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Fallout: Vault X

An original novel set in the Fallout universe, written to be accessible to all, featuring unique people and places Fallout: Vault X tells the story of John. A vault dweller, who spent every day of his twenty five years underground. Like his father, and his father before him. Proud to live in the last remaining bastion of humanity, all that survived The Great War of the atomic age. Hidden deep below the surface of the earth, toiling under brutal conditions. Year after year, decade upon decade. All to expand into the natural cave system the Vault occupied, building for the future. However, John knew what his forefathers did not, that everything he’d been taught was a lie. After finishing school at the age of ten, John received his standard issue pipboy. An arm mounted personal computer, worn by everyone in the Vault. Used to coordinate the relentless pace of expansion, needed to work as an apprentice. To learn the craft that would be his life’s work. A noble calling to ensure a future for all that remained of the human race. A quirk of fate saw John equipped not with the crude, clunky, pipboy model his father wore. That almost everyone around him wore. His looked smaller, sleeker, finished in a jet black sheen. And capable of doing far more than its drab counterparts. The world above had been ravaged by atomic flames, yet life clung to its bones. The Red Valley fared better than most in the century since the bombs fell. The clean water and rich soil protected by rolling hills. All spared from direct strikes, for the most part. Life survived here. Trees spawned from charred ground, misshapen, green leaves turned red. Along with simple crops, grown wild at first, then cultivated by the survivors. The scavengers of the old world were inventive, hardy people. All determined to rebuild in the ruins of a world they never knew. In the decades that passed settlements emerged. They grew, spreading along the valley floor. Reclaiming the pre-war remnants of the once industrialised heartland. Salvaging the robotic wonders of a bygone age to build their walls and work their fields. To protect them in the dark of the wasteland. But such things are uncommon in this world, and the rarer something is, the greater its value. And the worth of pre-war technology had not gone unnoticed. The last, real, power in this world rested in the mechanised hands of The Brotherhood of Steel. Forged from the mortally wounded old world military. The Brotherhood used its access to the weapons made for a conflict no one won to strike out into the wastes. Men and women were equipped with advanced armour, aerial transportation, high grade weaponry. Accompanied by the training, strength, and will, to put them to use. They established chapters and set up outputs far and wide. All dedicated to a single purpose. To ensure the technology left abandoned by its long dead creators didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Namely, any hands that were not their own. This is the world John escaped into. A place of horrors brought forth from atomic fire. A place where survival meant battling against the darkness. Fighting a war each day to get to the next. And war...war never changes

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223 Chs

Vol. III Epilogue Part 2 “Mortis.”

Epilogue Part 2 "Mortis."

Rosie came to in a glass tube, barely wide enough for her to stand in. She'd been dressed in what looked like surgical scrubs that had a plastic texture. She looked out on the room. Small, windowless, soft lights built into smooth walls. Rosie felt like she'd been taken underground, but it certainly wasn't a Vault.

A young man entered through a door that disappeared back into the wall as it closed. "Where's my fucking dog?!" Rosie growled, showing her fangs like a cornered animal.

"Fenris is getting a bath. Janey is powered down, but undamaged." The man answered, his manner cold and detached. Rosie hoped Janey hadn't been taken. It occurred to her that this might not be the first time she had this conversation.

"Well?" Rosie pounded on the glass, not enough room to make so much as a loud noise. He looked indifferent. "You obviously want me alive, which means you want something. Out with it." Rosie covered her fear with anger.

Without a word, the hidden door opened again. Fenris trotted in, looking cleaner but unharmed. The glass tube retracted up into the ceiling, freeing her.

"Mortis." Rosie gave the kill word to Fenris, he stared back blankly. "Mortis." She tried again, not understanding why he hadn't reacted as she'd trained him.

In her confusion, Rosie missed the man moving. He drew a pistol and put it to the dog's head. Rosie reached for the dreamlike state and found nothing. A loud pop sounded as the gun fired. Fenris hit the floor with a thud.

Rosie's fury erupted. She launched herself at the man, bringing him down with her knee on his throat. She took his head in her hands, pounding it against the hard floor.

Rosie stopped as his head slipped from her grasp. She looked at her hands. What little red blood stained them had become diluted with a slick translucent fluid. The split and torn flesh from the man's head oozed the same fluid. She gripped a ragged piece of skin and pulled.

The flesh came away in her hand, revealing it to be something synthetic. Its design mimicked a person, metal skull, false teeth. Eyes made from finely machined, intricate parts.

She turned back to the dog, seeing the pooling red blood shift to the same clear fluid. She breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a deep breath. It didn't calm her anger. Rosie dragged the heavy synthetic body over to the wall, triggering the door to open.

Rosie took the pistol, finding it to be her own. Whoever set up this little test had been smart enough to put a single bullet in it. She took it anyway, keeping her arm straight to hide it behind her thigh.

The corridor made no sense to Rosie. There were no seams or vents, no weak spots for her to exploit. She followed the yellow line on the floor, knowing it must lead somewhere. She tried activating the pipboy manually, finding it completely shut down.

The corridor curved round as she followed the yellow line. She caught sight of a door, guarded by a pair of figures. They stood motionless, their skin a rubbery off white. Eyes glowing like Nixie tubes. Rosie thought them crude in comparison to more human ones.

She backtracked at a quick pace, hoping to remain covert. The corridor stretched on. Rosie broke into a run, getting more desperate the faster she went. A door opened from nowhere, Rosie skidded to a stop. Fear gripped her as a figure entered the corridor.

Looming towards her came the raider leader. Face tattoos and long hair missing. Dressed in a long black coat. A new model of the synthetic man she'd fought before. Rosie planted her bare feet, and went on the attack.

She ducked a right hook and countered with a chop to the throat. Neither that nor the knee to the sternum she followed with made a difference to her attacker. An elbow to the face bloodied her nose. The backhand knocked her to the ground.

Rosie gasped for air as the synthetic man lifted her by the throat. She kicked and punched, getting only body blows in return. Her vision began to darken around the edges. She felt the fight go out as her body went limp.

The synthetic man threw her to the ground, crushing the last flicker of life from her. The last thing she saw was the blood running from her shift from red to a slick translucent fluid.

A pair of men entered the corridor. One older, one younger. Both wearing lab coats. "I hate to say I told you so." The older man gloated.

"The cognitive modelling suggested acquiescence likely in the face of overwhelming odds." The younger man seemed surprised.

"You killed the woman's dog." The older man knew the value of good company out in the wastes above.

"I killed a copy of her dog after she tried to set it on Archie." The younger man corrected his slip. "MC-ARC. We don't don't give our Synth's names."

"Have this one patched up, I want to try another approach before we wake the real one up. It would be a shame to vivisect such an interesting specimen prematurely." The older man walked away, his orders given.

"Right away, Director."

Rosie came to in a soft bed, Fenris licking at her face.