Awake at Titanus Hotel

Date: 09.23.2224
Location: Titanus Hotel, Louisiana
Status: Rest Complete | New Companion Assigned

I woke before sunrise. For the first time in weeks, it wasn't the cold that pulled me awake. It was silence. The kind that only exists inside buildings where someone still cares enough to keep the lights on. The room was clean. Cleaner than any place I had slept since leaving Vault 288.

I looked down at my Pip-Boy.

The casing had been repaired.

The screen was brighter.

Response time improved.

Someone had serviced it while I slept.

That realization woke me the rest of the way.

I don't remember giving anyone permission.

A knock interrupted the thought.

When I opened the door, a Mr. Handy hovered patiently in the hallway.

Fresh paint.

Polished chassis.

No dents worth mentioning.

It looked...new.

Almost uncomfortable being new.

"Greetings, Mr. Marcel," it said cheerfully.

"I have recently become operational. I have not yet been assigned a designation."

Its optics settled on my wrist.

"My operating system has been synchronized with your Pip-Boy. I have been instructed to accompany, assist, and protect you."

I looked from the robot to my wrist.

"You accessed my Pip-Boy?"

"Affirmative."

"Who authorized that?"

Before it answered, someone knocked again.

Standing outside was Samson Reed.

Not surprised.

Not hurried.

As though he had known exactly when I would wake.

"Marcel," he said.

"I knew you'd come."

I gave up trying to understand how he always seemed one step ahead.

"You work here?"

He nodded.

"I'm the technician."

"I thought you were a trader."

"So did I."

The corner of his mouth moved just enough to become a smile.

"Turns out I prefer keeping the lights on."

I looked back at my Pip-Boy.

"You repaired it."

"I modernized it."

He said it the same way someone might say they replaced worn boots.

No pride.

Just fact.

"It had seen hard use."

"I noticed."

"You also installed him."

"I did."

He glanced toward the Mr. Handy.

"When your message reached Vault 288, Zee wanted to send something back."

Something settled in my chest when he said her name.

"Most Mr. Handy units here handle maintenance and housekeeping," Samson continued.

"But the updates transmitted from Vault 288 allowed us to do something different."

He looked toward the floating machine.

"They were never designed to work this closely with a Pip-Boy."

The robot straightened.

"I am considerably more capable than standard housekeeping equipment."

Samson looked at him.

"So, he believes."

The Mr. Handy extended one of its manipulators proudly.

"I am, in fact, a supreme fighting machine."

Samson looked at me with the same expression someone reserves for an enthusiastic child.

"That assessment remains under evaluation."

I laughed.

The robot seemed pleased simply because someone had.

Samson rested a hand against the repaired Pip-Boy.

"This one belongs with you."

Then, after a pause, he corrected himself.

"No."

He looked directly at me.

"He travels with you."

I understood why he changed the sentence.

"He isn't property," Samson said quietly.

"I know."

"Good."

He looked toward the Mr. Handy.

"Then he will be free to become whatever he chooses."

The hallway fell silent.

It was such a small correction.

Belongs with you.

Not belongs to you.

For the Legion, words mattered because they became habits.

And habits became principles.

"I'll see you again," Samson said.

Then he walked away.

The Mr. Handy hovered awkwardly in the doorway until he disappeared around the corner.

Finally, it turned back toward me.

"Now that administrative matters have concluded..."

It hesitated.

"...what shall I call myself?"

I studied the round chassis.

The polished frame.

The oversized central eye.

An old memory surfaced.

"Pinball."

For a fraction of a second, the robot froze.

Then a chorus of cheerful pre-war arcade chimes burst from somewhere inside its speakers.

"P-P-P-PINBALL!"

Lights flashed across its chassis.

"T-T-THANK YOU, MR. MARCEL!"

"You can call me Chief."

Its eye brightened.

"Yes, Sir Mr. Chief!"

I decided not to correct it.

The Pip-Boy chimed.

COMPANION REGISTERED

Designation: Pinball

Diagnostic updates followed.

Enhanced perception.

Improved adaptive learning.

Expanded storage.

Repair supplies.

Oil.

Flamer fuel.

And, somehow...

A bottle of Big Chief Root Beer.

Still cold.

Pinball noticed me staring.

"I wished to make an excellent first impression, Mr. Chief."

I shook my head.

"I have no idea how you managed that."

"I have been learning."

"I can see that."

He floated into the room as though he had always belonged there.

Not owned.

Not assigned.

Just...present.

He immediately began talking.

Pre-war families.

Old hotels.

Markets.

The Great War.

Maintenance schedules.

Boiling temperatures for coffee.

He seemed fascinated by everything.

Especially things no one had asked him about.

I leaned back in the chair and listened.

Outside, the road to New Orleans waited.

Inside, my newest traveling companion had apparently decided that silence was an outdated operating system.

Something told me the journey had just become considerably louder.

— Big Chief Mike Marcel