Date: 11.7.2224
Location: University District, Red Rocket → Hospital → Dupré Library
We left the Campus Cupboard under the hush of midnight, bellies full of stale crackers and borrowed strength. The night was thick but still—no bugs, no swarms, just a hollow calm that made the ruins of campus feel like a stage waiting for actors. Pinball floated ahead, lights dimmed low, scanning shadows with jittery pings that echoed like sonar against the broken stone.
I muttered, half to myself:
“Boy, they really prepared this place for a storm.”
From the shadows, Samson Reed emerged, cart creaking behind him, melons stacked like trophies of patience. He walked slow, measured, as though the night bent to his rhythm.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “I’ve been circling this place for days since you told me of it. Waiting. Watching. It is sealed tighter than a heart that refuses to forgive. While I waited, I gathered fruit. Would you like a bite?”
I shook my head. “True… but it can wait. First I need access to something familiar. My brother. My blood. It’s all in here. I know it.”
Then I swung toward Larry, letting sarcasm drip.
“Wouldn’t this be the perfect time to have the POWER ARMOR?”
Larry smirked, lips already twitching with excuses.
“Umm… duh.”
“But you left it, you big doof!” I shot back.
“Not my fault you were in such a rush.”
Clancy, deadpan, cut through the noise.
“Yeah, right. We left out pretty slowly.”
Pinball’s servos whined sharp.
“Swindler should retrieve it. Now.”
Larry, ever the performer, spun a silver-threaded excuse about why we should all return together, about safety in numbers, about “opportunity on the way back.” It was believable enough—and maybe we were too tired to fight him on it. We turned back.
The Walk Back
The ruins spoke in whispers. Cats of every color darted around us, tails flicking like paintbrushes across the rubble. In the distance, mutant dogs howled—hungry, bitter. The crater from Clancy’s pulse grenade still smoked faintly, its basin filled with slick, bubbling goo that clung to air like tar. We kept close to walls, weaving between shattered buildings, scavenging where we could.
Larry stopped short, pointing ahead with a grin.
“Red Rocket. We secure that first.”
The neon sign buzzed, its glow unnatural, too bright for this graveyard of a city. Inside, the truck stop was a vault of fortune—tools, workbenches, even half-burnt schematics. Larry settled there like a crow finding a nest.
“Go on,” he waved, already stacking supplies. “You and your robot can chase after the armor. I’ll keep this place warm.”
Clancy grunted. “Or maybe you’re just afraid of running into Colby’s mom again.”
Larry didn’t argue. He just poured himself a drink.
On the Road to the Hospital
Clancy’s voice filled the empty night, his words stumbling over memories better left unsaid.
“You know,” he started, “back in the Enclave… if we caught a synth? Didn’t matter if it looked human, talked human—once it turned on us, it was scrap. We’d smash it to bits, then pick through what was left. Circuits, bones of steel, processors—they were just… tech. Tools for building something better. Supersoldiers, weapons, hell, sometimes even power armor mods. Nothing went to waste, not even them.”
Samson walked in silence, eyes fixed ahead, his posture tight. He knew the protocol well—but not from Clancy’s side.
Clancy gave an awkward laugh, not realizing the weight of his words. “Funny thing, huh? They wanted freedom, but in the end, we just turned ’em into parts.”
Samson slowed his step, then finally spoke—his tone steady, almost too calm.
“Lieutenant, pasts are weights. Some choose to drag them. Others choose to lay them down.”
Clancy blinked, his own laughter dying. “…You’re right. I… I’m sorry. It was a major part of my life.”
Samson said nothing more. Instead, he reached into his cart, pulled a melon, and placed it firmly into Clancy’s hand.
“And yet you still live. That is proof enough that past chains can break.”
The words landed heavier than any rebuke, pressing into the silence of the night.
Pinball sputtered mid-flight, his voice strained and glitching.
“Clancy… sir. Samson. Mr. Marcel… I am in dire need of repair.”
Clancy, Looking over to Pinball with great concern:
“Pinball, hold! We’ll have you patched when we get to the hospital!”
Pinball gave a distorted laugh, sparks crackling under his words.
“Holding… is all I do.”
Brotherhood Hospital
Their silhouettes rose before us first—Brotherhood patrols, armor gleaming faintly in torchlight. Knight Colby Voss spotted us, jaw tight but eyes soft, and led us straight to his mother.
Knight-Captain Adrienne Voss stood like a wall that learned to smile. She greeted me with a sharp smirk before we could even breathe a request.
Through a narrow passage, the armor gleamed like a reborn beast. Chrome plates reflected firelight, its once-pitted joints now humming faintly with life. It was beautiful—and dangerous.
“You may take it,” Adrienne said. “But understand this: Brotherhood property does not wander indefinitely. In three days, it will self-destruct. Non-negotiable. Do you accept?”
Pinball beeped erratically, sharp and urgent.
“Warning! You know what to do!”
Samson stepped forward. “Is it automated?”
Colby shook his head. “No. It needs a pilot. It is not a robot.”
“Speaking of robots,” Samson countered, “this one—Pinball—requires immediate tending.”
Adrienne studied the Handy unit, then me. “We can provide temporary boosts. Not a full restoration. He will limp through the night, but by morning, he’ll hold.”
Pinball wheezed a metallic laugh.
“I need a drink… GOODNIGHT, IRENE!”
We all froze. “IRENE?!” we barked in unison.
Pinball laughed louder. Samson clapped a hand over his steel frame, grinning.
“Put him to sleep before he names the moon.”
The Discovery
We spent the night within the hospital’s walls. By morning, the armor stood ready, Larry already inside, spinning like a child given fireworks. At the Red Rocket, we tuned gear, tightened straps, sharpened blades.
That’s when I noticed it. The Fusion Core didn’t hum right—it ticked. A steady, poisonous pulse. Not a power source. A bomb.
I didn’t tell them. I just smirked at Larry.
“Hey, man. Wanna take it for a spin?”
He grinned wide, stomping forward in chrome. I drifted back toward the Swindler’s stash, keeping my secret.
“Yo, Larry,” I called casually. “You know you can fly with that thing, right?”
His eyes lit like fireworks. The trap was set.
Toward the Library
Samson and Clancy fist-bumped, silent solidarity.
Pinball hovered beside me, whispering in broken tones.
“All systems… strained. But… purpose intact.”
We walked. The night air was cool, shadows deep but quiet. No bugs, no dogs, just the steady rhythm of footsteps.
The library stood waiting, immovable, sealed like a vault of memory. It did not yield, not yet. But each step forward was a covenant—toward Darryl, toward the Rougarou truth, toward answers buried in its bones.
The neon of Red Rocket faded behind us, and the library’s silhouette grew larger, darker, more absolute.
And so we walked. Not rushed. Not desperate. But steady.
Toward the door that would not yet open.
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