned to be the first to burn. Other than that…
The bookshelves were irrelevant; she doubted any of its contents ever been read and only served as décor. The house was empty aside from the two of- well, just her now- so no loose ends there. So just one other room really mattered.
A jaunty hum filled Pyromania's throat as she sauntered into the connected bedroom; she doubted Mr. Dunkle kept anything important there, but it was a matter of minutes to turn all his drawers out on the floor. Confusing the line of inheritance would be a nice bonus on top of Mr. Dunkle's death in general, and he was the kind of paranoid old man to keep those documents at home. A glance back into the office showed Pyromania that the fire had finally jumped from the corpse to the paperwork, so it was finally time to make her exit.
Most agents opted for a hoverbike to have a flashy chase with the cops, but those always felt like vanity actions of adrenaline junkers, and Pyromania was content with a much more subdued escape. Passing through the halls, she stopped at a mirror to take in the costume that made her Pyromania. A simple red bodysuit with a utility belt full of chems, her Cloaker pained to match, and a domino mask hiding her face. The iconography of white fire as always drew her eye, and with a quick smirk, she moved on to the heavy oaken door of the entrance hall.
Timing was everything, something true when she was nothing more than a dime-a-dozen chemist, and even moreso as an agent of NEXT. Pushing open the doors into the street, she smiled as the neighbors first nervously, and then fearfully, looked out at her uncaring form. And, seemingly without a care in the world, she walked away with impunity. The cops were minutes away, and she'd be long gone by then.
Strolling out of the building without a care in the world, Pyromania vanished in the night to the sound of fire sirens rushing to a dead man's grave.
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Censor (Waith) (Canonicity Pending)
Censor
CW: Homophobia, References to racially motivated violence
...
...
...
ABC PUBLIC BROADCAST SCHEDULE
09/13/2074
12:00 - 13:00: Green Hour: Gardening in the Bayou
"So Carol, you're telling me that this small aquaculture plot is capable of feeding a whole family of four?"
"That's right George! And with DoP approved GigaGro Formula you'll be able to whip up a three course meal in a measly fortnight."
"Well folks just goes to show that rationing is not excuse for letting your family go hungry"
"That's right George! And with DoP approved GigaGro Formula you'll be able to whip up a three course meal in a measly fortnight."
"Well folks just goes to show that rationing is not excuse for letting your family go hungry"
13:00 - 13:30: Ancient Civilizations with Roger West
"The pre-Columbian structures present here at the Cahokia Mounds and at Poverty Point down in Louisiana is clear evidence that an ancient race of white mound-builders must have crossed over from Europe to North America at some point in the distant past…"
13:30 - 14:30: In the Hot Seat: Bishop Vs. Clarke
"What you and the whole so-called 'Liberty' Party don't seem to understand, Mr Clarke, is that the entire edifice of corporate America is riddled with socialist sympathisers and covert communists! Let's take Edwin House for exam-"
"You keep Edwin House out of your godforsaken collectivist mouth! He's done more for this country than you 'patriots' ever have. The Free Market has always - and will always - be the safeguard of American Freedom, your party's collusion with big government is gonna strangle the lifeblood out of our nation"
"Oh sure, sure. I'll tell you what, Clancy McCoy is the best thing to ever happen to this country and I'd actually quite like to see how you'd do on one of her TAPPs"
[The audio grows chaotic as Mr Clarke strikes Mr Bishop with his shoe.]
"You keep Edwin House out of your godforsaken collectivist mouth! He's done more for this country than you 'patriots' ever have. The Free Market has always - and will always - be the safeguard of American Freedom, your party's collusion with big government is gonna strangle the lifeblood out of our nation"
"Oh sure, sure. I'll tell you what, Clancy McCoy is the best thing to ever happen to this country and I'd actually quite like to see how you'd do on one of her TAPPs"
[The audio grows chaotic as Mr Clarke strikes Mr Bishop with his shoe.]
Snip, cut, replace, re-edit, insert, remove.
Reggie Porter enjoyed his job. There was a simplistic joy to a censor, leaning over his computer terminal he was able to re-shape the world; war heroes were born, deviants were replaced and stories were fixed. He had never been much of the creative type himself and those that were bugged him, so many reds, so many gluttons and hedonists, no room for simple Christian men like himself. The work he did was above all that, he polished the copper that Hollywood pumped out until it shined like silver.
He didn't feel bad saying that he was good at it, he always had a knack for telling who had skeletons in their closet. Take this Clarke guy for example, seemingly the spokesperson of good American Libertarian values right? Wrong, for the past two months he'd been having midnight liaisons with the young man who worked as his personal secretary. Reggie never understood how he knew but he did, the suits at work learnt after a while that it was best just to let him get on with his work, he hadn't been proven wrong once.
A dull headache pounded behind Reggie's eyes.
He grabbed the bottle of pills that Dr Mercer had given him and poured out two small white capsules that glittered in the green light of his monitor. The doctor had told him that this was a new formula, one that aimed at getting directly to the root of Reggie's headache problems. Reggie threw the acrid-tasting pills to the back of his throat and drowned them down his gullet with a swig of water; he prayed that they'd do their work fast.
He'd dealt with chronic headaches his whole life but it had only started to get worse recently. He'd even had to request leave from the office and that he be allowed to do his work from home. The flickering green hue of his computer was the only thing lighting his grimy apartment, he'd had to close the blinds for the pain that the sun's bright light was beginning to cause.
Reggie exhaled and let the noose about his brain pass, he had to get back to work.
14:30 - 15:30: News Hour
"Reports from the Shanghi Front that the US military will soon be within striking distance of Beijing, of course the Red Menace has not gone quietly. I warn anyone with children in the room or of a nervous disposition to change the channel"
"What you can see here are images of innocent villagers who have been cruelly massacred by retreating Chinese forces. We have an interview with Captain Callaghan whose company was only minutes late to prevent the massacre…"
"What you can see here are images of innocent villagers who have been cruelly massacred by retreating Chinese forces. We have an interview with Captain Callaghan whose company was only minutes late to prevent the massacre…"
15:30 - 16:00: A Sermon from Reverend Greene
"Study not the abomination - The Book of Deuteronomy"
"The lord said this to the Israelites so that they would not adopt the sorcerous practices of the Canaanite and so should we not live by these same teachings today when foreign temptations so threaten our shores? Chinese Communism, Irish Papery and European Homosexuality! We must close our minds off to such foul notions…"
"The lord said this to the Israelites so that they would not adopt the sorcerous practices of the Canaanite and so should we not live by these same teachings today when foreign temptations so threaten our shores? Chinese Communism, Irish Papery and European Homosexuality! We must close our minds off to such foul notions…"
16:00 - 17:00: New Alexandria Domestic Court: Porter Vs. Meyer divorce proceedings
"Reggie… I really think we should consider it."
"No."
"Reggie please, I love you I really do but I… Have you ever felt like you're walking forwards but you're not getting anywhere?"
"No I don't because I'm married to you and I love you Samantha."
"I'm sorry Reggie but if you don't sign this… We're gonna have to take it to court…"
"No."
"Reggie please, I love you I really do but I… Have you ever felt like you're walking forwards but you're not getting anywhere?"
"No I don't because I'm married to you and I love you Samantha."
"I'm sorry Reggie but if you don't sign this… We're gonna have to take it to court…"
Amputate, Isolate, Cauterise.
The drugs weren't helping. The headaches had gotten even worse since he'd taken the pills, less a dull throb now and more a viscous drilling that was carving through Reggie's frontal lobe. Still he worked, he worked and he knew things. He saw that Captain Callaghan standing over the charred corpses he'd made, he saw a wide eyed private break into tears over what he'd just done, he saw Callaghan place a barrel against the back of the private's skull. There was the Reverend too, the reverend knew where the bodies were buried, the reverend knew the tree where the parish took their sinners, those sinners whose sins were no deeper than the colour of their skin. There was also the other thing, Reggie didn't want to think about the other thing.
Reggie grabbed the bottle of pills and poured out 5 little white beads into his open palm, they glistened like maggots do when writhing in dirt. He sent them to acidic depths of his stomach with another swig of water. He was sweating now, his clothes were drenched in it, he desperately wanted to go and get a shower but he had work to be doing… oh so much work, so many nagging little secrets that wormed their way into his head.
That was the real beauty of his job, of the censor. He was a fly pushed up against the windscreen of the world, the barometer of national cruelty; he got to see it all as it was, he was the subject-in-the-know.
His computer screen flared its horrid green light. Static began to sound like a clarion call in the back of his skull.
He was starting to see it all now.
17:30 - 18:00: Project CASSANDRA reaches it's final stages
"He's starting to go boss."
"I can see that… Just give him a few more minutes, let's see how far along we can get him."
"Boss the stuff Mercer gave him is no joke, the military managed to lift it from some of the DoP's OMEGA-level facilities. Y'know, the ones that aren't meant to exist."
"Fine, it's time to muffle our little songbird."
18:00 - 23:59: Evacuation orders are sent out
"Mr President It's time, we've got transport ready to deliver you to Enclave One."
"Yes of course… They pushed me to this y'know, the Chinese, NEXT, RADICAL. If they'd been content to fight an honest goddamn war then we'd all be fine but no they had to go and play like spoilsports."
"Of course Sir."
"I never wanted to do it, never thought it'd be me but there comes a time y'know where a man has to… a man has to test his mettle and I never cracked god damn it! Never wavered once!"
"Of course Sir."
"It'll be good ultimately, the scientist boys were telling me all about resource shortages and overpopulation and whatnot… There was never gonna be any easy way out of this. It'll be better when it's all said and done. We'll make it better."
"Of course Sir."
23:59 - 00:00: Reginald Porter is vaporised in a thermonuclear war."Yes of course… They pushed me to this y'know, the Chinese, NEXT, RADICAL. If they'd been content to fight an honest goddamn war then we'd all be fine but no they had to go and play like spoilsports."
"Of course Sir."
"I never wanted to do it, never thought it'd be me but there comes a time y'know where a man has to… a man has to test his mettle and I never cracked god damn it! Never wavered once!"
"Of course Sir."
"It'll be good ultimately, the scientist boys were telling me all about resource shortages and overpopulation and whatnot… There was never gonna be any easy way out of this. It'll be better when it's all said and done. We'll make it better."
"Of course Sir."
"..."
Reggie had long since fallen to the floor of his apartment and curled up into a ball.
He had shut his eyes so hard that tears were beginning to accumulate at their corners, he held his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to stop the static that screamed to be heard. He wouldn't listen, not anymore, he couldn't.
He reached out and grasped the bottle of pills off the desk, he reached in to to find something, anything that would end the nightmare. It was empty. It had been empty for an hour now, all 23 pills had been sent to Reggie's gut and were now flowing through his veins in their purest chemical form.
An outline emerged from the static wastes. Reggie felt a needle inject a cool sharp liquid into his neck. The static faded, the pounding in his skull subsided. Reggie looked up to see a tall, lithe man in a grey suit with a red, white and blue pin on his lapel.
"You… You did this to me... What were they... All those horrible things." Reggie stuttered
The grey man smiled. "That's our future kiddo."
Reggie felt a cold chill settle across his body. "N-no please... anything but that."
The suit knelt beside Reggie and patted him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up now champ. You're gonna be a superhero."
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- Location
- Nice try
I kinda want to see a Enclave meeting, the Masters of America, about the situation. The population is hardly loyal to the goverment and all this chaos must have making them feeling more rebellious.
Not only that but by know they must have suspicion towards the DoP since this chaos started ever since a new director was appointed and Louisiana also started to get chaotic and oddly enough another recenly employee of the DoP was in the area.
I would wrote one but I am no writer so I am hopping to someone to pick up on the idea.
Not only that but by know they must have suspicion towards the DoP since this chaos started ever since a new director was appointed and Louisiana also started to get chaotic and oddly enough another recenly employee of the DoP was in the area.
I would wrote one but I am no writer so I am hopping to someone to pick up on the idea.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
It hasn't really been as recent as you think: it's probably hard to remember due to the format, but it's been around two years since the quest started in-universe. The same principle applies to Clancy- by the time she actually created NEXT, I want to say that around two years had passed since she was hired?
Like each turn takes a span of months: recent is already kind of relative, but anything further back than four turns I'm very comfortable as labelling 'not recent' for most purposes.
- Location
- Nice try
I guess the DoP could be a agency under suspicion by default since is one of the few federal agencies that is not directly under Enclave control.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
I mean the DoP is always under suspicion, but ignoring that I'm going to be frank your understanding of the Enclave is off. They aren't the illuminati deep state shadow government with a finger in every pie: they're a collection of individuals mostly placed in the executive branch from what we see in canon, which yes does provide the organization with an immense amount of political influence, but it's in the form of...Well, having the president and other high ranking executives in their membership, not direct puppet mastery over the entire federal government and its institutions. Most- though not all- federal organizations aren't under their direct control: the FBI, IRS, EPA, etc. The DoP isn't really special there.
Edit: Like if anything I think I can list off more corporate organizations in canon led by or working with the Enclave than government ones.
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The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
Good news, boils and ghouls, the update is finally done! It's just the hospital section, but it's right now on my patreon. Like usual it'll be a few days before it goes public- I need to edit it still, but if you want to see it a little early in a slightly rougher version, all it costs is one dollary doo.
(With that in mind, shout out to my patrons, because genuinely I would not have been able to devote the time it took to write this if it wasn't for them supporting me. Ya'll rock!)
TEAM AMERICA ISSUE #1 Chapter Two: THE HORRORS OF MEGAMAX PRISON.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
[X] Plan: Shine a Light on Darkness
-[X] Secure the Perimeter
[X] ERROR
-[X] Explore Parliament
--[X] Sarah Pendleton, Armored Jeep
-[X] Explore Town Hall
--[X] Jetpacks, 1 Fusion Core
-[X] Explore Sydney Hospital
--[X] Mulley Skulder, Davian Phoebus, Advanced Field Lab
-[X] Explore Warded District
--[X] Wilbur Ashton, Military Power Armor, Basic Camping Gear
-[X] Explore Streets
--[X] Dr. Mashita, Jetpacks, 1 Fusion Core
-[X] Long Range Outbound Patrol
--[X] Captain Roger, Fusion Tank, Basic Camping Gear
=====
CONTENT WARNING: Towards the end you have characters express views that are essentially nazi apologia and pro-genocide rhetoric. Obviously, they're meant to be bad people and the narrative isn't endorsing their viewpoint, but still reader discretion is advised.
Warded District
The dust slowly settles as a squadron of soldiers entered the structure, pointing rifles as they scanned the area around them- a dark, silent, tomb-like corridor, it's prior decade long serenity now pierced by the soft green glow of the sky outside. "Structure is dark," One of the invading soldiers said. "Activate flashlights." Flipping a switch on their weapons, the group pierced the shadows, quickly establishing a perimeter.
"Seems clear," One of the men said after a time. "Please bring in the VIP."
A moment later, another power armored soldier passed through the hole they had cracked open, pushing a wheelchair holding a certain geriatric currently adorned in an envirosuit- with them, trailing behind, similarly adorned to Wilbur was Edgar, his eyes currently glued to his pip-buddy.
"Radiation is lower here," Edgar noted, voice clipped, lowering his arm, expression obscured by the opaque faceplate of the eco-ranger armor. "Guess enough layers of concrete and you CAN block radiation that heavy," He mused with curiosity.
"That or the Aussies cracked something close to Duracrete before they went up," Wilbur noted, which Edgar acknowledged- he'd need to analyze a chunk of rubble later. "Either way, that hole is going to keep leaking radiation as long as it's open: I want it patched with a hatch as soon as possible." He said, struggling to lift his arm a bit to press the button on his chair that patched him into comms.
"Yes sir," One of the members of the team assigned to this project responded over comms, voice tinny. Edgar meanwhile continued to look on his device, fiddling with it's many peripherals- analyzing the data his various sensors were spitting back at him.
"Alright, we seem to be in what appears to be a maintenance shaft for the structure," He theorized as, on the outside of the hole they came through, the field engineers they had brought began laying down Duracrete. Walking to the wall, Edgar rapped his knuckles on it, noting that it was considerably thinner- and according to his sensors, there was an air-gap.
"I'm picking up what I'm pretty sure is either an inactive duct or an escape tunnel dug by directionless dwarves going lengthwise through the far wall. Might be what this tunnel is meant to help maintain. Everyone form up, both squads. Squad A, you'll be heading east: stay in contact over the radio, and I want non-lethal force employed against all hostiles unless the situation seems to be a complete disaster- we can only learn so much from a corpse. Team B, you, me, and Wilbur will be going west- same protocols. I want updates every fifteen minutes- sooner if you find anything notable."
A series of salutes. "Sir yes sir," several of the soldiers replied in unison, and Wilbur could tell Edgar's ever present scowl was deepening. Ashton mused silently he was likely in his worst imagined environment- commanding people he'd much rather shoot. Moments after the reply, both squads had separated, splitting into two groups- one marching one way, their group another. There were seven total in Squad B: two in front to prevent someone from shooting Wilbur by blocking line of sight, two behind to serve the same purpose, two flanking, and the one pushing a wheelchair.
Traversing the tunnel took about twenty minutes- both ways. Eventually, the group found a door on the northern wall, one that had long since rusted to unuseability, the hall going further. "Hmm. Alright, someone see if we can get a few eyebots here from the ship- the radiation level should allow them to operate as intended," Edgar said over radio. "We've come to a door in the middle of the tunnel: looks like it leads further in. How are things down there?"
"We've found a set of staircases: they seem to go upward into the structures exterior," Came the response over radio, voice scratchy and hard to make out. "No doors, though: I'm setting a marker and continuing, over."
…
Past the hatch was a decontamination unit- nonfunctional. One armed with a functional turret: another mounted motion activated one, a crude approximation of computerized autoturrets. In a narrow hallway, it was considerably more effective…
[Required: Military Power Armor]
In that the powered armored soldier who approached it had no room to manuever and was forced to walk through the storm of bulletfire, each one plinking and banking against his armor, scratching up its green paint as he approached the turret. The barrage only ended when the soldier reached up and grasped the barrel, crushing it, causing the thing to jam, part of its back end exploding. "Clear. Damage is cosmetic," The man in the suit said. "Proceeding to break door."
The rest of the team followed as the soldier lifted his super sledge and brought it down on the door with a resounding crack, causing the wall around it to crack and part of it go flying with the still bolted on bulkhead, the whole thing landing with a thud in a room that was, against all odds, still powered, flickering lights going on and off.
Stepping onto the white tiles, the soldiers shined their flashlights in all direction: beige walls. Beds with loose hanging leather straps and metal bindings, separated by ragged, long faded curtains: some of them with IV stands and vital monitors next to them. "Hmm. Good work sonny," Wilbur commented as he looked at the remains of the door- the concrete was about an inch thick.
"It's not as impressive as it seems," The soldier admitted, shrugging. "This suit is basically a walking tank: back in Alaska, I saw a couple guys survive getting hit with a mortar once with these things on." He hefted his hammer with one hand, flexing with the other. "The strength servos are pretty good too-" They noted. "You need to be physically fit to use the armor, but otherwise, it does pretty much all the work."
"Mmm, well, even if it's all the suit, I must admit, it's a very nice suit," Wilbur commented as the rest of the team fanned out.
"Oh yeah- when they get ready to roll these out, it's going to be a game changer," The soldier commented with excitement in their voice, flexing their arm for emphasis. "Units still have some bugs- they sometimes lock up for a bit if you make sudden moves sometimes- but compared to the T-45's it's still a quantum leap."
"Wonderful," Edgar hissed bitterly, opening a filing cabinet, rapidly rifling through manilla folder after manilla folder, rapidly memorizing the contents of dozens of files, a number of which appeared to be what looked like research conducted on Centralia Zombies. Had they been researching a treatment for it? No, no, that didn't feel right. "That'll really help our boys in the fight. Edgar to team: we seem to have found an infirmary. How are things out there?"
"We're — dealing with — have switched to night vision." Came Team A's voice over the radio, barely audible, occasionally cutting out- odd, there shouldn't be anything disrupting short-range radio now that they were out of the cloud. "Seems to be — block. We've found —" A horrible screech came out over the radio, causing every member of the squad to wince at the harsh noise, sounding harsh and mechanical, almost like microphone feedback, a horrid keening noise that lasted 13 seconds and managed to peak the audio. "--Don't know what — was."
"Neither do we," Edgar said dryly as he perused the patient files. "I'm having trouble hearing you- you keep cutting out. Can you hear me?"
"Yes —."
"Okay. Try to describe your surroundings," Edgar said, quickly realizing that less than a twentieth of the patients were labeled as caucasian- with an additional label attached: DEGENERATE, with no additional details added. The man shivered, each piece of the puzzle being more and more alarming.
"-- beds, toilets, a few —. — appears to be divided — cells, — and— — each space: several monoturrets seem to be securing corridors between spaces."
"...Soldier, that sounds a lot like the inside of a prison," Edgar noted.
"Sir, I'm not — — lie, it does — like the inside of a prison," The A Team member responded. Edgar grunted, and Wilbur frowned. Well, that did about make sense: the thing that looked from the outside like a giant prison was in fact a prison. "Structure — several — tall- at — three floors — more-"
There was a brief moment of silence as Edgar tried to puzzle out what he was reading. They appeared to be testing logs for anti-radiation medication- ones that seemed to have been conducted entirely on humans. "Christ on a bike," He muttered, feeling a little ill as the puzzle pieces came together. "This isn't an infirmary, it's a goddamn laboratory."
"This is Pvt. Parker, I have movement!" Came a voice on the radio to thankfully distract him from the revelation, a fellow member of B Team. The rest of the team carrying rifles raised them, Edgar setting down the file for now, intent on returning to it later before moving in the direction of the Sgt, who was some distance down- a dead end according to Edgar's sonar that the sergeant was guarding, plasma rifle. "Sir," He said as Edgar approached. "Think there's something here-" Parker gestured down the hall. "Got em cornered though." Nothing was coming up on sensors or VATS- was it malfunctioning?
"Good work," Edgar said gruffly, gesturing at two of the other soldiers. "You two, take point, advance slowly- remember, tranquilizers first if it's alive." The pair saluted, quickly marching into position, moving at a measured pace. Edgar fell in behind them, making sure to keep his guard up.
It didn't take them long to spot what Parker had spotted, huddled under a light, making a soft sobbing noise. Edgar blinked. Was that…a kid? He raised a hand, causing the soldiers that accompanied him to stop, readying their tranq rifles just in case. Above them, the bulb kept flickering, on and off.
Edgar stepped forward, keeping a hand on the tranq pistol on his suits holster, making sure to make no sudden moves. "Hello - Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you," He said calmly as he approached closer and closer. "My name is Edgar Wright."
The sobbing figure made no response: they seemed to be garbed in a white hospital gown, with long, unkempt black hair. "Hello? Can you understand what I'm saying?" Edgar said, concerned, repeating the phrase in several languages quickly as he got closer, until he was standing under the same flickering hall light.
The kneeling figure finally rose, revealing themselves to be fully adult in height- merely emaciated and starved looking, hospital gown ill fitting on their bony physique. With a sick sounding snap, the figure was now looking at them, head facing backward, face obscured by the length of their wild, greasy looking mane of hair.
Edgars mouth was nearly on the floor, shock and confusion racing through him even as he took a single step backwards. The figure tilted their head, causing another wet, crunchy snapping noise- then the lights flickered for less than half a second.
And then it was right in front of him, inches away from his face, glaring at him, eyes only barely visible- bloodshot, jaundiced, and nearly bulging. Edgar reacted instinctively- bringing up his tranq pistol and firing it point blank.
The light went off. The light came back on again. The figure was gone. The tranq dart was in the wall, needle sticking out of the tacky wallpaper.
[Required: Weirdologist]
"What in the goddamn?" Edgar said, spooked, feeling a sudden shooting headache as he attempted, one after another, to throw together theories to explain what the hell he had just witnessed.
"Holy fuckin' shit, this place is haunted," Parker whispered, terror in his voice, taking a step back. "We- we all saw that, right? That girl was there, and then-"
"I saw it, too, yeah," One of the other soldiers with them responded, sounding rattled. "Sir, I don't think our tranquilizers are going to work."
"...Right. We're regrouping with Wilbur- from now on, if we see movement, confirm it on sensors," Edgar declared, unable to develop any sort of theory from what information he currently had available.
_____
Meanwhile, Wilbur and his escort were currently in what appeared to be an office complex- they had followed some signs on the wall that had pointed to something called processing that seemed to be a few halls away from the medical lab. Filing cabinets three to four stories high served as walls- between each were what appeared to be ladders, clinging to which were robots- simian machines with wide-round eyes containing long burned out bulbs and stiff, short limbs that had long since rusted to non-functionality.
"Get me a few of those robots- our science team is going to want to take a look," Wilbur ordered, causing one of his escorts to sigh, walking to the ladder, gripping it and beginning to climb, ascending the bars to collect one of them as the rest of the group continued on, passing by numerous desks with unpowered terminals arranged the filing cabinets- eventually, they found a desk with a functional computer. "That, there- let's see what we can find out." He said, gesturing, his escort pushing his chair up to the desk, allowing the octogenarian to begin fiddling with it.
It was definitely older technology- the screen was a blue cathode ray tube monitor. An ACTUAL cathode ray tube monitor, not a micro-tube one. Wilbur even vaguely recognized the operating system: JenOS, a format that had already been obsolete in american markets when he had been a child the early 2000's.
Locked- Wilbur frowned. Well. The good news was, they weren't going anywhere- with the camp being set up they had plenty of time to try and bypass the machine. The bad news was, Wilbur had no idea how to hack the operating system, which was horrifically incompatible with their own technology to boot. Looking over the desk, he noticed a brass plaque, rusted to almost illegibility- almost. Squinting, Wilbur leaned forward- a number, he was pretty sure, with what looked like a name underneath it- Dr. Harriet Cain. Well. It was worth a shot, he supposed.
From what he had dug up, most people who used computers were generally fairly lax when it came to personal security- it was one of the reasons that Clancy's little outfit of hucksters in Chicago had had so much success with their virus attack that had been in the news a few years ago.
Deciding that he didn't have much better to do until Edgar rendevouz with him again, Wilbur tried a few variations of the name and number- going off his gut. Halfway through, he heard communication on his radio- the machine beeping to indicate it was a private line. "Midnight to Radioman," Edgar said, voice coming out distorted over the speakers inside Eco-Ranger armor Wilbur had been forced to wear for his protection. "I've just encountered a- I don't know how to describe it in rational terms other than some sort of shared hallucination or unidentified psychic phenomenon."
"Describe it in irrational terms," Wilbur replied as he continued to type away at the display, struggling to figure out how to operate its controls, the memory having faded decades ago, and deciding to take a gamble on Edgars gut- and uncanny intuition.
"I think I just encountered a goddamn ghost," Mr. Midnight admitted. "All of us saw them, but none of our sensors picked them up. It was right in front of me, but nothing picked it up except for visual."
"Then you encountered a ghost," Wilbur responded evenly, mulling the knowledge over in their mind like wine. "This is a place of death, Midnight: we can both feel it in our bones. Something terrible happened here."
He left it ambiguous what he meant by here- he knew Edgar knew what he was referring to. "...Maybe. That just feels too unscientific," Edgar admitted, discomfort in their voice.
"The world is full of strange and inexplicable things. There are more things between heaven and earth than dreamt in your philosophies, Horatio." A ways away, he heard a crashing noise- a soldier trying to pry an inactive robo-monkey free, only to fall off the walls. Edgar was silent- discomfortable quiet reigned. "Describe them, the ghost." In all honesty, Wilbur didn't believe in ghosts either- it was too convenient, in his opinion. An uncomfortable answer to the question of what happens after death, but perhaps more tolerable than the probable reality: probably nothingness. But Wilbur wasn't hubristic enough to pretend there were things beyond the scope of his experience.
"I only got a brief look," Edgar admitted, causing Wilbur to roll his eyes- brief look says the man with a photographic memory and near psychic intuition. "But they were extremely skinny- starved looking, badly. They were wearing what looked like a hospital gown- kind of a grey-white color. Hair was extremely long- greasy, too, covered their face. Dunno if that meant they were a woman- their nails looked pretty grimy, I think the hair could have just been terrible hygiene."
Wilbur clicked. That sounded familiar- he remembered reading a book with his son, Ghosts of the Orient. Harry had been…eleven? Thirteen?
Young. His son had been young, and had been going through a supernatural phase- he had stayed up all night to watch horror films hosted by such luminaries as Dr. Van Der Ghoul or Devilyn, Lady of Shadows, purchased every single horror comic he had found, and read spooky stories with his father.
The book had been written by…someone. It had been so long ago, and Wilburs memory was failing enough that the man struggled to remember it- other than the fact that he was sure there had been a story featuring that particular kind of ghost.
Wilbur sighed, mind drifting without meaning to to other, similar memories- the time he had rented a theater for Harry's birthday that year, giving his son and the entire town a marathon of Harry's favorite films, for instance. Happier times. Better times. And increasingly far away- how long until they were gone entirely? Would he be dead in the ground by then, or would he manage to cling to life until his mind and memories faded into nothingness.
Either way, the end result was oblivion.
"It could be the radiation," He eventually mumbled out, just as he finally entered a combination that worked, the thick glass of the screen showing several available commands: some of them file folders presumably (or whatever the blasted term was) with documents. Others appeared to activate various functions-
[Event Trigger: Old]
Wilburs shaking fingers pressed the wrong button, accidentally activating a command. "Oops," He said, causing a loud humming noise as more lights began to come online.
"Edgar to Ashton, I'm seeing a lot of activity- anything happening in your area?"
Wilbur looked at what he had just activated, frowning. "I might have made a bit of a boner," He admitted. "I hit the wrong button and activated something called…Clean Sweep.POG?" He observed.
"...I'm getting the feeling that's not a janitor function."
The speakers on the wall crackled to life. "Activating Clean Sweep Protocol- Performing Genetic Scan on area," Came a slow, distorted voice over the tinny sounding machines. "Please stand by for ERROR: UNTAGGED PARTISANS DETECTED. ACTIVATING SECURITY!"
In the distance, a large alarm sounded- and moments later, Wilbur heard another crash, followed by screaming- the soldier who had been trying to remove an inactive robomonkey was now covered in dozens of the simians, the creatures trying to tear the unfortunate man apart-
[Required: Military Power Armor]
Only for several of them to be violently flung off of him, several others grabbed and tossed away by his fellow soldiers, who helped the fallen trooper up, even as the other two began to fire their plasma weapons at the mass of robomonkeys emerging from the vents all along the roof, the mechanical creatures ringing like fire alarm bells as they lept at the soldiers. "We're under attack, repeat, we're under attack! All units, protect the VIPs!"
"Ooo rah!"
_______________
ZAP!
BONK!
ZEEP!
CRACK!
SMASH!
________________________
"Well,I gotta say, that was incredibly stupid," Edgar said, reunited with Wilbur, having marched through swarms of robo-monkeys, the elderly man having stumbled on the shut down command after numerous minutes of trying. The soldiers were all on alert, lest more attack robots swarmed them. The horde of machines were strewn across the room, reduced to so much ash and scrap- only a handful of intact machines. Right now, Edgar was kneeling, arm deep in junk. "Glad nobody got hurt," He mumbled unconvincingly as he messed with the guts of an intact robomonkey.
"Educational, though," Wilbur noted, to which one of the soldiers snorted, only to freeze when he realized the microphone in his power armor picked it up. "Would you mind informing me about what I said that's so funny, young man?" He said dryly, noting the man to be the same who had knocked down the door earlier.
"Sorry sir," The man choked, realizing he had made a gaffe. "I didn't mean any disrespect- it's just, uh- Well, we all saw the banners coming in: we've all read a history book, we know what that image means: the goddamn nazis. What does this really tell us that we didn't already know?"
"Beyond the fact they apparently had pretty decent genetic scanning technology?" Edgar noted dryly, pulling out the bead shaped ocular unit of one of the robots, wire arcing a tiny amount of electricity as he looked it over. "And decently sophisticated robots- these things would have been pretty revolutionary back in the day," He observed. "Too bad they were goddamn nazis who apparently used the technology to help guard a goddamn internment complex."
"...Who, uh. Who do you think they…" One of the soldiers said, clearing their throat.
"I saw their testing logs. Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," Edgar observed darkly. "Edgar to A Team, come in A Team." Silence. Sighing, Edgar repeated the call.
"Jews, probably. You don't put up a swastika if you aren't killing jews," One of the soldiers currently stationed on guard observed, maintaining a vigilance. "Fucking bastards," The soldier spat, disgust in their voice.
"I'm sensing a personal distaste in that tone," Wilbur observed, returning to the computer.
"Family came to America to get away from that fat fuck Adolph and his little reichenshits. Not everyone made it out," The man observed, shaking his head. "How anyone can support that kinda crap…"
"Well, I mean…" Parker said from his position, trailing off, causing the other man to whip around as fast as power armor would let him, Edgar continuing trying to raise A Team, still in the guts of the robomonkey.
"The fuck, Parker?!" The man said, causing the other man to hold his hands up defensively, rifle pointing to the sky.
"Whoa, whoa, I'm not saying they weren't bad people, Chester, I'm just saying- It ain't all that different from what we're doing to the gooks with places like Little Yangtze," Parker pointed out, and Wilbur saw Edgar still. "They were right that some types just aren't fit to live- they just picked the wrong types."
"Christ, Parker, what is wrong with you? What kinda person thinks 'Gee shucks, the nazis sure had a point'?" Chester said, angrier and angrier, while the soldier with the super sledge stayed silent and facing away, doing their best to ignore the conversation.
"I mean, he isn't wrong about it being the same as Little Yangtze," One soldier, still trying to climb the ladders pointed out, before one of the thin metal bars snapped under his weight, causing him to fall on his ass. "Goddamnit!" They cried.
"Ain't the same. Killing chinks ain't murder cause they aren't people," Another retorted, voice clipped, terse.
"Would all of you PLEASE shut up," Edgar said, voice acid, causing the soldiers to go silent, shocked by the sudden hostility of their leader, causing Wilbur to tap his fingers- or at least move the correlating muscles. Not good- he was starting to get a handle on Edgar's moods- that tone indicated he was nearing blowing his top. Wilbur discretely activated the private communicator.
"Radioman to Midnight-"
"I'm fine," Edgar spat.
"You sound like you're five seconds from doing a second knightfall," Wilbur responded dryly. "Look, the anger is fine- just try and keep a lid on it during the day job."
"I said I'm FINE, Wilbur," Edgar said, a rumble in his voice, expression inscrutable but tone still filled with a cold fury. "This is, surprisingly, not my first rodeo. You don't live as long as I do while believing what I do without developing the ability to not explode next to a nazi. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to raise A team."
"No luck? What about the staging camp?" Wilbur asked, concerned, opting to let it lie for now- Edgars command had caused all the soldiers to shut up, so there was no need to keep discussion on sore topics.
"The airlock has been set up. Radiation intake has been minimal: we'll need to increase Rad-X dosages for everyone stationed here, but we're still within tolerances. Technically speaking we no longer need the suits." Edgar muttered. "We're probably going to need to start heading back soon-"
"B Team? B Team?" Came the radio, making Edgar pause. "This is A Team: are you there? I repeat, do you copy?"
"This is Dr. Wright, we copy," the Team America director muttered in response. "We weren't able to reach you for a moment- what's your status?"
"Well sir, we uh. We found where they disposed of the corpses."
Initial Results:
-[X] Secure the Perimeter
[X] ERROR
-[X] Explore Parliament
--[X] Sarah Pendleton, Armored Jeep
-[X] Explore Town Hall
--[X] Jetpacks, 1 Fusion Core
-[X] Explore Sydney Hospital
--[X] Mulley Skulder, Davian Phoebus, Advanced Field Lab
-[X] Explore Warded District
--[X] Wilbur Ashton, Military Power Armor, Basic Camping Gear
-[X] Explore Streets
--[X] Dr. Mashita, Jetpacks, 1 Fusion Core
-[X] Long Range Outbound Patrol
--[X] Captain Roger, Fusion Tank, Basic Camping Gear
=====
CONTENT WARNING: Towards the end you have characters express views that are essentially nazi apologia and pro-genocide rhetoric. Obviously, they're meant to be bad people and the narrative isn't endorsing their viewpoint, but still reader discretion is advised.
Warded District
The dust slowly settles as a squadron of soldiers entered the structure, pointing rifles as they scanned the area around them- a dark, silent, tomb-like corridor, it's prior decade long serenity now pierced by the soft green glow of the sky outside. "Structure is dark," One of the invading soldiers said. "Activate flashlights." Flipping a switch on their weapons, the group pierced the shadows, quickly establishing a perimeter.
"Seems clear," One of the men said after a time. "Please bring in the VIP."
A moment later, another power armored soldier passed through the hole they had cracked open, pushing a wheelchair holding a certain geriatric currently adorned in an envirosuit- with them, trailing behind, similarly adorned to Wilbur was Edgar, his eyes currently glued to his pip-buddy.
"Radiation is lower here," Edgar noted, voice clipped, lowering his arm, expression obscured by the opaque faceplate of the eco-ranger armor. "Guess enough layers of concrete and you CAN block radiation that heavy," He mused with curiosity.
"That or the Aussies cracked something close to Duracrete before they went up," Wilbur noted, which Edgar acknowledged- he'd need to analyze a chunk of rubble later. "Either way, that hole is going to keep leaking radiation as long as it's open: I want it patched with a hatch as soon as possible." He said, struggling to lift his arm a bit to press the button on his chair that patched him into comms.
"Yes sir," One of the members of the team assigned to this project responded over comms, voice tinny. Edgar meanwhile continued to look on his device, fiddling with it's many peripherals- analyzing the data his various sensors were spitting back at him.
"Alright, we seem to be in what appears to be a maintenance shaft for the structure," He theorized as, on the outside of the hole they came through, the field engineers they had brought began laying down Duracrete. Walking to the wall, Edgar rapped his knuckles on it, noting that it was considerably thinner- and according to his sensors, there was an air-gap.
"I'm picking up what I'm pretty sure is either an inactive duct or an escape tunnel dug by directionless dwarves going lengthwise through the far wall. Might be what this tunnel is meant to help maintain. Everyone form up, both squads. Squad A, you'll be heading east: stay in contact over the radio, and I want non-lethal force employed against all hostiles unless the situation seems to be a complete disaster- we can only learn so much from a corpse. Team B, you, me, and Wilbur will be going west- same protocols. I want updates every fifteen minutes- sooner if you find anything notable."
A series of salutes. "Sir yes sir," several of the soldiers replied in unison, and Wilbur could tell Edgar's ever present scowl was deepening. Ashton mused silently he was likely in his worst imagined environment- commanding people he'd much rather shoot. Moments after the reply, both squads had separated, splitting into two groups- one marching one way, their group another. There were seven total in Squad B: two in front to prevent someone from shooting Wilbur by blocking line of sight, two behind to serve the same purpose, two flanking, and the one pushing a wheelchair.
Traversing the tunnel took about twenty minutes- both ways. Eventually, the group found a door on the northern wall, one that had long since rusted to unuseability, the hall going further. "Hmm. Alright, someone see if we can get a few eyebots here from the ship- the radiation level should allow them to operate as intended," Edgar said over radio. "We've come to a door in the middle of the tunnel: looks like it leads further in. How are things down there?"
"We've found a set of staircases: they seem to go upward into the structures exterior," Came the response over radio, voice scratchy and hard to make out. "No doors, though: I'm setting a marker and continuing, over."
…
Past the hatch was a decontamination unit- nonfunctional. One armed with a functional turret: another mounted motion activated one, a crude approximation of computerized autoturrets. In a narrow hallway, it was considerably more effective…
[Required: Military Power Armor]
In that the powered armored soldier who approached it had no room to manuever and was forced to walk through the storm of bulletfire, each one plinking and banking against his armor, scratching up its green paint as he approached the turret. The barrage only ended when the soldier reached up and grasped the barrel, crushing it, causing the thing to jam, part of its back end exploding. "Clear. Damage is cosmetic," The man in the suit said. "Proceeding to break door."
The rest of the team followed as the soldier lifted his super sledge and brought it down on the door with a resounding crack, causing the wall around it to crack and part of it go flying with the still bolted on bulkhead, the whole thing landing with a thud in a room that was, against all odds, still powered, flickering lights going on and off.
Stepping onto the white tiles, the soldiers shined their flashlights in all direction: beige walls. Beds with loose hanging leather straps and metal bindings, separated by ragged, long faded curtains: some of them with IV stands and vital monitors next to them. "Hmm. Good work sonny," Wilbur commented as he looked at the remains of the door- the concrete was about an inch thick.
"It's not as impressive as it seems," The soldier admitted, shrugging. "This suit is basically a walking tank: back in Alaska, I saw a couple guys survive getting hit with a mortar once with these things on." He hefted his hammer with one hand, flexing with the other. "The strength servos are pretty good too-" They noted. "You need to be physically fit to use the armor, but otherwise, it does pretty much all the work."
"Mmm, well, even if it's all the suit, I must admit, it's a very nice suit," Wilbur commented as the rest of the team fanned out.
"Oh yeah- when they get ready to roll these out, it's going to be a game changer," The soldier commented with excitement in their voice, flexing their arm for emphasis. "Units still have some bugs- they sometimes lock up for a bit if you make sudden moves sometimes- but compared to the T-45's it's still a quantum leap."
"Wonderful," Edgar hissed bitterly, opening a filing cabinet, rapidly rifling through manilla folder after manilla folder, rapidly memorizing the contents of dozens of files, a number of which appeared to be what looked like research conducted on Centralia Zombies. Had they been researching a treatment for it? No, no, that didn't feel right. "That'll really help our boys in the fight. Edgar to team: we seem to have found an infirmary. How are things out there?"
"We're — dealing with — have switched to night vision." Came Team A's voice over the radio, barely audible, occasionally cutting out- odd, there shouldn't be anything disrupting short-range radio now that they were out of the cloud. "Seems to be — block. We've found —" A horrible screech came out over the radio, causing every member of the squad to wince at the harsh noise, sounding harsh and mechanical, almost like microphone feedback, a horrid keening noise that lasted 13 seconds and managed to peak the audio. "--Don't know what — was."
"Neither do we," Edgar said dryly as he perused the patient files. "I'm having trouble hearing you- you keep cutting out. Can you hear me?"
"Yes —."
"Okay. Try to describe your surroundings," Edgar said, quickly realizing that less than a twentieth of the patients were labeled as caucasian- with an additional label attached: DEGENERATE, with no additional details added. The man shivered, each piece of the puzzle being more and more alarming.
"-- beds, toilets, a few —. — appears to be divided — cells, — and— — each space: several monoturrets seem to be securing corridors between spaces."
"...Soldier, that sounds a lot like the inside of a prison," Edgar noted.
"Sir, I'm not — — lie, it does — like the inside of a prison," The A Team member responded. Edgar grunted, and Wilbur frowned. Well, that did about make sense: the thing that looked from the outside like a giant prison was in fact a prison. "Structure — several — tall- at — three floors — more-"
There was a brief moment of silence as Edgar tried to puzzle out what he was reading. They appeared to be testing logs for anti-radiation medication- ones that seemed to have been conducted entirely on humans. "Christ on a bike," He muttered, feeling a little ill as the puzzle pieces came together. "This isn't an infirmary, it's a goddamn laboratory."
"This is Pvt. Parker, I have movement!" Came a voice on the radio to thankfully distract him from the revelation, a fellow member of B Team. The rest of the team carrying rifles raised them, Edgar setting down the file for now, intent on returning to it later before moving in the direction of the Sgt, who was some distance down- a dead end according to Edgar's sonar that the sergeant was guarding, plasma rifle. "Sir," He said as Edgar approached. "Think there's something here-" Parker gestured down the hall. "Got em cornered though." Nothing was coming up on sensors or VATS- was it malfunctioning?
"Good work," Edgar said gruffly, gesturing at two of the other soldiers. "You two, take point, advance slowly- remember, tranquilizers first if it's alive." The pair saluted, quickly marching into position, moving at a measured pace. Edgar fell in behind them, making sure to keep his guard up.
It didn't take them long to spot what Parker had spotted, huddled under a light, making a soft sobbing noise. Edgar blinked. Was that…a kid? He raised a hand, causing the soldiers that accompanied him to stop, readying their tranq rifles just in case. Above them, the bulb kept flickering, on and off.
Edgar stepped forward, keeping a hand on the tranq pistol on his suits holster, making sure to make no sudden moves. "Hello - Don't worry, we're not going to hurt you," He said calmly as he approached closer and closer. "My name is Edgar Wright."
The sobbing figure made no response: they seemed to be garbed in a white hospital gown, with long, unkempt black hair. "Hello? Can you understand what I'm saying?" Edgar said, concerned, repeating the phrase in several languages quickly as he got closer, until he was standing under the same flickering hall light.
The kneeling figure finally rose, revealing themselves to be fully adult in height- merely emaciated and starved looking, hospital gown ill fitting on their bony physique. With a sick sounding snap, the figure was now looking at them, head facing backward, face obscured by the length of their wild, greasy looking mane of hair.
Edgars mouth was nearly on the floor, shock and confusion racing through him even as he took a single step backwards. The figure tilted their head, causing another wet, crunchy snapping noise- then the lights flickered for less than half a second.
And then it was right in front of him, inches away from his face, glaring at him, eyes only barely visible- bloodshot, jaundiced, and nearly bulging. Edgar reacted instinctively- bringing up his tranq pistol and firing it point blank.
The light went off. The light came back on again. The figure was gone. The tranq dart was in the wall, needle sticking out of the tacky wallpaper.
[Required: Weirdologist]
"What in the goddamn?" Edgar said, spooked, feeling a sudden shooting headache as he attempted, one after another, to throw together theories to explain what the hell he had just witnessed.
"Holy fuckin' shit, this place is haunted," Parker whispered, terror in his voice, taking a step back. "We- we all saw that, right? That girl was there, and then-"
"I saw it, too, yeah," One of the other soldiers with them responded, sounding rattled. "Sir, I don't think our tranquilizers are going to work."
"...Right. We're regrouping with Wilbur- from now on, if we see movement, confirm it on sensors," Edgar declared, unable to develop any sort of theory from what information he currently had available.
_____
Meanwhile, Wilbur and his escort were currently in what appeared to be an office complex- they had followed some signs on the wall that had pointed to something called processing that seemed to be a few halls away from the medical lab. Filing cabinets three to four stories high served as walls- between each were what appeared to be ladders, clinging to which were robots- simian machines with wide-round eyes containing long burned out bulbs and stiff, short limbs that had long since rusted to non-functionality.
"Get me a few of those robots- our science team is going to want to take a look," Wilbur ordered, causing one of his escorts to sigh, walking to the ladder, gripping it and beginning to climb, ascending the bars to collect one of them as the rest of the group continued on, passing by numerous desks with unpowered terminals arranged the filing cabinets- eventually, they found a desk with a functional computer. "That, there- let's see what we can find out." He said, gesturing, his escort pushing his chair up to the desk, allowing the octogenarian to begin fiddling with it.
It was definitely older technology- the screen was a blue cathode ray tube monitor. An ACTUAL cathode ray tube monitor, not a micro-tube one. Wilbur even vaguely recognized the operating system: JenOS, a format that had already been obsolete in american markets when he had been a child the early 2000's.
Locked- Wilbur frowned. Well. The good news was, they weren't going anywhere- with the camp being set up they had plenty of time to try and bypass the machine. The bad news was, Wilbur had no idea how to hack the operating system, which was horrifically incompatible with their own technology to boot. Looking over the desk, he noticed a brass plaque, rusted to almost illegibility- almost. Squinting, Wilbur leaned forward- a number, he was pretty sure, with what looked like a name underneath it- Dr. Harriet Cain. Well. It was worth a shot, he supposed.
From what he had dug up, most people who used computers were generally fairly lax when it came to personal security- it was one of the reasons that Clancy's little outfit of hucksters in Chicago had had so much success with their virus attack that had been in the news a few years ago.
Deciding that he didn't have much better to do until Edgar rendevouz with him again, Wilbur tried a few variations of the name and number- going off his gut. Halfway through, he heard communication on his radio- the machine beeping to indicate it was a private line. "Midnight to Radioman," Edgar said, voice coming out distorted over the speakers inside Eco-Ranger armor Wilbur had been forced to wear for his protection. "I've just encountered a- I don't know how to describe it in rational terms other than some sort of shared hallucination or unidentified psychic phenomenon."
"Describe it in irrational terms," Wilbur replied as he continued to type away at the display, struggling to figure out how to operate its controls, the memory having faded decades ago, and deciding to take a gamble on Edgars gut- and uncanny intuition.
"I think I just encountered a goddamn ghost," Mr. Midnight admitted. "All of us saw them, but none of our sensors picked them up. It was right in front of me, but nothing picked it up except for visual."
"Then you encountered a ghost," Wilbur responded evenly, mulling the knowledge over in their mind like wine. "This is a place of death, Midnight: we can both feel it in our bones. Something terrible happened here."
He left it ambiguous what he meant by here- he knew Edgar knew what he was referring to. "...Maybe. That just feels too unscientific," Edgar admitted, discomfort in their voice.
"The world is full of strange and inexplicable things. There are more things between heaven and earth than dreamt in your philosophies, Horatio." A ways away, he heard a crashing noise- a soldier trying to pry an inactive robo-monkey free, only to fall off the walls. Edgar was silent- discomfortable quiet reigned. "Describe them, the ghost." In all honesty, Wilbur didn't believe in ghosts either- it was too convenient, in his opinion. An uncomfortable answer to the question of what happens after death, but perhaps more tolerable than the probable reality: probably nothingness. But Wilbur wasn't hubristic enough to pretend there were things beyond the scope of his experience.
"I only got a brief look," Edgar admitted, causing Wilbur to roll his eyes- brief look says the man with a photographic memory and near psychic intuition. "But they were extremely skinny- starved looking, badly. They were wearing what looked like a hospital gown- kind of a grey-white color. Hair was extremely long- greasy, too, covered their face. Dunno if that meant they were a woman- their nails looked pretty grimy, I think the hair could have just been terrible hygiene."
Wilbur clicked. That sounded familiar- he remembered reading a book with his son, Ghosts of the Orient. Harry had been…eleven? Thirteen?
Young. His son had been young, and had been going through a supernatural phase- he had stayed up all night to watch horror films hosted by such luminaries as Dr. Van Der Ghoul or Devilyn, Lady of Shadows, purchased every single horror comic he had found, and read spooky stories with his father.
The book had been written by…someone. It had been so long ago, and Wilburs memory was failing enough that the man struggled to remember it- other than the fact that he was sure there had been a story featuring that particular kind of ghost.
Wilbur sighed, mind drifting without meaning to to other, similar memories- the time he had rented a theater for Harry's birthday that year, giving his son and the entire town a marathon of Harry's favorite films, for instance. Happier times. Better times. And increasingly far away- how long until they were gone entirely? Would he be dead in the ground by then, or would he manage to cling to life until his mind and memories faded into nothingness.
Either way, the end result was oblivion.
"It could be the radiation," He eventually mumbled out, just as he finally entered a combination that worked, the thick glass of the screen showing several available commands: some of them file folders presumably (or whatever the blasted term was) with documents. Others appeared to activate various functions-
[Event Trigger: Old]
Wilburs shaking fingers pressed the wrong button, accidentally activating a command. "Oops," He said, causing a loud humming noise as more lights began to come online.
"Edgar to Ashton, I'm seeing a lot of activity- anything happening in your area?"
Wilbur looked at what he had just activated, frowning. "I might have made a bit of a boner," He admitted. "I hit the wrong button and activated something called…Clean Sweep.POG?" He observed.
"...I'm getting the feeling that's not a janitor function."
The speakers on the wall crackled to life. "Activating Clean Sweep Protocol- Performing Genetic Scan on area," Came a slow, distorted voice over the tinny sounding machines. "Please stand by for ERROR: UNTAGGED PARTISANS DETECTED. ACTIVATING SECURITY!"
In the distance, a large alarm sounded- and moments later, Wilbur heard another crash, followed by screaming- the soldier who had been trying to remove an inactive robomonkey was now covered in dozens of the simians, the creatures trying to tear the unfortunate man apart-
[Required: Military Power Armor]
Only for several of them to be violently flung off of him, several others grabbed and tossed away by his fellow soldiers, who helped the fallen trooper up, even as the other two began to fire their plasma weapons at the mass of robomonkeys emerging from the vents all along the roof, the mechanical creatures ringing like fire alarm bells as they lept at the soldiers. "We're under attack, repeat, we're under attack! All units, protect the VIPs!"
"Ooo rah!"
_______________
ZAP!
BONK!
ZEEP!
CRACK!
SMASH!
________________________
"Well,I gotta say, that was incredibly stupid," Edgar said, reunited with Wilbur, having marched through swarms of robo-monkeys, the elderly man having stumbled on the shut down command after numerous minutes of trying. The soldiers were all on alert, lest more attack robots swarmed them. The horde of machines were strewn across the room, reduced to so much ash and scrap- only a handful of intact machines. Right now, Edgar was kneeling, arm deep in junk. "Glad nobody got hurt," He mumbled unconvincingly as he messed with the guts of an intact robomonkey.
"Educational, though," Wilbur noted, to which one of the soldiers snorted, only to freeze when he realized the microphone in his power armor picked it up. "Would you mind informing me about what I said that's so funny, young man?" He said dryly, noting the man to be the same who had knocked down the door earlier.
"Sorry sir," The man choked, realizing he had made a gaffe. "I didn't mean any disrespect- it's just, uh- Well, we all saw the banners coming in: we've all read a history book, we know what that image means: the goddamn nazis. What does this really tell us that we didn't already know?"
"Beyond the fact they apparently had pretty decent genetic scanning technology?" Edgar noted dryly, pulling out the bead shaped ocular unit of one of the robots, wire arcing a tiny amount of electricity as he looked it over. "And decently sophisticated robots- these things would have been pretty revolutionary back in the day," He observed. "Too bad they were goddamn nazis who apparently used the technology to help guard a goddamn internment complex."
"...Who, uh. Who do you think they…" One of the soldiers said, clearing their throat.
"I saw their testing logs. Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," Edgar observed darkly. "Edgar to A Team, come in A Team." Silence. Sighing, Edgar repeated the call.
"Jews, probably. You don't put up a swastika if you aren't killing jews," One of the soldiers currently stationed on guard observed, maintaining a vigilance. "Fucking bastards," The soldier spat, disgust in their voice.
"I'm sensing a personal distaste in that tone," Wilbur observed, returning to the computer.
"Family came to America to get away from that fat fuck Adolph and his little reichenshits. Not everyone made it out," The man observed, shaking his head. "How anyone can support that kinda crap…"
"Well, I mean…" Parker said from his position, trailing off, causing the other man to whip around as fast as power armor would let him, Edgar continuing trying to raise A Team, still in the guts of the robomonkey.
"The fuck, Parker?!" The man said, causing the other man to hold his hands up defensively, rifle pointing to the sky.
"Whoa, whoa, I'm not saying they weren't bad people, Chester, I'm just saying- It ain't all that different from what we're doing to the gooks with places like Little Yangtze," Parker pointed out, and Wilbur saw Edgar still. "They were right that some types just aren't fit to live- they just picked the wrong types."
"Christ, Parker, what is wrong with you? What kinda person thinks 'Gee shucks, the nazis sure had a point'?" Chester said, angrier and angrier, while the soldier with the super sledge stayed silent and facing away, doing their best to ignore the conversation.
"I mean, he isn't wrong about it being the same as Little Yangtze," One soldier, still trying to climb the ladders pointed out, before one of the thin metal bars snapped under his weight, causing him to fall on his ass. "Goddamnit!" They cried.
"Ain't the same. Killing chinks ain't murder cause they aren't people," Another retorted, voice clipped, terse.
"Would all of you PLEASE shut up," Edgar said, voice acid, causing the soldiers to go silent, shocked by the sudden hostility of their leader, causing Wilbur to tap his fingers- or at least move the correlating muscles. Not good- he was starting to get a handle on Edgar's moods- that tone indicated he was nearing blowing his top. Wilbur discretely activated the private communicator.
"Radioman to Midnight-"
"I'm fine," Edgar spat.
"You sound like you're five seconds from doing a second knightfall," Wilbur responded dryly. "Look, the anger is fine- just try and keep a lid on it during the day job."
"I said I'm FINE, Wilbur," Edgar said, a rumble in his voice, expression inscrutable but tone still filled with a cold fury. "This is, surprisingly, not my first rodeo. You don't live as long as I do while believing what I do without developing the ability to not explode next to a nazi. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to raise A team."
"No luck? What about the staging camp?" Wilbur asked, concerned, opting to let it lie for now- Edgars command had caused all the soldiers to shut up, so there was no need to keep discussion on sore topics.
"The airlock has been set up. Radiation intake has been minimal: we'll need to increase Rad-X dosages for everyone stationed here, but we're still within tolerances. Technically speaking we no longer need the suits." Edgar muttered. "We're probably going to need to start heading back soon-"
"B Team? B Team?" Came the radio, making Edgar pause. "This is A Team: are you there? I repeat, do you copy?"
"This is Dr. Wright, we copy," the Team America director muttered in response. "We weren't able to reach you for a moment- what's your status?"
"Well sir, we uh. We found where they disposed of the corpses."
Initial Results:
- Established Base Camp. Facility- referred to in files as MEGAMAX- will be brought online over the rest of the event- increasing rewards.
- Explored most of facility- seems to be internment camp where Australian government conducted medical experimentation. Research data collected: seems to be focused on chemical experimentation, large amount of data on ghoulification process. ½ discount to Centralia Zombie Documentation [LOCKED UNTIL CRYPTID DOCUMENTATION UNLOCKED]
- Obtained 3 Units of Robomonkey Scrap- Triggered by a genetic scan, these robots are in incredibly poor condition and, by modern standards, are rather crude. Still, the Australians had clearly made some ingenious creation, such as the batteries, which are still broadly functional. Can spend at events end on allied factions to increase a random [Robotics] associated stat.
- Haunted?!
- Facility appears otherwise abandoned other than corpses- automated security seems to still function, but no other signs of life have been found. Corpses in various states of condition- largely starvation or what appears to be brain hemorrhaging.
- Computers have files dated several months after irradiating event- autopsy logs, research, etc, implying that mass brain hemorrhage occurred concurrently with irradiation event. Human Resource records show strong correlation- phenomena was limited to facility staff.
- The unfortunate conclusion: after the irradiating event and mass die off of the mega-prison's staff, the remaining prisoners were prevented from escaping using the automated security by the remaining staff until the prisoners starved. Whereabouts of the surviving staff are still unknown.
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- Location
- A haze of forgetfulness
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Interesting. Excited to see where this goes.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's easy to forget in some pieces of Fallout media how universally fucked-up pre-war America was. This is not one of them.
Anyway, ghosts! They're real!
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
Ghosts were already canon in Fallout for the record- theres a quest in Fallout 2 where you have to return ones personal belongings and you can encounter one in Nuka World. Much like other paranatural elements outside cryptids and aliens, they're just a rather subdued, missable part of the setting.
Wonder if Edgar can arrange an accident or two for those nazi apologists after all a few casualties are to be expected in such a dangerous environment.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
If Edgar killed every nazi adjacent he met there would be several orders magnitude more people dead. It generally takes doing something extra monstrous to get his personal attention.
.. Was that a goddamn Left 4 Dead witch!?
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
People today have no respect for classic ghost lore SMH, can't even recognize an Onryo.
Oledoms
Friesmancer
Sadako in Fallout, Nice
Pfff! "Nazi had a point in exterminating a group of people based on their ethinicity" What a fucking dumbassery conclusion, by this point I think a Nuclear Fallout is the best thing that ever happened to this Universe's America if even their average joes condone racism as something normal.
Pre-War is fucking biblical Antediluvian by this point!
Pre-War is fucking biblical Antediluvian by this point!
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- Location
- Nice try
I think that's pretty much established that Post-War America is a improvement of Pre-War times, somewhow. Like just see some of Vault-Tec Training Videos and you would know even the avegarage joes that just try to get on with they lives are screwed.
Case in point you need to earn the privilege to use bathroom thought tickets and mandatory breaks only last five minutes. Also you can have these small and pathetic privileges revoked by your boss at any time they want.
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
Just as a reminder, the deadline for the omake contest is on the first! Note that if you have any questions you need to ask for your submission, feel free to shoot em at me here or on discord.
Anyhoo, since it hasn't been noted in thread yet: there's a surprise hidden in the update.
Anyhoo, since it hasn't been noted in thread yet: there's a surprise hidden in the update.
Oh I didn't know if we were supposed to acknowledge the pastebin link.
Does anyone have any ideas on the password? For those that haven't found it it's in period at the end of the first sentence in the paragraph where Edger realizes they've found a Laboratory.
Does anyone have any ideas on the password? For those that haven't found it it's in period at the end of the first sentence in the paragraph where Edger realizes they've found a Laboratory.
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The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
My policy is that after an hour or two secrets hidden in the update are fair game