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

FourPin · 游戏衍生

分數不夠

223 Chs

#ACTION

#VIDEOGAME

Vol. III Chapter 34 “Act like you’re in charge.” (Part 1 of 2)

Chapter 34 "Act like you're in charge."

John brought Rosie up to speed, and she went off comm to prepare. He walked back into the Vault, finding all eyes on him. "Sorry folks, the aircraft has a fuel leak." John sold the lie to the evacuees, while at the same time tipping his friends. "I've patched it, and I'm having more fuel delivered. Best thing to do is get some rest." He tried to read the faces, but saw only fear and anxiety.

He waited outside for what felt like an hour. Trying not to let his thoughts get ahead of the situation. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't going to send a murderer home with Beverly. At best letting them get away with it. At worst putting her in danger.

Movement on the trail drew his focus. John slid into the shadows and readied his smg. Peeking out he saw a figure. Brimmed hat, a long trench coat, sure footed on the uneven ground. John stepped from cover, the mysterious stranger in his sights.

"Good evening John." Beneath the brim of the hat John saw a single red eye staring out. Rosie had sent Janey as her assistant. "These clothes were Admin Rosie's idea. She states it makes me seventy eight percent cooler. However my core temperature remains unchanged." Janey paused as if expecting a response. "That was a joke."

"Funny." John grinned but couldn't laugh, he just hoped no one got that close.

"Humour is important during times of stress." Janey stepped past him, heading towards the Vault door. John sighed into the night air, and caught up.

John held the hand signal for friendly so Crixus could see it. He held it longer as metal feet clacked on a metal floor. The Brotherhood veteran's jaw dropped. Crixus stepped in front of Beverly, just after she noticed. Beverly went as white as her dress. Robco tried to put them at ease with a raised hand, not that it seemed to help much.

John strode from the lift into the open, and silent, stockroom. Janey's heels clacking after his. Rick stood by the body, covered in a plastic sheet that did little to hide the spatter. He glanced at John, then stared at his new companion.

"I know this is strange Rick, but it's Rosie. She's here to help." John watched Rick take in the robotic form, barely hidden by a long coat and low hat.

"They turned you into a robot?!" Rick wasn't thinking clearly. John could practically hear Rosie laugh.

"No. She's controlling it, her, remotely." John glared at Janey. "Say something." He urged, the pause dragging out.

"It's me Rick." Rosie spoke in her voice through Janey. "Like the man said, I'm here to help." Rosie manipulated the robotic pincers to tilt the brim of the hat, terribly pleased with herself.

Back at the Rest Mike wrote something on a piece of paper and put it in the centre of the kitchen table. "Start with the vic." Seeing the word at centre helped her focus. Rosie sat and blinked, switching to Janey and the Vault.

"His name was Kyle Jefferies. Worked the foundry before, been helping out here and there since." Rick let out a heavy sigh. "By all accounts a nice guy. No infractions before, no problems since."

"Did he want to stay or go?" She asked, trying to catch up. Rosie saw it hadn't occurred to either of them. Rick stepped back, checking his pipboy. In all her years enslaved below ground, she'd never had access to the Overseer's pipboy. Now she could crack it and own the entire Vault. With little more than a thought. She stopped herself.

"Rosie, he wanted to go." John spoke to her over the comm, guilt and anger in his voice that only she could hear.

"This is the safety line." Rick led them to a spool of rope in a metal frame. Rows of metal hoops, set in a support pillar, ran from the floor to the ceiling. "Climbers thread the rope through as they go up." The support pillar jutted out from the new four level walkways that ran around the room.

"Once they reach the top they use these." Rick held a rubber circle fitted with a metal handle. He pressed it to the side of the pillar, twisting the handle to make it stick. "Both the grips and rope can take the weight of five men. And there's this." Rick grabbed the coiled rope and tugged it sharply. The spool clunked, locking itself. "They lock off, leaves their hands free to work."

"Show me the cut." Rosie asked. John found it, holding it up as Janey's face plates retracted. The lens assembly extended, giving Rosie a magnified view. "Now the other end." They repeated the procedure with the other side of the rope. The blood slipped from it easily, made from the same fibres as the vault-suits.

Rosie lined up the two still images in her view, comparing them against the uncut rope. "This was cut with something sharp." Rosie heard herself and felt uncommonly dim. "Small, flat and shallow. A scalpel maybe." She switched back to the kitchen table to see Mike write 'medical personnel' and slide it to the top of the table. "Cross referencing anyone with time on med duty."

Back at the Rest, Rosie paced round the kitchen table. "There's over four hundred people in there. Whoever did this had to be close." She wiped her hand across the digital projection, switching on location data. "Thirty two of those have been on med shifts in the past year."

"Still too many." Mike thumbed through her sketches of the crime scene, laying them at his feet. "This was a public execution, punishment. A message." Mike's instinct latched on to something. "How many had a direct line of sight?"

"Twenty five." Rosie calculated, using the data nearby pipboys at the time of death.

"The killer cut them loose, like they were dead weight." Mike puzzled over the scraps of information. "How many of the twenty five haven't asked to leave?" Rosie relayed the question, getting an answer and following her own instincts.

"Eight. Three of them were in senior positions before, now they're the same as everyone else." Rosie knew the sneering contempt of those in charge. "They always thought they were better than me and John."

"Good insight." Mike cleared a space on the table, writing a new word. Suspects. "Have John separate the three of them. Let them stew a while." Mike looked up from the table. "John's armed right?"

"Yeah, plus Janey." Rosie almost wanted the killer to try something.

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