Approaching Medical Center

Daybreak found us well-rested. Lt. Clancy and Larry—the Swindler—were already devouring sweet rolls, Fancy Lads snack cakes, and Nuka-Cola. The smell of sugar and artificial flavors filled the air, clashing with the haze of the city.

I briefed them: the Brotherhood had established a presence at the Medical Center. If we reached it, Pinball could be restored to 100% efficiency, and there was a chance to trade this old, rusted power armor for gear that might actually survive the Wastes.

Clancy stiffened. “The Brotherhood… pure evil,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. His mind raced with memories of Enclave warnings and preconceptions I’ve long since learned to filter through my own lens.

Larry, on the other hand, sat pale, shaking slightly. Past dealings with Brotherhood tech had left him convinced a misstep would cost him his life. Every story I’d heard about them from him was tinged with fear and caution—none of it reassuring.

Pinball projected historical data: Brotherhood movements, past raids, organizational protocol. Clancy’s reaction was instantaneous, a mix of awe and terror. “We’re going into their territory? I....I don’t even know what to expect!”

We pressed forward, the ruined streets of Lafayette slowing our pace. Three hundred yards from the hospital, a grim sight greeted us: a deceased pack Brahmin, tipped over. Approaching cautiously, we found the baggage and crates—everything taken.

Then, from nowhere, a familiar voice:

“Are you ... Mike Marcel?”

I responded. “Yes.”

“Chief?! I was informed you were coming via signal… I followed the Tracks like you said… one of the others… we know your Codex… RAILROAD... it’s helped us. And look—I even have the Lantern!”

I froze. “How???”

“When you educate one of us, we remember, incorporate, repeat. We may not live the same life, but we all learn via signal. You encountered one of us previously. I am you. I am Samson.”

I exhaled slowly, assessing him. “What happened?”

He grimaced. “The Brotherhood… they killed her,” he said, gesturing at the Brahmin. “I heard them during their sweeps. They tipped her over. She died slowly. I remained… calm. But now—I have nothing. My livelihood… gone. This is not usual.”

I promised him: I would recover what I could...if he agreed to meet at the University later.

Clancy and Larry were baffled. Clancy’s jaw tightened; Larry’s eyes darted in disbelief. I attempted to introduce them to Samson, still uncertain how he knew me so intimately.

“Samson Reed… someone I met in Vault 288,” I explained, softening the truth to shield them from full exposure.

Pinball chimed, clipped and digital: “Sir?”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “They’re ready.”

Data projection illuminated the ground between us: hundreds of thousands of Samson Reeds had escaped the Institute. Each operates independently, shares memory across the network, and trades information—but each moves with variations, individuality. He’s a Trader, a Mechanic, a survivor. He knows terrain, understands the Railroad Codex, and navigates as I do.

I briefed Clancy and Larry further. “He’s a good man. Lives in Vault 288, runs his operations, watches the Wastes. He respects the code—the Railroad. I owe him my vigilance as he does mine.”

Samson slipped into a half-collapsed building for cover. I wanted to be angry at the precariousness of it, but there wasn’t time. The hospital demanded our attention next.

We parted ways. My focus: restore Pinball, gather intelligence, and navigate Brotherhood territory. The Tracks are set; the Railroad moves forward.

—The Big Chief