• Published 13th Sep 2012
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Bear, Scribe and Paladin - Speven Dillberg



The Courier takes the Lone Wanderer and a former Brotherhood Scribe to Equestria

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07: What Lies in The Past

Capital Wasteland, north of the National Guard Depot, early-2279

Greg ducked behind a rock and panted for breath. Life had been pretty easy for the simple Raider. Attack a caravan, get high off the chems they stole, use the corpse to decorate their base, then repeat the process. Then, she showed up.

In the two years since she had crawled out of that hole in the ground, things had changed. Greg’s gang, close to a hundred strong and with three permanent bases, had been reduced to him and five others. As the oldest, the others looked to him for guidance and leadership. All he wanted to do was run as far as he could into whatever lay east of DC. He didn’t care if there were feral ghouls, killer robots or Super Mutants. Anything would have been better than -

“Stop hiding!” She had found them. “You’re only making it worse for yourselves!”

Greg peaked around the rock and saw her. Hidden behind the power armour was an emotionless killing machine, with enough firepower to put them all in their graves.

Dominica looked around, trying to find the Raiders. She knew they were here somewhere. She didn’t like hunting people down like animals, but she had to make a point to the criminal population of the Wastes, and the only language they understood was violence. She sighed under the Winterized T-51b and shifted her Gauss Rifle in her grip. She was sorely tempted to just walk away and leave them alone. True, the Elder wouldn’t like that she had let Raiders get away, but she just didn’t care anymore. The Capital Wasteland was, for the first time ever, safe.

Well, as safe as a place could be when it was populated by murderous criminals, mutated animals and crazed killer robots. But the fact was that the towns of the Wastes were thriving and expanding thanks to Project Purity. Rivet City had a small tent town on the old runway. Big Town had moved its perimeter fence and now encompassed over three dozen houses. Paradise Falls, the former slaver stronghold, now had a peaceful, law-abiding populace. Arefu was no longer confined to the old freeway, several shacks having been built in the field next to it. There was even talk of moving Megaton’s walls to accommodate a larger population.

The fact of the matter was, criminal activity like that performed by Raiders was becoming a rarity, and maybe leaving one group alone wouldn’t be a problem in the long run.

Just as Dom considered throwing up her arms in exasperation and turning around, a Raider with dirty brown hair popped out from behind a rock and opened fire at her. She had no idea what she had been hoping to do. Maybe she had expected to catch her off-guard. She snorted at the thought: if you wanted to catch Dom off-guard you’d want a set of wings to fly on.

The Raider emptied the magazine of 10mm bullets from her Chinese pistol into the Lone Wanderer, each shot bouncing off her poly-laminate composite shell. “You done?” she asked when the Raider looked at her gun as though wondering why it had stopped working.

Before the spike-and-scrap-clad woman could respond, the Paladin’s Gauss Rifle sent a metal slug through her gut at several times the speed of sound. She exploded in a shower of gore, one that elicited a scared shout from behind a rock.

“We surrender! For the love of god, we surrender!”


Dom sighed as she polished her left arm with an old rag. It was several hours after the fight that went so horribly wrong, and she still sat in the meeting room. Despite what everyone else had said, she managed to convince them that leaving her alone with her thoughts was best for now.

Her thoughts travelled back to her earlier life, her time in Vault 101. Things had been so carefree, so innocent. Life was so much easier when everyone believed that the outside world had essentially been destroyed, and the Vault was the only thing keeping anyone alive.

Then, not long after she turned nineteen, her life was thrown upside down. She had been forced to flee from her home, found out she hadn’t been born in the Vault, and killed a man to save another. All in one day. The fact that Burke was a heartless, evil bastard happy to massacre an entire town for his own gain didn’t help Dominica sleep easy that night. She had taken a life, she had killed another person. And nothing could ever change that.

It was because of that that she decided to wait before searching for her father. She wanted time to try and figure things out in her head. To that end, she became a small-time mercenary, performing odd jobs that wouldn’t put her too much in harm’s way. During that time, she managed to defuse the bomb in the Megaton crater, did all the practical research for the Wasteland Survival Guide and found herself a rather rare laser rifle. During that time she also had her first run-in with Talon Company.

After she had barely survived, she decided that she had to change her outlook on life. Killing was wrong, there was no denying that, but some people had to die. Some people were so horrible that their deaths would leave no mourners. It had still taken her some time to properly feel that way, but after she had she decided it was time to go after her father and get some answers.

In Vault 112, she had learnt another harsh, horrible lesson. To kill in mercy is not to kill, but to save. Activating the failsafe in Tranquility Lane had reduced her to a bawling mess, and she hated herself for doing what she had to.

”I killed them!” she screamed as she sat huddled against one of the loungers. “I killed them!”

“Dom,” James said, wrapping his crying daughter in a tight hug, “the right thing isn’t always easy. Braun was doing horrible things to those people for centuries. You saved them. And I’ve never been prouder.”

After that, things seemed to be simple enough again. She had her father, she had a purpose, and she was going to do something. Then the Enclave showed up. Barely two days after the reunion, and he was ripped from her life again, this time permanently. And she let her rage win. For three days, she was violent, moody, and liable to yell at someone for no good reason. It had taken one of the younger Initiates in the Citadel, not much older than she was, to help her get her head back on straight.

She was shaken out of her reminiscing when someone knocked on the door. “Um... Paladin Esposito?”

“Don’t bother with any of that, Veronica,” the ghoul replied as she stood up. “You’re not with my chapter, just ‘Dom’ is fine.”

“Oh, right.” She could hear the sound of fidgeting outside before she spoke again. “Well, it’s lunch time, if you want. Just letting you know.”

“Thanks.” She walked over to the door and opened it, seeing the Scribe there looking concerned.

“How are you doing?”

“Better, thanks. I was just thinking about my father.”

“The Sentinel told me about that. I’m sorry.” Veronica stepped to the side and started walking, Dom following close behind. “I know what it’s like.”

“You do?” she asked, raising the muscles that used to control her eyebrows.

“Well, not really, but I know how hard it is to try and go on without your parents.” Veronica sighed. “People expect you to just forget it because it’s the Wasteland, but - ”

“But to forget that kind of thing means you stop being human,” Dom said, finishing her sentence.

“Wow. I was just gonna say that’s it not that easy, but what you said works,” Veronica said happily.

“Well, both are true.” The ghoul was silent for a while. “Say, why’d you leave the Brotherhood anyway?” she asked suddenly.

Veronica became rigid and her expression froze in an awkward grimace. “I... I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dom blinked. “Was it that bad?”

“It wasn’t the leaving that was bad, it was what came after.” Veronica sighed bitterly. “It wasn’t enough that I decided I’d had enough, they had to come after me and make sure I wouldn’t say anything I shouldn’t.”

“What, like where the Brotherhood was?” For Dom, that made perfect sense. If she had to remain hidden and a member of her group had decided to leave, she too would want to make sure that no-one knew where to come looking.

“No, like anything to do with how anything worked. They were sooo convinced that they were so much better than everyone else that they went and murdered doctors and scientists.” Veronica looked at the ground sadly. “They nearly got me, too.”

Dom just blinked before shaking her head. “Fuck. Sounds like the Outcasts. They splintered off when Elder Lyons decided to focus his efforts towards helping the Wasteland instead of gathering tech,” she explained when Veronica raised an eyebrow at her. “Had to wipe them out a while back,” she added sadly.

“Oh... wow.” Veronica didn’t have much to say about that. “That can’t have been easy.”

“Yeah, a lot of the ones that stayed had friends who left.” Dom made as though to run her hand through her hair, but it went through thin air instead.

“So... what, you couldn’t convince anyone to come back after you got the giant killer robot and the water purifier working?” Veronica asked. “You’d think that’d be enough.”

“I guess it was a matter of principle at that point,” the Paladin said thoughtfully. “The way they saw things, anyone can make another human, but no-one can remember how to put together a P94. Whatever that is.”

“Plasma caster,” Veronica answered immediately. “Really rare, and really powerful. It can melt a hole right through a set of T-51b.” She pounded her chest, eliciting a clang, as if to emphasize her point.

Dom made a strange whistling noise. “And I thought plasma rifles were dangerous.” They emerged from the barracks, and made their way over to where the Griffons were. “Damn, that smells good.”

From the group of predators ripping into their meat, they could see Thomas waving at them. “Hey! You need to try this. It’s good!”


Author’s Notes:

Yeah, a bit different, kind of a self-imposed challenge/experiment.

Also, I think the game really glossed over just how someone would react to essentially committing mass murder in Vault 112 (if you’re going for good karma). Also, another reason the Outcasts wouldn’t touch it the place: rather fresh corpses.

Oh, and you need lips to whistle. One of the downsides to being a ghoul.