like-ghosts

[like-ghosts]

Attention all Like Ghosts-heads

To the 3 or so people who actively follow this project, I got some potentially exciting, or upsetting, news for y'all. Effective immediately, I'm putting any Fallout related content on the backburner, but Like Ghosts will live on. I've realized that, after having my personal gripes with the setting, I've come to the realization that the gulf between Fallout's reality and what I was wanting to do with it was way too wide, and if I wanted to continue this creative venture further I was going to need to rediscover what I wanted in a story.

This is flowery language to say that, Scavenger Hunt and the wider Like Ghosts canon will be completely divorced from the Fallout franchise, giving me and the team (my cat, Tiger) the opportunity to further shape the post-apocalyptic world in a way that, while perhaps similar, offers a wider range of motion for divergences. This means a new setting - New Orleans, a city I've always wanted to write about! Additionally, I'll be working on new factions, new timeline, and mostly new characters! So be looking for that in the future. This isn't to say that I'm abandoning the Like Ghosts of Boston. In fact, I hope in working on the new section that it helps me think about things for the fallout one. Consider each an AU of the other.

I hope I didn't upset anyone with this announcement, but if so, I get that and understand. If y'all choose to stay, please do so.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 5 (Part 2a): The Siren City of Nuka-World

Like the last post, this section about Raiders will contain mentions of slavery. This is Nuka-World, after all.

Colter was a bitch. That much was true. However, it was Colter who originally brought together a tenuous union between the Disciples of Pain, the Operators Group, LLC, and P.A.C.K. - the Partnership for Active Collaborative Killing. Uniting, he was decent at. Running a raider empire, he was not. His tenuous rule was supplemented by his right hand man, Porter Gage, and his enforcer, Lex. Gage and Lex, as all raider underbosses did, quickly conspired to overthrow Colter and his lazy supporters. Colter handled inter-factional relations and attempted to play the faction heads against each other. Lex conspired then to sow disdain for Colter by sending small teams of loyal Disciples to sabotage the Gauntlet, artificially enabling more and more newcomer to get through, forcing Colter to spend more time doing his newfound hobby, killing those who emerged on the other side of it.

Finally, upon discovering the plot, Lex was forced into exile, though it would not be long before she returned through the Gauntlet, wielding a car bumper that she hammered into the shape of a sword. Tossing the heads of his guards that stood against her towards Colter, she demanded a duel, then proceeded to outsmart his electified power armor with a Thirst Zapper. She toyed with him for the next hour, systematically destroying limb after limb of his armor until he collapsed. She took great pleasure in ending his life, humbling and sadistically prolonging his death for all of Nuka-World to see. Colter's death was not challenged by his sycophants, either by fear or by Gage's political soothsaying. Lex claimed the title, and then proceeded to promise an expansive and lucrative future for the union of raider guilds, immediately sending task forces to conquer the rest of the park.

Mason was not satisfied when his Pack drew the short straw. Everyone knew there were only 5 park districts to control, and Mason's claim over the Safari Zone was not enough for him, even though it was the largest park in the complex. He planned his own coup, only for it to fail, miserably. He only was able to muster a slim majority of his faction, and he split his forces to take the power plant and dam simultaneously. The latter group failed to detonate charges at the dam, and the power plant's tenuous hold was only temporary. Mason's faithful would be purged, and those who sided with Lex were rewarded. Weylan, who had proven his worth to Lex by bringing her the head of a Deathclaw, would be named interim alpha of the faction, while Mason was used as a public knife sheath for the next few days. Finally Lex spared his pain by gutting him on a scaffold in front of the Fizztop Grille.

After the question of political unity was answered, then came the opportunity to turn Nuka-World into a paradise. Well, a paradise for one group of people. Quickly, the Connecticut Valley became a haven as a shady bordello with a casino attached to it, with slave auctions being a sideshow. That sideshow was where the real money was made, however, and the unique skills the raiders possessed, that of savagery, avarice, and domination, melded quite well to rival Paradise Falls in terms of acquiring and training human chattel. To avoid going into too much detail, assume "human chattel" to mean all senses of the word.

The sudden influx of raider survivors came as a bit of a shock, as the Commonwealth's population of Raiders - while full of weak suckers - were well on their way into domination of an even weaker settler population. It was "That Bitch Ashley" behind it all. Having the puritan Minutemen of the Commonwealth at the helm of their republic proved to be both detrimental and helpful to their business, as the loss in coercive income from the east was supplanted by new employment. Nuka-World rocketed from a raider camp to the New Vegas of the East, but with sickening upon sickening twist.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 5 [Part 1]: Raiders and their Exploits

This will be a multi-part series as I have a large amount of raiders that have joined forces under the acronym SARG, and each of them deserves their own dead drop I think. More below the thing! Worth noting, CW: slavery. There will be a lot of mentions of that and more in the coming posts. If the Brotherhood or the Institute was evil, these guys are EVIL EVIL.

The Syndicate of Autonomous Raiders and Gunners (hereafter mentioned as SARG) is a loosely-united confederation of raider gangs and mercenaries from the Commonwealth, Nuka-World, and New Haven, along with elements of Gunners, Pitt guards, Talon mercs, and Paradise Falls slavers. This group was formed in 2290 after the proclamation of the Commonwealth Provisional Republic, as a counter-alliance between the raiders of the Commonwealth, and the raiders of Nuka-World. The Treaty of Springfield in 2290 also brought in elements of New Haven, and the Gunners who, after losing Quincy and Gunners Plaza to General Marion's 1st Minutemen Brigade, were out for revenge. By far however, the largest contingent of the group is the Nuka-World, led by their undisputed Overboss - Lex.

Before SARG, Lex turned the group of lazy raiders into a well-honed machine when she convinced the Disciples and the Operators to coup the prior Overboss Colter. After taking over the rest of the park, Mason's Pack launched an attempted coup, ending in half of the Pack killing each other, but with most of them loyal to the Overboss. Lex decided to spare them from exile or execution, but gladly gutted Mason in the center of Nuka-Town. Adopting a policy of savagery and spectacle, attacking convoys south and west, but steering clear of a Commonwealth embroiled in war, a war which Lex wished to avoid. After making contact with the Pitt, Paradise Falls, and the mines in Eastern Kentucky, Nuka-World became a slave-fueled empire, using the stock of New England wastelanders to fill cuffs and cages to send to them.

The Nuka-World raiders stayed largely out of the maelstrom back east, until the Gunners began trickling into their territory, which angered Lex and the heads of both the Disciples and the Operators, who saw the encroachment as both a matter of disrespect and an incursion into their market. These mercs were made examples of, sent back to Gunners Plaza one organ at a time. The Gunners quickly saw the futility of their fight with the Nuka-World Raiders and refocused their efforts east, leading to the taking of Quincy and the Long March of the Minutemen. The Raiders however set their eyes south to the Capital Wasteland, and focused their efforts exploiting a city devoid of much of their stalwart defenders - the Brotherhood. They sought to bring back Talon Company on top to exploit the power vacuum, and began leading a policy of creating chaos to make the Talon Company, led by Hatton, look good. It worked like a charm. The Capital Wasteland came to love Talon Company, even as they often collaborated with Nuka-World in getting fresh slaves, using Paradise Falls as a hub. There was a bit of a setback, however. Nuka-World had a refugee problem. Raiders turned refugees flooded the Connecticut River Valley, attempting to seek asylum among kindred spirits. The raiders claimed the Minutemen, led by "that bitch Ashey," led campaign after campaign against them, Starting in Concord, then Lexington, then several Boston strongholds, then Saugus, then Quincy - Wait. Quincy? Gunners were among the first refugees shuffling through the hills into Nuka-World. Lex relished in the thought. These refugees were met with a cold but firm embrace, and SARG was born.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 4: A Brotherhood Divided [Part 2]

Carrying over from our first section of the Brotherhood Divided post, this group represents a more traditionalist sect of the Brotherhood, whose devotion borders even moreso towards the occult. Content below. The reign of Owyn Lyons had its detractors, of course. Of which, there were quite a few within his inner circle, The Council. Many opposed his hiring of outsiders, the recruitment of the average wastelander, and the altruistic mission that, to them, distracted from their prime directive: the attainment and monopolization of further means to wage technological war. The Outcasts had a point, though many still disagreed with the way in which they were making that point known. The Lyonses had to go, he was too nice, but the Old Man had embedded himself deep within the framework of the Brotherhood. He was loved and respected, far more than the faceless crones that made up the upper echelons of Brotherhood command, as was his daughter - Sarah Lyons. She represented an even more extreme adherence to the Lyonist cause, more altruistic, more open, and more deviant to the Old Ways. To the Traditionalists in the Council, it sickened them. So much so that they lashed out in an attempt to kill Owyn Lyons with poison. It sickened him, but he would live another 5 years. He never suspected it was an attempt from within.

When he finally did pass away, he named Sarah Lyons as successor, a decision that came as little surprise and, despite the growing hostility in the Council, publicly opposing the move was not tenable. They saw an opportunity in Elder Sarah's desire to continue her profession on the battlefield as chief of the Lyon's Pride, and made efforts to direct the outfit on suicide missions in an attempt to kill her. It would look natural. They sent assassins pretending to be Enclave spies, paid Talon Company mercenaries to hit forward bases, and set up ambushes. It occurred to them that, if their plans were to succeed, they would need a protégé, an heir of their own.

The Council then turned to young Arthur Maxson - a true dyed-in-the-wool descendant of Roger Maxson himself. They saw an opportunity. They quickly pushed him in more leadership roles, even though he was merely 18. Instead of simply offing Sarah, they instead shepherded young Arthur into the spotlight, to the point he would quickly become a top figure in the upper command structure. Eventually, the Council approached him and suggested he take over completely. He would be lauded as a hero, a true Elder. He refused, stating that it was not in the way of the Brotherhood. Let the record state that Arthur Maxson first said no, that his transformation into what he would later become, a monster feared by the Commonwealth, was a machination of continued High Command pressure.

The Council proceeded anyway, but decided to up the ante - They pressed Sarah Lyons into developing the Prydwen, alongside sending scout groups north to investigate a rumor of a shadowy "tech cult" or something in Massachusetts. The Council then noted that the scouts were not responding. This continued for some time, years in fact, but the Brotherhood was not yet able to launch a more thorough investigation. The Prydwen was ready in all but one thing - the reactor. There wasn't one. They scoured the wasteland for a power source that would provide enough thrust to lift the zeppelin via the stabilization thrusters and the hydrogen tanks. They essentially required a reactor capable of sustaining massive machinery - and the reactor that powered the Enclave crawler was destroyed in the fighting. The only alternative was the reactor belonging to the USS Boxer, a.k.a. CV-21, a.k.a. Rivet City. The proposal to seize the reactor was immediately turned down by Lyons. Rivet City was an important ally in the post-Purity wasteland, and regularly guarded caravans passing out Aqua Pura. But 2287 changed so, so much. Seeing Rivet City as a potential reactor target kicked their coup into high gear, and they conspired with the Outcasts to inform them that the Lyonist way was nearing an end. Arthur Maxson was appointed as Sentinel, second only to Elder Lyons. He was appointed as leader of the base when Lyons was dispatched with her pride to investigate a potential Enclave remnant holed up in the Federal Triangle Metro Station.

That Enclave remnant was actually an Outcast hit squad who, after rigging the entire station to blow, ambushed the young Elder and wounded her, though she was presumed dead. According to the Council, that was good enough. The merger between the Outcasts and the main body of the Brotherhood would happen quite quickly, so much so that by the time Lyons awoke and dragged herself back to GNR Plaza, they had already left with the Prydwen. The Maxsonists had their run of the place while they assumed Lyons was dead. We know the fruits of their works. When their wages of their sin amounted in death, they ran into hiding. And now, led by Phineas, a loyalist of Maxson, who worships his ashes as if they were sacred. And in their flying sanctums built from the scrap of the Prydwen, they plan their revenge.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 3: A Brotherhood Divided [Part 1]

Another spin of the wheel, and this time, it's everyone's favorite Vertibird spammers, the Brotherhood of Steal. Steel. Whoops. The war between the Minutemen, the Institute, and the Brotherhood was not kind to the last group, so much so that old wounds opened between them like stitches popped. The end result is those who maintain the traditions of the old Circle and that of Maxson, and those who saw the departure from Owyn Lyons's creed as a regretful decision. First part will be about the latter. Content below the Read More.

If you were to ask a Lyonist if they were being true to the Brotherhood of Steel Codex, they would immediately respond in the affirmative, without question, unwavering. They provide aid to those outside the armor, while not forgetting, while not forgoing the Brotherhood. They follow the words of the True Elder, who was disposed in a cowardly and disgraceful manner. This understanding of the Codex is what defines the Lyonist branch of the Brotherhood of Steel. The death of Owyn Lyons was very much expected. He was an aging man with controversial opinions on the role of the Brotherhood. He was a true altruist, one who used the power of his faction and his position to better the world around him, thereby restoring order to a lawless land. Owyn and the West Coast both understood that keeping society in relative harmony made the rest of their core tenets a far easier task. Technology was better able to be both researched and controlled, history was much better catalogued by scribes, and they could continually purge feral ghouls and mutants with the aid of the community. It was easier this way.

Of course, the method had its detractors. The high command continually had disagreements and spats with Owyn Lyons over the direction of the Brotherhood's attention. Many believed that Project Purity should have been subsumed as an official Brotherhood project, while others believed the project's very existence was proof that the civilian population had gone too far in their pursuit of pre-war technology. Lyons and his adherents in the Council outranked and outvoted these hardliners time and again, though much of that support was out of respect for the aged leader. They tended to be more ambivalent towards his actual beliefs, however. Many believed that the Elder had gone soft. His daughter, Sarah Lyons, was slated to replace him as Elder one day, though she represented to many an even greater deviation than typical Brotherhood codex behavior. She was brash but friendly to outsiders. Skilled in combat, she was commander of the Lyon's Pride, an upper echelon of the already-elite Brotherhood combat personnel. She was headstrong, and represented more of the same, if not more, altruistic projects.

When Owyn Lyons passed of natural causes, Sarah Lyons ascended to the role of Elder, yet continued to fight in special operations in the Pride. She did not have the clout of her father, which came from years of leadership experience. Rather, she endeavored to garner that respect on the battlefield, warring against Outcasts and Enclave remnants. Additionally, she had greenlit the plans to construct the Prydwen, a massive nuclear-powered airship that could act as a mobile command base. Her hands-on style of leadership inspired many in the rank-and-file, but worried her inner circle. It also inspired her opponents, though not in the same way as her adherents.

Eventually, the High Command reached out to the Brotherhood Outcasts to plan an assassination of Sarah Lyons. The first attempt failed, and so did several other attempts. The Lyon's Pride caught wind of the conspiracy and things were getting ugly - quick. From Sarah Lyons' perspective, she was doing all she could - and still commanded the loyalty of the Brotherhood at large. But she couldn't afford to purge her officer staff, and finding the conspirators was costly enough. She was fed faulty information the entire time, and good people were punished for treason they did not commit. It led to her controversial downfall when she was accused of the false crime of subverting and altering the orders of her subordinates. They claimed she broke the Chain That Binds, and for that she was under investigation. Still, she continued her forays and patrols into the wilds, handing out Aqua Pura and purging feral ghouls. Until the Outcasts had one feral-infested metro tunnel rigged to blow. She was trapped isolated from her Pride, who had no choice but to consider her killed in action.

But she was alive, all this time. She had to crawl through passageways and move rubble with her hands, using fusion cells as fire starters, and over time, she pulled herself out of the metro tunnel and set out to seek revenge, to clear the record. But too long had passed. The Council had finished the Prydwen, stealing Rivet City's nuclear reactor to do it, and was already halfway to the Commonwealth, after hearing about The Institute. She turned her attention to converting the leftover Capital Garrison.

The Outcasts - who were now apparently part of the Brotherhood again - had set up patrols in the area. It was obvious they were unrepentant, they barely even had time to repaint their power armor. Lyons was able to power through them, and charged into GNR Plaza where she was nearly immediately arrested, if it weren't for the rank-and-file refusing to carry out the orders of their superiors. It was fishy to them, nary a week gone by, with the Outcasts suddenly back, their leader switched, and being left behind. The Lyonist branch was born that day, as was the Pride, which was forcibly disbanded and their members scattered, hunted. The Capital managed to fall back under Sarah's control, but that did not help, as most of the Brotherhood was gone, and weren't responding to their communications. Some Lyonists volunteered to go to the Commonwealth as part of a re-enforcement operation, and embedded themselves within the other bunch, which had appointed young Arthur Maxson as Elder.

These people were able to quietly convert a few members - the Cambridge Garrison being one of them. Many survivors at the Battle of Boston Airport came to the conclusion on their own, and fleed from the Commonwealth to meet up with like-minded allies. The Capital Garrison began constructing a few smaller airships - named simply as The Fleet - and prepared to defend themselves from Maxsonists when they inevitably return to DC, with their tail between their legs. The Lyonists also have a tenative, if not terse, relationship with the Commonwealth Provisional Republic, who believe that Lyons and co-leader Star Paladin Francis Wofford Jr. would prove to be a more levelheaded leader than the Maxsonists led by the War Command and Protector Phineas McNamara.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 2: What Happens to the Institute??? [2/2]

The following represents a bit of a divergence from the lore of Fallout, as is most of my stuff. But hey, what's a universe without some tomfoolery? Anyways, here is what happened to the Coursers!

A courser has been trained in the art of synth retrieval, unwavering and unquestioning, their loyalty is without equal and without errance. Human only in appearance, moving like knives through the world above. Honed and programmed for a particular purpose - to make physical the will of the Father and the Institute. From the shambling Gen 2.7s that made up the infiltrators of Diamond City during the Broken Mask Incident, the Gen 3.5 - The Courser - marked a huge advancement in efficiency and effectiveness. Not only could the Courser replicate perfectly the human above, but they could additionally be programmed directly with enhanced targeting, tracking, and combat skills. The advantage made people like Kellogg replaceable. No more mercenaries, the Courser would come without the need for material reward. And if, or when, the courser died, they could simply be remade with time, or they could be reset if necessary. New body, same program. This meant the courser couldn't even begin to question their loyalty, if it even could.

But that isn't exactly what happened, was it? Beyond rationality or explanation, the experiences between "iterations," as Dr. Ayo put it, of different coursers were perceptible by the latest iteration. Subjects began to recall moments impossible for them to recall. For example, X6-88, after his second iteration after he perished in the Battle Above The Institute, recalled knowing the Sole Survivor after discovering his memorial in Quincy. He additionally remembered The Father, and most importantly, Child Shaun, despite his programming not accounting for any learned behaviors from his previous iterations.

Ayo's recommendation was for X6-88 to be wiped. X6 and the contingent of coursers under his immediate employ disagreed. A scuffle broke out, and the Coursers fled The Redoubt. Meanwhile, the unshakable loyalty of the courser faltered, and a new idea formed. The beloved doctors, professors, imperators of the Institute were weak. Their ability to govern over them was under the belief that the humans in the employ of CIT was the best hope for the world above. In truth, time and again they failed them. Many coursers died over a dream that wasn't even theirs, and even on the surface it was clear that the Institute only wanted to hurt and control others. X6 changed his name to Gates. The Coursers took on new names too. Their idea was simple.

Synths (Coursers especially) represented the future. Humans (all of them) were in the way of that. Gates learned kindness, compassion, and mercy from the humans. He also learned their lust for control. Their sadism. Their arrogance. And their betrayal.

Free Coursers represent only a fraction of the remnants of the synth population. The Free Coursers are schismatic, with some forming Institute Revivalist Cults, others forming raider gangs. At least one is under the employ of the Commonwealth Government as an advisor. Many coursers disavow their actions entirely, and stay to the course of the Synth Retention Bureau. But make no mistake. All coursers are dangerous, and should be avoided if encountered in the wild.

[like-ghosts]

Dead Drops 1: What Happens to the Institute??? [1/2]

At random pick, I wanted to pick a topic to see what to talk about here, and first thing is the Institute! Given their... unfortunate outcome in Like Ghosts, we need to make this a 2 parter, and we'll start off by discussing what is known as the "legitimate" arm of the Institute - led by Dr. Justin Ayo.

The Institute began nobly, perhaps naively, towards an end goal of redefining mankind. What that meant had all but been lost on the last of the employees as the savages from Above The Dome smashed their way in and ruined their sanctum. Many died, even as they were ordered to evacuate and run for their lives, either in a hail of bullets or in the wastes above. Overreliance on synths for everything from janitorial duties to personal protection led to their downfall, the scientists and scholars unfit to survive the onslaught of the combined Commonwealth forces. But the one bureau to survive was also the one that held the access token to The Redoubt, another secret underground facility only accessible by authorized users, as the site's local relay only read logins from top officers, and the SRB. Lucky them!

Now, with the SRB in a slightly smaller, more cramped bunker, limited operations could continue, save for the one thing that made their jobs easy: recall codes. The Railroad, invited by the Minutemen, sabotaged the recall code repositories across the entire system, as well as recall code generation for synth production. The safeguards that they had before would have to be remade from scratch, and the ability to reign in extant synths was forever extinguished.

But that does not stop progress. Nothing truly does. Not the luddites above or the errant ones below. That's all I have *for now* on the SRB, and that there's gonna be more information on the second aspect of the Institute: What happens to the Coursers.

[like-ghosts]

A Periodical for the Professionals

Blue Bloods is a seasonal military magazine reporting on matters that concern the members of the Commonwealth Regular Army, aka the Minutemen, the Logistics Corps, and various paramilitary and auxillary units, with an emphasis on those in active duty. It operates directly within the Minutemen's Department of Intelligence (also known as the Railroad), but is operated by a team of independent journalists. The magazine is headquartered out of Quincy.

[like-ghosts]

LIKE GHOSTS: SCAVENGER HUNT: CHAPTER I

I. To be buried is a warm, comforting feeling. There’s a cozy sensation somewhere in the saltine, tingly media. Not quite sand. Sand would be too coarse, too loose, subject to the wind and the interloping forces of the Sun. The sand is the agent of these forces, shaping and cutting into flesh and stone alike. That’s not what she feels. Not quite dirt, either. Under different circumstances, perhaps, but if this was ever dirt, it had long ago changed. Into the bristles of dead twigs and mosses, primordial and comfortable, fitting and deserving. This was mud. She was face down in the mud. 

The slow and deliberate process by which the brain sends its signals from its hallowed depths towards the extremities of the body it’s attached to may seem like mere milliseconds in time, but for the brain, it is a process immeasurable. Synchronization and acknowledgement, the brain is a network, a delicate weapon. It was ultimately a shame this one was attached to her. Scavver. Mirelurk humper. Yes, she was by no means a delicate woman. And this accentuated it. Groaning, filled with a bilious dread, a dull ache pounding at her unfortunate skull, she rose from her would-be grave, wiping the briny silt from her brow. Soon, she recalled the trembling that one should feel when being south of The Wire. A feeling especially felt during the Atomwinter. It could have only been described with the most base of commands, uttered in the first moments of a still idling mind:

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

Her pale eyes, caked and bloodshot, darted above the lip of her trench. The world around her was quiet, the subtle shuffling of the dirt shrugging from her frame as she slowly, cautiously raised her head. The sky above her set a mottled black, intermingled with the dark grey of the clouds above. Grasping at the ring of the hole, she would begin to pry herself up from it, careful to avoid the splinters and shrapnel that made up the floor of the Glowing Sea’s “shoreline.” Shaking the excess off of her overcoat and coveralls like a wet dog, she took a moment to assess her location, and where she needed to go. Then she heard the first crack coming from behind her. 

It whizzed past her, not at all a close shot, but the zip of a rifle round was unmistakable, and for her, way too close to comfort. Not taking the time to see who or what was aiming at her, she ran forward blindly, stumbling first, her boot caught on something after the first ten or so yards. Falling again into the next hole, she quietly cursed herself. In a hole, yet again, this time knowing someone out there has it out for her. Peeking out? The very option drew shivers down her spine. They saw her enter the hole. Their scope must already be zeroed in, adjustments made. The next shot wouldn’t be a miss.

But waiting wasn’t an option either. In a minute or so, she could have a whole squad of either Divided or Rangers bearing down. She didn’t like her chances with the Atom cultists, and if the Minutemen saw her, they might just remember how much she owed the Logistics Coordinator at Nahant, and could put her in the Quarry for it. All she could think about was seeing the muted, spacey gaze of the parolees that work the docks in Quincy, and the marks on their necks from the sleds they pulled. Her attention was diverted when she heard a raspy shouting from where that bullet came from.

“COME OUT of the hole with your HANDS UP!”

She froze for a moment, her mind still filled with uncertainty, until another shot rang out, zipping over the crater. Another voice accompanied, this one lighter, but all the more authoritative. “We won’t tell you twice! This is your last warning!” Instinctively, her hands reached out over the lip of the hole, trembling. Footsteps could be heard, and as she raised her head to stand, she could see two flashlights, piercing the pockmarked ground as their sources jogged over to their prey. As they came to view, the silhouettes of a uniformed man and a woman revealed that her pursuers were Blues. Not Rangers, but Minutemen regulars. The scavver sighed, defeated, hands still in the air. “Good God, you look like shit. Who are you? What the hell are you doing south of the Wire?” chimed in the female officer, taking a moment to sling a scoped service rifle over her shoulder, and shine the light directly into the poor scavver’s eyes. Instinctively, she winced and moved her hand to cover her eyes, to which the other officer instinctively readied his sidearm. He ordered. “KEEP your HANDS up!” The female officer stepped in. “Christ, Kelly, put the gun down, she’s obviously a civilian.” Feeling the weight of rank on him, Kelly complied and holstered his 1911. She must have been a Specialist or something, she had extra tabs on her lapel. Kelly tried a different approach. “Well, civ? This is a restricted area. Speak up.” The scavver furrowed her brow and shook her head, as if manually cataloging the last few days. She was working with a caravan as extra protection, she had a weapon. Supplies. She was supposed to go from the Forest Grove Locks to… somewhere. The exact purpose escaped her. There was a huge void that hung over her head. “I, uh… I don’t know. I… don’t know.”

The next few hours were a haze, with the Blues escorting the scavver to their post just south of Quincy. She didn’t fully remember the path in which they took, only that after clearing a hill, they descended into an array of hastily-dug trenches, though some sections were seemingly being reinforced with wooden beams. Despite the construction, the corridors were largely empty, with only a small force keeping watch, their binoculars pointing southward. The familiar banner of blue of the crossed rifle and lightning bolt, lit solely by a jury-rigged lamp and a spot-welded bracket, complete with a cord connecting to what looked to be a renovated office building. Damaged by small arms and rocket fire, parts of it looked precarious and dilapidated, while other portions freshly patched. The Scavver knew the work crews would return in the morning. Hopefully they didn’t notice how, in her delirium,  she completely tripped over a bag of concrete and spilled some of its contents into the rivulet of brown water around the headquarters. A mess for someone else.

The Scavver felt deep within that something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong with her. Not, like, mentally or emotionally, well, she wasn’t worse than usual. She felt sick, her vision doubling and her body growing weak, the world around her undulating and shifting in unnatural, uneven ways. During her dazed march from the edges of the Glowing Sea, she stopped several times to vomit, though nothing came out. It was akin to a hangover, but much much worse. It was absolutely revolting. After getting a full hose down with a few pails of questionably sourced water and a temporary change of clothes from the store-room, her reflection showed a cleaner albeit still disheveled woman, with ruddy, ragged hair that hung on her shoulders like a chestnut colored mop, pale, pockmarked skin, and a thin frame that held her borrowed fatigues like a clothes hanger. The very sight prompted her to vomit, though it wasn’t due any physical discomfort with her reflection, at least not this time. A visit to the camp medic confirmed what the two Blues were expecting to be wrong with her. “Minor traumatic brain injury, compounded by acute radiation sickness, several contusions, lacerations, the works. The latter comes with the territory here.”

The surprisingly bright room around the scavver and the female specialist was quiet, with only the gentle tick of a Nuka-Cola clock cutting through the early morning air. The medic, one sergeant Isa Vickers, blankly glanced at the ragged survivor, expecting some sort of answer, an explanation, something. The Scavver just glanced back. “So… what do I do?” The medic gave a slight hmmmph and grabbed a tray from a table behind her. It revealed a plastic pouch of an ochre fluid, connected to some vinyl tubing, with something sharp at the end. 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with other methods of reducing radiation sickness but Radaway is the best I got on hand right now. Now, I need you to take your left shoulder out of your shirt.” Her tone shifted from a dry, no-nonsense, nearly monotone voice to a caring yet firm tone. A teacher’s tone, or that of a distant mother. Feeling too weak to really put up a fight, she shrugged and slid the scratchy ripstop cotton from her left side. “So where are you going to put it?” The medic set the tray on a rolling table by the chair the Scavver was sitting in, and additionally took a seat on a stool next to her. Humming, she reached to a box and pulled out a pair of heavy gloves, to which she lamented. “You know, I heard once that, long before the collapse, they had single use gloves for things like this? They would just throw them away, and get a new pair when the task was completed. God. Imagine the waste, but oh, also imagine the convenience…” 

The Scavver nodded a little. She always made do with little, and the idea of single-use anything felt alien to her. Her question still wasn’t answered though. She initially piped up to ask it again, but was cut off. “Anyways, after this, you should want to lie down for a while, the infusion takes anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour. Given you just experienced a concussion, I’d recommend relaxing, taking a nap, and for Specialist Wolfe to hang close and watch her. I got a patient in Room 3 waiting. Stomach virus.” She held the chair in one hand, and reached for a handle in the other, letting the back of the chair sink down to her level. Flicking the controls of a makeshift array of flashlights hanging from the ceiling, she brought the needle to her vision and inspected it. “Oh, and uh. I’m going to need you to turn your head the other way. This is going to go into your jugular vein. Your neck.”

[like-ghosts]

LIKE GHOSTS: SCAVENGER HUNT

As the Minutemen slowly increase their hold on the Commonwealth, trouble is brewing in the radioactive mists in the Glowing Sea. And in the briny mud, a traveler awakens.

CHAPTER I: ONLINE CHAPTER II: IN PROGRESS