//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Rebellion, Journey, or Prank? // Story: Crossroads // by GammaG3 //------------------------------// At least they let me keep my clothes. The Lone Wanderer found himself to be trapped. He woke up to a strange, steel room with walls that encircled above, making climbing out invalid. He found himself with all of his gear and power armor gone, except for his Vault 101 jumpsuit. The doorway was locked with some strange force field, and touching it produced a painful shock. Occasionally, a metal claw would hover over his cell, only go to another cell and extract some poor person who screamed for mercy. Searching his own body, he discovered several scars that stretched along his stomach. He scratched his head, still trying to decide whether this whole thing was a dream or not. The fact that the signal led him to a crashed, alien spaceship shocked him to the core. Now he was INSIDE another spaceship, and that was a good enough diagnosis to classify as a bad dream.  Based on the fact that he was held in a cell, these aliens were not here for humanity's hope. He tried to think of an escape plan.   Except there didn’t seem to be any way of escape, since he learned that there was nothing accessable, not even the air vents. And the only other exposed space was… … the claw chamber above. Dismissing his other options, he sat down and waited patiently for the claw from above to come for him. Minutes seemed to stretch for hours, and to his luck and bad luck, a metal, dual-fingered claw stopped dead in its tracks above his cell. The Lone Wanderer squatted down and eyed it carefully.   To his surprise, the claw shot down at an incredible speed, and twisted towards him. Before it lunged, The Wanderer took a leap of faith and grabbed the neck of it while it snapped at his previous location. He coiled his arms around the neck and tightened his muscles while the claw became still. The metal claw then retracted to its vertical positioning and pulled itself back up, taking The Wanderer with it. With a small breath of relief and hand to his chest, he allowed his feet to rest on the metal claw as it ascended. As it came to a halt, he spotted the outer wall of his cell curve down to the hallway floor. Pushing himself back and forth, he leapt over and made contact with the smooth, white wall and slid down until his feet touched the floor. He looked back to the orange forcefield and glanced down the hallway he was in. All along both sides, he saw more cells with the same orange forcefields. He couldn’t bother counting the number of rooms, since there seemed to be too many. He brought his attention to the door that led to a room that was conjoined to his cell. He shuffled into the room, which appeared to be a study, but filled more alien technology. On the opposite side, there was a green alien that was completely occupied with some sort of computing device on the wall. Using utmost caution, he crept behind little alien until he used his muscular arms to wrap around the alien’s thin neck.   The alien’s neck offered no resistance. The Wanderer spotted a strange container next to the body. After spending a few minutes to examine the lock, he opened it and found all of his gear was inside, including his blaster pistol.  Equipping himself with his armor, he stomped back out into the hallway and began improvising the next stage of his escape. He walked past at least a hundred cells on both sides of the corridor. To him, seeing the first few inhabitants was just a guessing game. Some were empty and some held dead wastelanders, many that were killed in gruesome manners. Some of the wastelanders were still alive. Fidgeting with the control panels, he eventually discovered how to undo the force field, allowing him to free several wastelanders. Unfortunately, the survivor count was ten, including himself and a raider. Unsurprisingly, all of them turned to the Lone Wanderer. His power armor and weaponry gave him the air of authority, which the other escapees instantly recognized. The raider claimed that he was just “gonna go with the flow”. At the Wanderer’s instruction, they all scrounged around for alien weapons from the nearby labs.  The Lone Wanderer himself did not wish to use alien weaponry; he was already fully equipped as is. All the survivors were equipped and they gathered around the Lone Wanderer, who was preparing to explain his plan of action to the worried group. “Alright everyone, I have no clue as to what the hell is going on,” he said while he shook his head.  “Though reading and watching some of Captain Cosmos gave me some ideas on what to do.”  He thumped the back of his helmet. “For all we know, we’re on some alien mothership. If we’re on a mothership, then there might be a method of evacuation if something goes wrong. So I say that we fight our way through the ship to find some escape pods and use them to return to Earth. We could also try to find some hangers, where they might hold smaller ships that we can hijack. So whatever we find first, we take it.”   The rag-wearing wastelanders nodded their heads without much hesitation. The raider only gave a snort, to which the Lone Wanderer interpreted it as the same. All of them clenched their weapons tighter. They began to sweat as the Wanderer began his explanation. “It seems like brute force is their weakness,” the Lone Wanderer advised, “I was able to kill one of the aliens barehanded with ease. So instead of wasting your ammo, give them a good whacking up close. These aliens are weaker than radroaches.” The raider grew a sinister smile.  “Other than that, stick together. Even if these guys are weak, they have numbers and weapons that we haven’t seen. So if everything goes right, we may all even make it out alive.” Before one of the wastelanders could ask the Lone Wanderer a question, they heard shallow footsteps against metal grates and echoes of babbling. They turned to the source to see more little aliens, now wielding their blasters. The aliens took shots at the humans, but missed despite the advantage of the ambush. “Return fire!” The survivors raised their weapons and opened fire. Blue projectiles flew across the halls, illuminating the silver walls and burning the surfaces they impacted. The Lone Wanderer un-holstered his laser rifle, or “wazer wifle” as it was called, and returned fire with crimson beams. After a brief exchange, the last alien dropped dead from a lucky headshot. “A big ‘fuck you!’ to all of your disgusting, green asses!” The raider said while flipping the finger towards the corpses. The Wanderer rolled his eyes. “Let’s go!” The Lone Wanderer commanded before storming off to where the aliens came from.  The survivors promptly followed him and raced out of the prison chambers. They rampaged through the various sections of the mothership. Whatever resistance they ran into was swiftly demolished. The Lone Wanderer could not help but be thankful for his armor after several energy bolts struck his helmet.   Whenever alien beams managed to hit him, his armor simply absorbed the impacts. He was grateful that he did not have to feel whatever pain that could’ve been brought to him. He silently thanked his past self for deciding to take the T-51b power armor. At the same time he felt pity for those that didn't have the same privilege. He watched his rag-tag team fight off the aliens. The wastelanders seemed to follow his lead by hiding behind cover or the corner of a thick wall. They operated their weapons amateurishly, jerking the trigger or aiming from the hip, which annoyed the Wanderer slightly. Then again, he had no clue how to properly operate the alien blasters either.   The only person that seemed to know what he was doing was the raider, who fought viciously but recklessly. The raider shouted taunts and curses with each shot. The Wanderer silently hoped that the raider wouldn’t just try to turn on them at the end. Despite having two casualties, everything seemed to actually be going well. Until they discovered what a drone was. They arrived at the engine room which had a strange, humongous energy rod in the center.  Metal catwalks connected the areas that towered over the deep pits below. They met typical alien resistance, to which they engaged with them. Then a strange robot floated in from behind the alien horde with a glowing front tip. The survivors shot at it regardless as it approached. Whatever damage was dealt to it was simply ignored. The Lone Wanderer grew suspicious when it’s tip lit up intensely. The tip grew bright blue and discharged an orb of electricity.   Despite being made out of pure energy, the orb followed the rules of gravity and landed just in front of their group. It exploded violently, sending electricity in every direction while bringing disorientation to all the humans, including The Wanderer. Now seeing the new shift of power, they turned their attention to the Drone. Every bullet and beam that made contact with the drone’s surface simply bounced away. They fired their weapons quicker to only find the same results. “Hey!” The Lone Wanderer called to his posse. “Any of you have pulse grenades?!” All the people shouted ‘no’.  He silently cursed to himself. He contemplated before snapping his fingers and turning for a doorway on the left side. “Guys! Follow me through here! We’re gonna try to lure that robot through the door!” He called while running for the doorway. Confused and out of options, they agreed and followed him through despite the raider’s protests.   They immediately dashed to the right. The Lone Wanderer took cover around the corner, holstering his Wazer Wifle as his fellow survivors did the same.   “I have an idea on how to take care of that thing,” he whispered while pulling out a sword from his backpack. “It’s a long shot, but better than nothing.” He clutched a chinese sword tightly in his hands. The sword had a blood red hilt with detailed carvings along the handle. Along the blunt of the blade were white-marked square waves. There were no traces of rust, but evidence of use was still visible. A small clamp on the hilt suddenly made the blade run with intense lightning bolts that danced along the blade.   This was a powerful trophy he earned from completing the Anchorage war simulation, Jingwei’s Shocksword. They all waited anxiously to see what would happen. Moments passed as the drone wandered through the doorway, scanning every direction that could instigate escape. As soon as the floating robot came into his view, the Lone Wanderer twisted around, impaling the drone with his electrified sword.   Utilizing the power armor’s strength, his own physical strength, and pure luck, the sword successfully pierced the drone’s alloy armor with little resistance. The Wanderer pushed the blade in deeper until the drone began spazz.  The drone shook, buzzed and beeped before collapsing to the floor with sparks escaping the drone’s broken circuitry. The Lone Wanderer kicked the discarded robot away when the raider swooped in and fidgeted with the drone.  Finally, the raider slowly rose, holding the drone’s cannon underhanded with a large grin on his face.  Hearing no other drones arriving, the human survivors began their counterattack. The wastelanders were getting more experienced. They no longer needed the Lone Wanderer’s command to take cover behind whatever they could find. The Wanderer watched from behind a pillar as his fellow survivors attacked in a more professional manner. He also watched the devastation unleashed by the raider’s drone cannon on a small cluster of aliens, scattering green alien blood and gore in every direction. He then saw that his fellow wastelanders were being pinned down by a group of aliens. He jumped from behind the pillar. He quickly aimed his Wazer Wifle, blasting the aliens that were too focused on the wastelanders. He frowned more and more whenever the crimson beams struck an alien’s head. He felt rotten whenever a body and living thing ceased to live. To him, killing was a necessity whenever it came to survival. He constantly searched for alternatives, but in the end he would  find that he would have to resort to killing. The Lone Wanderer converted the last alien to a pile of ash. “Hey, Brotherhood guy, you might wanna check this out,” a wastelander called out. Remembering his armor he wore, he jogged over to where he was needed. “What’s going on over here?” The Lone Wanderer asked. He approached the small group of rag-tag wastelanders who were surrounding something. Two of them moved away, giving him a path.  They stood by waiting for him to assess the situation. An alien was on his knees, groveling on the cold metal floor. He was unarmed and continuously waved his thin arms in front of himself, making some sort of halting gesture. His very muscles trembled as much as his head shook. He was constantly babbling in some sort of distressed tone with a worried look in his eyes.     One of the wastelanders shrugged. “We were killing some of these aliens when this one showed up.  He had a pistol, but then he dropped it, fell to his knees and crawled to us like this.  Been doing this non-stop.” The Lone Wanderer crossed his arms and gave a disdained grunt.  The alien continued to babble while the man in steel armor closed his eyes. “What should we do?” He has had moments when the people he fought suddenly dropped their weapons and begged for mercy. It was a hard thing to do; killing a person that begs. There were some people in the world that needed to die, or else they would simply inflict terror once more. Would these aliens be the same?  After all, they indiscriminately abducted humans without any form of attempted communication. Or were this alien’s pleas for life genuine?   Sometimes he would make begging raiders swear that they would never do anything harmful again. “I think we should just let him l-” *Zzzz!* Before the Lone Wanderer could even give an answer, an orb of electricity bounced itself in front of the trembling alien. The alien’s expression shot up and desperately grabbed for an overstretched hand that offered him redemption. Only to find none. *ZAAAP!* All the humans witnessed the alien’s last, terrified face before it exploded into a fog of flimsy limbs and green mist. The blood scattered in all directions, staining the glass and metal around with a pseudo grass color. The wastelanders covered their faces with their arms while the Lone Wanderer simply stood with his body unfazed. But unknowingly to his peers, his face widened in shock. “The fucker deserved it!” They all heard the raider’s gruff voice, turning to watch him walk to the little gore pile with his drone cannon. “Motherfuckers probed me, so they don’t get to live! And I don’t think I’m the only one here!” Several of the wastelanders looked away, rubbing various locations of their body. “Umm,”  one of the wastelanders rubbed his chin. “That was a bit extreme.” A small hiss left the raider’s teeth and tongue. “Whatever man, if they really wanted peace for us, then we would’ve already had it,” he answered with disdain. The Lone Wanderer clenched his fists tightly before loosening them along with a deep breath.  He stomped towards the exit which the reinforcements arrived from. “Let’s get going,” The Lone Wanderer suggested. “We should keep moving before more of those robots show up.” *** *** “C’mon!  I have things to do and places to be!” The Courier complained while smacking the pilot’s steering wheel in front of him, making the sound of a car horn. “Let’s get a move on!  I’ve been waiting here for like… five minutes now! A space launch shouldn’t take this long!” Currently he was in the cockpit of the tall shuttle, sitting down with his back against a black chair, giving him a clear view of the afternoon sky.  He sat in a rather tall chamber, with a ladder on the floor allowing him to climb up to the seat. The control panels were filled with a variety of switches and buttons, almost tempting the impatient Courier to his favourite hobby, “pushing all the shiny buttons and seeing what happens”. “I swear those asinine fools cannot get their heads straight,” a mechanical, masculine voice grumbled from the seat next to the Courier’s. “If our plans get delayed, then when I return, I will burn them first before the world!” His tone suddenly changed to a psychotic state.   The Courier looked over to see….a toaster strapped into the pilot’s seat next to his. “I know, right!” The Courier loudly agreed while slamming his seat cushion. “I mean, Captain Cosmos never had to wait in a DMV or anything else longer than that to get into space! We’re going to the fucking moon, not a world of cartoons!” “If it wasn’t for the fact that I am lacking limbs...” the Toaster muttered. “I would get off of this shuttle and burn them for making me wait!” The Toaster’s voice then shot up again.     Toaster was just a normal toaster, except for his ability to talk, and endless desire to burn the world...again. Toaster was also known for his nickname, “The Boogeyman of Toasters,” until he defeated “The Boogeymen of Hotplates and Pressure Cookers,” to which he became “The Boogeyman of All Kitchen Appliances.” The Courier burned stuff with Toaster and in return Toaster would allow him to roast artificially grown marshmallows. The two strange astronauts waited patiently (and impatiently)for… anything, really. The Courier passed time by reading his Grognak the Barbarian and Tales of Chivalry comics. He played jazz music through his Pipboy while kicking his feet on top of the steering wheel. He did every method of entertainment he could think of, including “Stick-the-grenade-in-the-toaster”. Unfortunately for the Courier, the Toaster melted the grenade before detonation. *Thump! Thump! Thump!*  Out of nowhere, a strange tapping on the metal interior was heard. After scanning the chamber below, the Courier shrugged it off as his head messing with him. Just as he was about to the cliffhanger of his comic, he heard it again, this time it came back louder. *Thump!! Thump!! Thump!!* “That noise is really graveling me!” The Toaster hissed. The Courier closed the book calmly and looked over to Toaster and the chamber below in a etiquette-like, almost jokingly manner. “Do the two of you mind?!” He said in a sophisticated tone. “I am trying to read here! I would ask if the both of you would hush down.” *Thump!!! Thump!!! Thump!!!* “Alright, that’s it!”  The Courier exclaimed while reaching for the ladder. “What the hell is making that noise? A hitchhiker? Missionaries? Pizza delivery guy? (Of course, he did grin at this possible suspect) The Think Tank?” Setting his comic books onto the seat and dufflebag onto a nearby coat hanger, he descended the ladder while holstering his Matter Modulator onto his back. With a light grip, he climbed down  with no regard for anything that could possibly go wrong. Suddenly, the interiors shook along with a faint roar that sounded from the outside.   “Oh sh-!” The shuttle shook until the Courier lost his grip on the ladder, causing him to fall halfway down.  For moments, he felt himself just fall everywhere, almost zero gravity. But this snippet of zero-gravity is cut short when he landed on the floor-door with a hard thud. He gave a quick yelp of pain, and went to groan.   He laid on his back looking up towards the cockpit and the little closet on the right wall.  He slowly began to sit up, when suddenly the closet door of the chamber slammed open, alerting him and the ranting Toaster. A huge, flying insect emerged from inside the closet. It flew with large amber wings and blood red eyes. It’s body was a dark-blue carapace with a dangerous looking stinger at the tip of it’s abdomen.  It’s overall appearance was an intimidating sight, to which the Courier was in it’s sight. The Mojave special: The cazador. “Oh c’mon!” The Courier exclaimed while the cazador zig-zaged towards him. Not even seconds later, the giant insect was right at his face, giving him little to no time to reach for his weapons. He quickly grabbed the cazador by the head, struggling to repel the vicious being. He quickly watched it’s huge abdomen push out it’s razor-sharp stinger that was practically dripping with venom. “Eugh, gross!” The Courier groaned while his facial muscles clenched. “First there’s radscorpion-gross, then there’s Joshua’s actual face kind-of-gross, then there’s… this!”   He was absolutely appalled from getting a closer look at the cazador. They continued to wrestle around; clearly this was no ordinary cazador, for the Courier would’ve been able to repel him with more ease.   A small sniff of the air in front of the cazador caused the Courier’s nose to retract. “Eugh, you need some mouthwash, or a breath mint at least!  Cheap? You can buy it for a few caps at your local general store? Satisfaction is guaranteed?” All of a sudden, something stuck the cazador from above. While it managed to injure it, it knocked it down just enough for the stinger to puncture the Courier in the arm. The Courier gave a yelp of pain, before using his rage to overpower the bug and thrusted it towards the wall.  Despite it being slammed, the cazador managed to balance itself in the air afterwards. The Courier then saw what hit the cazador. His eyes catched a long, maple staff that didn’t show much deterioration from mold and rot. At the end of the pole was a gold-plated, metal eagle statuette in a pose of mid-flight. The Courier recognized it as a gift that was given to him by the same person who gave him “Old World Justice.” He saw the pole as Old Glory, a beautiful staff that no one imagined to be used for a different purpose. He quickly grabbed the staff and held it in his hands with pride. Eyes narrowed at the recovering cazador, the swung with all his available strength in the small space. The bronze eagle scraped and smashed the exoskeleton of the cazador, wearing him down from his healthy state. Again and again, he batted the cazador as more green blood splattered on the white walls and floor.   Suddenly, he could hear a roar from a mighty but strange explosion. The explosion sounded to be consisted of thousands of smaller ones, all happening consecutively to give the illusion of one big explosion occurring.  The shuttle shook considerably more, causing the Courier to partially lose his balance. Then the Courier felt himself to be… heavier. “Huh? What did you guys do?!” His knees and legs had more pressure on them. His entire body felt like it was being weighed down by an invisible burden that seemed to crush him more and more. His resistance slowly gave in, causing him to kneel down further and further until he felt himself lying on the ground, being crushed by a strange force. “Go home gravity… you’re drunk!” The Courier commented on the strange force. He struggled but managed to bring his left arm by his head. Tapping around his Pipboy, he finally got what he wanted. “Hey!  Eggheads!” He called into his Pipboy. “What the hell is going on here?! Why am I being crushed to the ground?!”   He waited until he finally heard several voices now muffled via speakers. The Think Tank was able to modify his Pipboy so it now was a communicator, a luxury to those in the wastes. “Well that is because we are in lift-off!” Dr. 0 informed. “Didn’t we tell you?” “No!”  The Courier answered. “And speaking of, why the hell are Borous’ show-and-tell pets inside the shuttle?” He heard the Think Tank bicker with one another before hearing Borous take the center. “Because I’d be mad if I were to simply sit out on this opportunity!” Dr. Borous explained.  “I am dying to see cazadores… in space! Space cazadores will be my new, genius creation! And I’m sure they won’t bother you; they’re harmless!” The distressed Courier rolled his eyes as he felt his limbs tremble more. He mustered the strength to bring up his right arm. His eyes shot open at the open wound and blood spilt around. “Shit!” He gritted his teeth while he slowly crawled to the ladder. He grasped a rung in his hands and reached for the one above. His eyes focused on his duffle bag that hanged innocently on the coathanger. The world became more blurred and his hearing became more muffled. His arms felt weaker by the second and his grip loosened. Nevertheless, adrenaline pushed through his body as he ascended the ladder one rung at a time.   Time seemed to pass slowly while his grasp on reality was fading. The shuttle continued to roar and shake endlessly as the Courier hanged desperately on the ladder. Minutes sluggishly passed as his climbing pace slowed down with every breath. His eyes eventually struggled to stay halfway open, and his fingers on his hand straightened out. “Screw...you…..physics,” he rasped while his eyes were nearly shutting. Suddenly the enhanced gravity gave in. In fact, all gravity seemed to give in. All the extra weight that burdened the Courier just disappeared. All weight seemed to vanish in a few moments. The Courier’s lifeless expression erupted back to life when he realized that he was now flying upwards. “Woah! Holy crap! Okay gravity, you’re waaaaay drunk! You need rehab!”   He spun out of control. He fell in every direction, to which he simply rolled in the air with no control. He drifted towards the cockpit which he could vaguely make out while spinning around.  Finally, he felt himself land on the thick windows of the cockpit. Through his groggy view, he saw his dufflebag exactly where he left it. Using all of his energy, he frantically searched the inside of it until he brought out a clay vial. He held it to his mouth, but strangely the liquid inside didn’t flow out normally, instead he had to shake the contents out. As soon as he finished the last drop, the whole word seemed to come racing back to him in a jiffy.   “Sweet, sweet antivenom…” He deeply thanked. “We have done phase one!” He heard the Toaster announce. “Look beyond, as this is just one of many parts of my grand schemes!” “Huh?”   The Courier then bothered to look outside and couldn’t believe that he was still alive to see it. Instead of a crisp, blue sky, there was a blanket of jet black, with stars dotting around without pattern. They twinkled and glittered as tiny dots of light. After his mind put the pieces together, an enormous smile grew in the Courier’s face. “BOOOYAAAHHH!!” “Aaaaannnd we just passed the Karman border!” He heard Dr.0 announce. “Holy hell, I’m in space!! The first mailman in space! This is awesome!” And he went on to do what any child would’ve done in zero gravity; fool around. He jumped, spun, drank, ate and flipped around in zero gravity. He savored, lavished and enjoyed these precious moments of actually living a laughable dream in a dreadful time. He had a blast. *Thump! Thump! Thump!*  His time of play was halted when he heard more noise, this time from behind the door at the bottom of the chamber. He tried to contact the Think Tank, but they were too busy bickering to give him an answer. He tuned in until he finally got who he wanted. “Hey, 8,” he said with a grin. “*!@#$%$^@!$!!%%@^?*” Strange static came from his Pipboy. “Listen 8, the Think Tank won’t tell me what is actually on this ship. Borous said that cazadores were on this thing, but what else is really on it?” “*$%@#$^@%@%^^#^#@”, $@!%$^@^@^$@^@, !$!#$^*()” “Oh shit, really?” The Courier asked while rubbing his chin. “Man, what do I do?” “Ah yes, my lovely teddy bears are on as well,” he suddenly heard Dr. Dala chime in. “They wanted so desperately to join in on the fun. And how could I say ‘no’ to teddy bear eyes?” “Guys, how do you manage to fit all this stuff in thi-?” The Courier attempted to ask, before being cut off. “Mwahahaha! You lousy Think Tank!” He heard a voice he didn’t hear very often.   The Courier lifted an eyebrow. “Mobius?” “Did you really think you could continue your experiments for escaping my wrath? Did you think you were safe in your spacecraft?” Dr. Mobius taunted. “Well I say otherwise! My technologically superior Robo-scorpions have snuck onto your little cardboard rocket! And now, they are Robo-scorpions 3.0 because they are now in zero-gravity! You are no longer safe in there Think Tank! Face the intergalactic wrath of Dr. Mobius! Muwahahahaha!” “Annnd add robo-scorpions to that list,” the Courier casually said to himself. Probably on a mentat-psycho spree… again. He rubbed his chin. Keeps reminding me of those sarsparilla-whiskey rampages I get... He dropped his thoughts before enthusiastically springing his arms out a moment later.   “Woohoo!  Zero-gravity action!”   “Seeya Toaster, I’ll be taking care of some… things,” he waved to his fellow co-pilot. He floated to his stray Q-35 and Old Glory, hoisting them on the back of his duster perpendicularly. He kicked his way down the chamber while the shuttle drifted aimlessly in space.   “I shall manage our malignant exodus!” The Toaster replied. Before slamming on the floor, he latched onto the underside door handle, hanging on it with a light grip.  He brought his other hand around, twisting the latch until the door creaked open, leading to the cargo bay next to the pilot’s chamber. After opening the door, he carefully lifted himself in, releasing his grip on the door handle to see what was in store for him.   He hovered into a larger, much wider chamber that held the same platinum-wall color as the cockpit. All around in a swarm of insects, were yellow and red robotic radscorpions. Their edges were sharper, their stinger looked more like a blaster, and their faces were covered with buttons.  Their little legs and tails creeped helplessly as their A.I.s attempted to adjust to the situation. The Courier grinned as his two hands reached his waists. His hands re-emerged, each with a weapon in his grasps.  One was a pearl-gripped, silver-plated revolver with a black club sigil.  The other was a strange cylindrical pistol with pilot lights, an oscilloscope, and a strange plate at the end that resembled a speaker.   “This is gonna be sooo like an action movie…” He said with a smile. He aimed his dual pistols at the robot-scorpion that was in front of him. Pulling both triggers, he unleashed sounds of gunpowder and sound frequencies.  Bullets and sonic waves dashed across the cargo-chamber until they made contact with several robo-scorpions on the way, scraping their armor and tearing their wires apart.   All the robo-scorpions in the room turned their attention to the shooting Courier, and he didn’t seem to mind, he just shot faster. Blue laser beams darted across the entire room in all directions. The robo-scorpions used their flexible tails to aim towards the Courier, who was happily shooting and destroying them. Despite their increased mobility, the zero gravity made it difficult for them to get a clear shot. Even having dozens of robo-scorpions in the same room, shooting at him, wasn’t enough to intimidate the Courier. “This. Is. Awesome!!” After destroying a robo-scorpion, leaving it’s cold hull to float around, the Courier reloaded his revolver, Lucky. Through putting in the last round, a robo-scorpion managed to float close towards his arm. Using it’s stinger, it blasted his arm with a blue ray, giving him a yelp of pain and a burn wound. Before he could repel the attack, the robo-scorpion used it’s mechanical pincers to latch onto the Courier’s arm, making him scream in more pain. “You stupid robo-” he wrathfully muttered before forcefully ripping the scorpion off and throwing him into a small cluster of robo-scorpions.   “If you like me that much, you should ask for an autograph or photo! 50 caps up front!” He loudly taunted. He grabbed his floating revolver, locking the cylinder back into the chamber, and continued to fire Lucky and his Sonic Emitter. He became elated when he managed to destroy two robo-scorpions using each different pistol.   “Double kill,” he narrated himself. He went and fired both pistols on a closing robo-scorpion. The lights of it shut down and the stinger ceased to aim further. “Triple kill.” He switched to his Q-35 and blasted a robo-scorpion with a surge of plasma, causing it to buzz profusely, then combust, separating its arms and tail. “Overkill.” He released his pistols mid-air, causing them to levitate near his head. Doing so, he grabbed the tail of a nearby robo-scorpion and twisted his body around, causing the robot to fly and crash into more robo-scorpions, disorientating the floating land-bots even more.   “Killing spree!!” The Courier continued to massacre the robo-scorpions in space. Soon enough, half of the first cargo chamber was filled with floating, dead, metal scorpions. The Courier shouted in glee as he prepared to engage more zero-gravity fighting, savoring the experience of space-combat. “Let’s get it to Unfrigginbelievable!” *** *** Pain. Pain was what all the Lone Wanderer could feel. Being hanged up by cuffs suspending in forcefield, his struggle for escape proved meaningless. He could only look down at his alien captors and their shock batons. “GAAAAAAHHH!!!!”  One of the aliens stabbed the shock rod into the Wanderer’s armor. Though it did not pierce it, the armor acted as a perfect conductor for the volts that transferred. Shards of electricity danced with each other across the steel hydraulics and adjustors of the Wanderer’s T-51b.   The Wanderer’s eyes were clenched shut, as well as his jaw. His teeth gritted heavily as his whole body suddenly ceased then functioned in a never ending loop.  His mind shut down and rebooted with each bolt of lightning that passed through his brain. He felt his body heat up then suddenly cool down. He screamed at the reality that he was literally being fried in his own armor. Then it stopped. The feeling of pain running through his body halted. His stuck up head now laid low, watching his captors give him a taste of limbo before sending him to purgatory.  He groaned deeply and took loud breaths as his alien captors babbled to him, to which he couldn’t understand one bit. He glared daggers at them as they looked at him expectantly. “Fuck. You.” He slowly hissed through the gaps of his teeth. The other alien babbled to his torturer to thrust the shock baton into his pelvis. The Wanderer clenched his fists again, preparing for more. The Pitt was worse… he commented in his mind. He glanced towards the open door behind his alien enemies. His eyes were filled with hope and guilt when he saw one of the wasteland survivors dash in and whack his torturer with his rifle.  He wielded it as a baseball bat as green blood splurted out into the dirty air. His other alien captor witnessed the scuffle, and pulled out his box-like pistol. “Look out!” The Wanderer warned. The Wanderer watched a staple-shaped projectile fling across the stainless room. While the blue projectile failed to injure anything critical, it managed to strike the wastelander’s forearm. The wastelander clutched his arm and fell to the floor, groaning to the newfound pain. The Wanderer struggled to break free as he saw the alien run up to the groveling man, alien blaster in hand, pointing at the head.   The Wanderer could only watch, feeling useless as the alien grabbed the shock baton from his fallen comrade and jabbed it into the wastelander. The wastelander screamed, body jolting around, flesh flashing in a blue hue. The Wanderer, now grinding his teeth, groaned as he used all of his strength to try to break free of the levitating shackles. Time didn’t matter as the screaming and the shocking went on… and on… and on… and on. His ears caught the sounds of a blaster discharging from the hall. He looked down to see another wastelander, short and blackhaired, fire nearly point-blank at the alien. Two balls of energy impacted the alien’s skull. The alien dropped the baton and fell back. Along the way, the alien’s body dissipated in a cyan tint, to which the Wanderer could see through several gaps in the alien. Finally, the alien was converted to a pile of ash in it’s last screams. The Wanderer’s breathing slowed as he gazed to the steaming pile of ash, the wastelander who laid across the floor, and the one who ran in front of him. “Are you alright?” The man asked the one hanging in power armor. “I’m fine! Use that console to get me down!” The Wanderer commanded while nodding his head towards the controls that were on a counter. The wastelander ran and began pressing random buttons until the Wanderer fell flat onto the cold floor with a loud thud. He felt the rescuing wastelander touch his armor.   The Wanderer had difficulty standing up. His disabled servo joints were powering back on, making for stiff movement for the armor. His real joints were even stiffer from the soreness that came with the shocking. His skin felt seared, but not burnt like charcoal, but it stung continuously with the contact with the padding of the armor.       “How did you get caught?” The wastelander asked. “Grgh, some aliens got the jump on me,” the Wanderer explained while he held his arm against the floor. “The armor short-circuited from the baton, and they dragged me here.”   The Wanderer finally stood up and he stumbled backwards and leaned against the wall.  Shaking his head, he retained his balance and movement, but still felt traces of soreness and dizziness. He grabbed his backpack and battery pack off of a nearby table. His eyes caught the sight of the motionless wastelander and rushed over. Kneeling down, he rolled the body over. He examined the pulse, called out to him and shook his upper body. The wastelander was not responsive. Silently cursing, the Wanderer carefully shut the wastelander’s eyes before standing back up with his fists clenched. “We just lost him,” the Wanderer hissed. The wastelander gave a sigh before pulling out a strange device with a long needle. “Here, you need a stim?” The Wanderer turned around and looked down at what he identified as a stimpak. His hand slowly opened before his eyes caught a stain of blood on the wastelander’s shoulder.   The Lone Wanderer shook his head while holding his hand out.   “You need it more. I already have some stimpaks,” he insisted. Shrugging, the wastelander jammed the needle of the stimpak through the rags of his arm, giving a relaxed breath as the fluids injected. Before leaving, the Wanderer picked up a strange, hourglass-shaped device with clusters of miniature holes on one end. He realized that there was a massive pile of the same device in the corner of the room that they were just in. The man he was with informed him of what happened since he was captured. The man then ran ahead at the sight of his fellow survivors surrounding two more aliens, both in the same begging posture.  The Wanderer fiddled with the device until a button clicked. “Where am I?  Where’s my sister?”  The voice of a little girl called from the device. The Lone Wanderer stopped dead in his tracks, looking at what he now identified as a recorder. “I can hear some weird noises, but I can’t see you. Why is it so dark in here?  What’s this machine? Please… someone talk to me!” The Wanderer only breathed through his nostrils. “I want to go home! Please! Where’s my mommy and daddy?!  I just wanna go home!” The sounds of a bright light switching on and whirrs of machinery came from the speaker. The Wanderer’s teeth grinded. “OW! That’s bright!  Ugh… wait… what? OH MY GOD! NOOOOOOO! Stay away from me!  GET AWAY!” *Click!*  The Wanderer now held the device by his waist. His fingers coiled around the recorder. His hand muscles and fingers pushed to the point where he felt wetness at the palm of his hand. His hand shook vigorously. The device crumbled into a mess of ripped wires and shattered circuits.   One step at a time, the Wanderer stomped towards the group of survivors. The sounds of air swerving through his nose emanated from the helmet.  His hand slowly ridded itself of broken technology. One of the wastelanders saw the Wanderer’s approach and ran up to meet him. “Hey, we just found two more of them, what sh-” The Wanderer walked right past the wastelander without eye contact, who looked at him with confusion. The Wanderer stood in front of the first alien, who was babbling and begging all around.  The wastelanders noticed his arrival and looked at him while the one from before asked him again.   “Hey, what should we do-” His question was halted when he saw the Wanderer lift his leg into the air. The Wanderer looked down towards the alien, who was too busy groveling towards the metal floor.  His foot was parallel towards the ground as he moved it over.   “You motherfuckers…” He growled through his shut teeth. “...ARE ALL GOING TO PAY!!!”   His bloodied voice echoed through the halls of the mothership. The Lone Wanderer’s heavy foot descended upon the alien’s skull. The alien was beginning to look up towards the Wanderer when he caught the view of the Wanderer’s boot sole.  The alien’s head slammed into the floor from the Wanderer’s foot.  The Wanderer’s suit didn’t stop there. Instead of resting his foot on the alien’s head, he pushed down further.   *KKSSGGH!* The weight of the armor proved to be too much for the fragile skull, and sunk through the alien’s head. The alien’s flailing arms and legs ceased to move. The Wanderer’s foot dropped deeper and deeper through the bowl of gore until a clang was heard. The wastelanders watched in awe, while the other alien watched in horror, and fell onto it’s back. After a second of silence, the Wanderer used his other foot in assistance for the removal.  The foot emerged from the alien’s head, now covered with grass-green blood and brains.  The Wanderer’s head suddenly turned towards the other alien, who waved his arms in front of himself while turning away, shutting his eyes.   The Wanderer took only two steps until he was directly in front of the begging alien. The alien looked to him with space-black eyes, now practically screaming in the language for mercy. The Wanderer’s hand formed into a cup, and lunged down, catching the alien’s thin neck. The metal arm rose up, taking the alien with it. The alien waved its arms around, hitting the armor with no effect. “At least raiders and slavers saw some sort of value in human life, if very little…” The Wanderer mumbled.  He then brought the alien’s face up close to his, to which the alien could not read the eyes hidden behind the thick visor. The Wanderer turned himself as he violently slammed the alien’s head into the steel wall.  The alien gave a shriek of pain as it continued to babble in it’s unknown language.  Again and again, the Wanderer thrashed the alien’s head against the wall.  It’s pleas for aid gradually toned down until silence came to it.  The alien’s arms drooped down as the Wanderer made one, final push. “While you all saw none!!” The alien’s skull popped like a balloon. Blood and gore scattered and stained the wall as the alien’s head was practically no more than a slab of sick flesh. The Wanderer, whose arm was now covered with the same stain as his foot, threw the stick-like corpse to the ground. The wastelanders looked at him with dropped jaws and eyes with oceans of white.  The halls were completely silent, aside from the Wanderer’s heavy breathing. Everyone stared at him awkwardly while the Lone Wanderer stared at them, expecting no objections from them. “That was… that was a bit more extreme,” one of the wastelanders commented. The Wanderer ignored the statement, and marched away, continuing their trek through the mothership.  The wastelanders looked at the Wanderer from behind, still taking in what they have just seen.   “They’re all going to pay,” he muttered under his breath.  “They are all going to pay…” *** *** “ATTENTION! ATTENTION! TO WHOEVER IS LISTENING TO BIG MOUNTAIN’S FIRST SPACE BROADCAST!” Dr. Klein’s caps-lock tone yelled through the Courier’s Pipboy. “THE TELEPORTATION PROTOTYPE IS NOW ACTIVATING IN THE STUPID SPACESHIP!  ALL LOBOTOMITES WITH HAND AND FOOT PENSISES SHOULD REPORT TO THE CONTROLS OF THE STUPID SHUTTLE!”   “Aww. I almost got the ordinance and the attack chopper...” Getting the loud message, the Courier then attempted to return back to the cockpit while blue beams continued to fire at him. He looked back to the persistent robo-scorpions. “You guys didn’t have to make this a ‘farewell’ party,” he commented with a smile. A cyan laser burned the hair strand next to his ear. “No really! You didn’t have to!” Using the metal bars along the walls, the Courier shot himself up towards the door leading to the control chamber.  Reaching the door handle, he then threw himself up into the pilot’s chamber, to which he could hear Toaster. “For the second time, I command you fools to move your vessel!”  He heard the Toaster rant.  “Or otherwise I will lay destruction and pain to everyone you knew and loved!” The Courier floated himself back to his seat to delve in on the situation.  “What’s wrong Toaster?”  He asked, but his question was already answered when he saw what was outside the window.   A strange, but tiny, disk-shaped vessel was simply floating around in outer space with lit windows and flashing lights. The shuttle slowly drifted towards it without any means of evasion. “Here, lemme try something,” he calmly suggested while adjusting himself into his seat. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Hey! Asshole! Move it!”  He yelled. *Honk! Honk!* “We got places to be and things to do!  Get out of the way!” While he ranted with Toaster, a strange blue light emanated from the nose of the shuttle. The glow illuminated the white paint of the shuttle and the two (incompetent) pilots. The light grew larger and brighter. The stars around them slowly spun around, almost forming new constellations in the night sky. They failed to notice any change at all. “Hey! I’m flyin’ here! I’m flyin’ here!” They also didn’t notice that the rear of the shuttle suddenly roared, causing it’s hulls to vibrate, and the space-disk to rapidly grow in size. *** ***   “Why…” The Lone Wanderer sat in the captain’s seat. The bridge of the mothership was silent. Scattered around were many chairs and control consoles that he thought was too dangerous to fidget with. Lying around those very places were piles of steaming ash and dismembered alien. The only sounds that accompanied the Wanderer was the whirring of the machinery and the beeps of the controls. He only looked down at the dull, gray floor. He had nothing else to look at, and he certainly didn’t want to look at Earth anymore. What was once a gorgeous, blue marble, was now nightmarishly the opposite. Instead of the lush, green vegetation that covered the continents, was the sickly, dead brown from when all of it suddenly died. The rich oceans and seas were a sickly green. The blue, atmospheric blanket, was now morphed to the same color of the poisoned water.   The Wanderer could not help but mourn.  Here was a beautiful, possibly one-of-a-kind planet, filled with rich life and culture, was now dead.  Everything was gone.  Humanity has allowed their most precious gift to simply taint for now and forever.  He never thought he would be in space, but now he can only see regret, adding more regret than he already had for his comrades. All the people he rescued from the alien prisons were gone. His wastelander, rag-tag team was defunct. While he didn’t notice, one-by-one, members of their posse began to die. The mothership was bigger than anticipated, which gave time for more survivors to fall. When he arrived at the door to the bridge, it was only him, alone. They trusted their lives in his hands, and he let them slip away. He had failed to save them. He felt deep regret for not doing so. His heart ached from each person he had failed on this mothership. Even the raider, he held high salutes for. The raider died while holding off a mob of attack drones, giving the survivors precious time to destroy and escape the drone factory. Even though he despised the raider’s methods of ‘fun,’ he forgave him for following the virtue that he himself has already demonstrated.   At least the alien’s reign of terror was finally over. No more abductions or cruel experiments. He could not help but remember his father. And the Enclave. And Colonel Autumn. And Project Purity. And Vault 101… He clenched his fists. “Dammit…” His eyes were on the verge of tears. The Lone Wanderer was lost. For once, his Pipboy did not hold instructions on what to do next.  Elder Lyons wasn’t there to give him another assignment. Sarah wasn’t there to make some snappy joke. Amata wasn’t there to invite him to some shenanigans. James wasn’t there to guide him… He had no clue what to do next. All the aliens in the ship were now dead, leaving the Lone Wanderer the only living thing in the suspended vessel. Should he just go back to Earth and pretend nothing happened?  Should he try to bring this technology back to the Brotherhood?  Should he just… leave? Explore… the vast universe?  This ship certainly proved that there was much more out there than Earth. The Lone Wanderer gave a sigh and rested his hands on his helmet.  “Just wh-” *Beep! Beep! Beep!* “Huh?” *Beep! Beep! Beep!* An alarm broke the dreadful silence of the empty bridge. The Wanderer lifted his head, eyes scanning the large room for the source of the noise. He identified it at a distant console. He plodded over to the controls and seated himself in the flexible chair. He examined the series of buttons before locating a red button that corresponded to the alarm with each flicker. Pushing it, an orange hologram materialized above the desk, causing the Lone Wanderer to slouch back, catching it in full view. He recognized hologram as the mothership, designed in those typical, sci-fi entertainment holotapes, a saucer shape. But one thing stood out from this cliche design. Heading towards the jaw of the front of the mothership was a strange, red object. The red object was in the distinctive shape of a long tube, barely making out some fins that protruded out from the bottom base of the tube. The front end of the tube concentrated to the shape of a cone with a rounded nose. It’s speed increased as it drew closer and closer to the hull of the mothership.   The Lone Wanderer’s eyes sprang open and gave an open gasp. “Is… is that a-”   He gulped while sweat trickled from his forehead.  His jaw trembled down along with his arms and legs, to which he saved himself from falling off of the chair by using his arm. “Oh my god…” *** *** Dusk came to the lands of Equestria. The magnificent city of Canterlot stood tall against the peak of a mountain. The elaborate marble architecture took on the relaxing hue of the darkening sky. The ruler of the sun, Princess Celestia, was navigating through the labyrinth of a palace.  Her slender limbs felt worn as bags formed underneath her eyes.  She talked with a slow pace, and she greeted every guard with less and less voice until the final guard, to which she gave a nod afterwards.  Despite all of this, she mustered the strength to smile at the sight of her sister in the royal dining room. She approached her sister, who was poking at a cardboard box that stood on the table.  “Hello Luna,” she greeted. Luna held her head low against the fancy tablecloth, poking at a box with colorful, cartoonish art on it.  Her ears perked and she turned with open eyes to her groggy sister.  “Hey ‘Tia,” she said back with a grin. Celestia raised an eyebrow when Luna poked the rectangular box again.  “What are you doing?” “We… I mean I am currently investigating this… thing,” she said while giving the box a shake.  “This is supposed to be a modern meal for the break from the fast?” Celestia let out a mature giggle. “Sister, that is cereal.”   Luna cocked her head to the side. “Seer-e-al?” Celestia giggled again. “Here,” she said while her horn glowed a sunlight yellow. “Let me show you.”   The cereal box was engulfed with an aura of the same color. The tabs of the box cut themselves loose and folded back, revealing the colorful contents on inside.  Still keeping a small smug, Celestia then poured the rainbow-color grains into the milk-filled bowl in front of Luna until it was filled to the brim. “It’s easy.” Luna gave a miniscule gasp as Celestia stared at her with amusement. The dark blue alicorn then crossed her forelegs and looked away with a pout.   “I’ll have you know, I was just… testing you!” Luna claimed. Celestia laughed at her sister’s embarrassment. “Well then, I hope you enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to call it a day. Good night.” “Mmm, night.”  Before Celestia moved past Luna, the breakfast-eating alicorn stooped her head up from slurping her cereal.  Her expression became solid as her eyes kept a fixed view on the cereal.  “Tia’,” she said, making her sun sister stop in her tracks. “I… just have this feeling.” Celestia twisted her head towards Luna.  “Feeling, Luna?” She nodded.  “I… there… it’s hard to describe,” she stammered, stirring her cereal with her levitating spoon. “I… was sleeping when something… I don’t know what.  Saw something?  Just an omen?” “What do you think is going to happen?”   A small clang echoed in the dining room from a spoon being dropped against the side of the bowl. “W- I don’t know. A disturbance? A miracle? I have no clue, but something is sure to occur.”   Celestia starred off towards the crude paintings that represented Equestria’s history, and resembled the glass murals in the throne room. One was the banishment of Nightmare Moon. She frowned at the first before smiling at another painting of six ponies who defeated her in her return. The next set was of the same sort, except instead of Nightmare Moon, it was Discord. The third individual painting was of a union of a pink princess and a guard. “If you are sure that something shall happen soon, then I trust your judgement. I shall take caution,” she said before walking off towards another door. Luna gained a grin as she heard the creaks of the door opening. Her grin erupted into a giggle as she heard the falling of water. Celestia stood still as she found herself to be taking a sudden shower. Her waving, pastel mane was now flattened by cold water. Her head and sights were now obscured by the steel of a bucket.  The water dripped from the princess’ side and onto the carpet floor.  Luna, who had the biggest grin she could have, looked innocently towards her cereal bowl. “Is that what you mean by ‘something is going to happen?”  Celestia asked while looking ahead. “Maybe…” Luna snickered.   Celestia gained a sinister smile.  “I’ll get you…”