Fallout - Chapter 104: The Stations and the Railroad (Patreon)

Jace turned to look at the Raiders pinned firmly to the ground.

The arrogance they had shown only moments ago had vanished without a trace.

The burly bald man sat slumped on the ground with his hands bound behind his back, head hanging low as he stared fixedly at a piece of gravel by his feet that had been ground almost white underfoot. He looked utterly lifeless. The remaining Raiders were much the same. Some curled up and trembled, while others leaned against the rock wall with their eyes closed, resigned to their fate as they quietly waited for the end.

Jace was silent for two seconds before speaking to the Knights beside him.

“Drag them outside the quarry and make them kneel facing the sun.”

His voice was flat, without a trace of emotion. Then he added,

“Let them die in the light.”

The Knights stepped forward, seized the men by the arms, and dragged them away like sacks of grain.

Not one of them resisted.

The bald man in particular visibly shuddered when he heard the words “die in the light.”

He looked up at Jace, his lips moving slightly, but in the end he said nothing. He only gave a faint nod and allowed himself to be dragged away.

Before long, several gunshots cracked out from the edge of the quarry and echoed through the open basin.

Once the prisoners had been dealt with, everyone regrouped at the entrance to the mine.

The entrance was set into the base of the rock face. Years of mine carts scraping past and workers cutting away at the stone had left its edges relatively smooth, but the place still had a rough, primitive desolation to it.

The sound of the door opening seemed to be swallowed whole by the darkness inside, leaving behind not even the faintest echo.

Everyone immediately switched on the lights mounted to their Power Armor helmets.

Jace took the lead and guided the team into the mine.

The tunnel was about two meters wide. Rusted lamp fixtures stood along the rock walls every few meters, while cables drooped from the ceiling like dead snakes. The passage ahead was pitch-black, its end nowhere in sight.

For the first ten meters or so, everything looked fairly normal. Chisel marks from manual excavation were clearly visible on the walls, and sparse, aging cables hung overhead.

But farther in, the light began to change in an unsettling way.

It was not that the lamps were growing dimmer. The darkness itself seemed to be growing thicker. It was as though it had taken on physical form, slowly eating away at the edges of their beams and steadily shrinking the illuminated area.

Jace did not slow down.

Then he noticed a freight elevator built into the rock wall on his left.

He walked over to inspect the control panel. Most of the buttons had long since shattered or fallen away, and the exposed wiring had oxidized to a gray-green color. He tried pressing the uppermost button, but nothing happened. After several more attempts, a faint electrical buzz came from the lift motor, then died completely.

“The elevator’s dead,” Jace said.

Danse stepped forward and tapped the battered control panel. After a brief inspection, he shook his head helplessly.

“There’s no power at all, and the braking system is jammed.”

Jace knew that in the game, this elevator led up to a red door. Going through it allowed you to bypass most of the mine tunnels and head straight to Station 4, though you needed a key.

Now that the elevator was completely unusable, they had no choice but to continue exploring the mine on foot.

“Let’s keep moving.”

After another forty or fifty meters, the tunnel opened into a relatively spacious area. Station 1.

The rock floor was remarkably flat. Several industrial floodlights connected to power cables stood around the area, while rusted tools and abandoned machine parts lay scattered everywhere.

Jace stopped at the edge of the Station and quickly scanned the surrounding rock walls. He remembered that Station 1 had a main circuit breaker that controlled the lighting for this level.

It did not take him long to find it.

Slightly left of center stood a thick cast-iron pillar with a rusted metal electrical box mounted on it. The door hung half open, clearly exposing the breaker inside.

Jace walked over and pulled the main switch.

Click.

The crisp mechanical sound rang across the empty Station. Several surviving high-powered industrial floodlights flickered to life at once, their harsh white beams cutting through the surrounding gloom.

“Split up and search. Check every corner carefully,” Jace ordered.

The team immediately divided into groups of three and spread out, methodically searching the Station.

Jace headed alone toward a matching cast-iron pillar on the opposite side, where an old terminal stood beside it.

As he approached, a bathroom scale on the floor caught his eye.

There was nothing remarkable about it at first glance. Its yellowed white plastic casing was covered in gray-brown grime, and several thin cracks ran across the footplate.

But hanging from the terminal above it was something much more interesting. A frag grenade.

Its safety pin had already been pulled halfway out, and a wire connected it to the scale. The moment someone stepped onto the scale, the grenade would be triggered.

“Pretty clever trap,” Jace muttered.

He carefully pushed the safety pin back into the frag grenade, then tucked it into his backpack.

Once the trap was disarmed, he stepped up to the terminal and powered it on.

The screen lit up with a faint green glow. The system booted surprisingly fast. Apparently, the terminal was in much better condition than its exterior suggested.

Jace began reading through the entries one by one.

I. Communications

Urgent Message

From: Management

To: Bob Stanson (Station 1)

Content:

Bob, report to Station 4 immediately. We’ll explain when you arrive.

Management

To Management

From: Bob Stanson (Station 1)

To: Management

Content:

Repeated requests for additional support beams denied.

Thanks for the extra padding on the Station 1 terminal.

Station 1 production has reached a new high for the year.

Everyone’s doing a great job.

Bob Stanson, Station 1 Project Manager

Station 1 Update

From: Bob Stanson (Station 1)

To: Management

Content:

This area is producing high-quality ore.

Ventilation is good.

Morale is normal.

Station 1 has gone 93 consecutive days without an accident.

Bob Stanson, Station 1 Project Manager

II. Safety First

Wear Eye Protection

From: Management

To: All Project Managers

Content:

Please remind all personnel to wear Safety Goggles. This month has already seen our fourth case of blindness caused by falling rocks.

Simply put: wear your safety goggles. If it happens again, we’ll use the eyeball we removed last time as a cautionary example.

Management

Falling Debris

From: Management

To: All Project Managers

Content:

Quarry work is dangerous. Support beams have been placed according to the principle of “lowest cost + best support.”

This arrangement has saved us a great deal of money over the years. If you hear unusual noises or notice signs of instability, observe the area first. If the problem continues, contact the supervisor.

Management

Railings

From: Management

To: All Project Managers

Content:

Railings cost money too, so they have only been installed where absolutely necessary. Several fatal falls have already occurred near Station 2.

Some Railings are rusted and unstable. Do not lean on them. Inspections are conducted once every six months. If anything is broken, repairs will be scheduled. Please stop filing repeated complaints.

Management

III. Recent Activities

Happy Hour

From: Management

To: All Project Managers

Content:

This week’s social gathering will be held at “The Pit” on Station 3. Drinks will be provided by the company.

The cost will be deducted from next week’s wages, so there is no need to bring cash.

Drink responsibly. We do not want a repeat of Jerry’s fatal fall last time.

Management

Annual Picnic

From: Management

To: All Project Managers

Content:

The annual picnic will be held at the quarry entrance, rain or shine. Bring your own food. Nuka-Cola will be provided free of charge.

Keep an eye on your children and keep them away from the cliff. This year, RobCo will send a Sentry Bot to maintain order and prevent a repeat of last year’s incident.

Management

IV. Turret Control

Jace shook his head as he read and could not help muttering,

“What a bunch of heartless capitalists.”

No Railings. The absolute minimum number of support beams. Employees had to bring their own food to the annual picnic, and the cost of the alcohol was even deducted from their wages.

This management team was practically a textbook example of worker exploitation. Had the employees here signed labor contracts or sold themselves into servitude?

Bob Stanson, on the other hand, seemed to have been remarkably conscientious as a project manager. Under safety conditions this negligent, he had somehow managed to keep Station 1 accident-free for 93 straight days.

“Now that’s talent,” Jace murmured.

But the Urgent Message made him frown.

Management had ordered Bob to report to Station 4 without explanation. The wording was vague and deliberately evasive. It did not take much imagination to guess that Bob had probably been tricked into going down there as a sacrifice.

Jace turned his attention back to the turret control interface and remembered something.

Station 1 was supposed to have an automated turret. According to its programming, it should immediately open fire on any unknown intruder.

So where was it?

Just then, Preston called out from across the Station.

“General, we’ve got something over here.”

Jace shut down the terminal screen and quickly walked over.

Preston was standing on a raised section at the far side of the Station. An automated turret had once been mounted there.

Now it lay on the ground, its entire frame smashed and twisted out of shape. Several deep gashes had been torn through the armor plating around its base, and shards of metal and severed wires littered the floor.

Danse crouched beside the wreckage. He ran his fingers across the damaged turret, then rubbed them together.

A trace of dark red, faintly glowing slime clung to his fingertips.

“That’s feral ghoul blood,” Danse said with certainty.

“This turret was torn apart by Ghouls.”

Nate stood nearby, scanning the surrounding ground. His brow slowly furrowed.

“Something’s wrong. There isn’t a single corpse here.”

Everyone fell silent.

There were no bodies anywhere on the Station.

An automated turret had enough firepower to shred any Ghoul charging toward it. If there had been a serious fight here, the ground should have been covered in mangled Ghoul corpses.

It should not have been this clean.

Jace walked over to the ruined turret, crouched down, and carefully examined the wreckage.

On the inner side of the turret’s base was a jagged tear.

The edge of the opening was stained with a liquid unlike the blood of an ordinary feral ghoul.

It was bright green, and even beneath the floodlights it gave off a vivid glow.

“A Glowing One.”

Nate’s pupils narrowed slightly.

A Glowing One was a heavily irradiated mutation of an ordinary feral ghoul. He had heard plenty of stories about them, but few people had ever seen one in person.

Mostly because those who did usually ended up dead.

A Glowing One was far stronger than an ordinary feral ghoul. Its muscles were denser, its bones harder, and its resistance to physical damage much greater.

But its deadliest trait was its unique ability to emit radiation.

Jace spoke more slowly than usual.

“A Glowing One can release waves of radiation in combat. Even if it never lays a hand on you, the radiation alone can slowly kill you. And there’s something else they can do that’s even more troublesome.”

He paused to make sure everyone understood the importance of what came next.

“They can revive other Ghouls.”

Everyone’s expression changed.

“Any Ghoul that dies within its radiation range can be reactivated by those radiation waves, as long as the body is still mostly intact. A few seconds later, it gets back up.”

Danse instinctively tightened his grip on his laser rifle, his expression tense.

“So that’s why there aren’t any bodies,” Preston murmured as realization dawned on him.

“Exactly.” Jace nodded. “This Glowing One cleaned up the battlefield. Every Ghoul the turret killed was revived, then followed it deeper into the mine.”

His gaze shifted toward the tunnel leading to Station 2.

It was even narrower than the passage they had just come through. Darkness seemed to pour from its mouth like something tangible, churning and writhing along the edges of the light.

“Which means there’s a pack of Ghouls deeper in the mine, led by a Glowing One.”

Jace turned to the team behind him and immediately began issuing orders.

“From this point on, maintain combat formation. Watch the flanks and rear for ambushes. And remember, every Ghoul you put down gets a headshot afterward. Don’t give them any chance to get back up.”

The Knights quickly checked their weapons and ammunition. The Minutemen veterans worked the actions of their rifles, the sharp metallic clicks echoing through the empty Station before being swallowed by the darkness ahead.

Jace pulled a long object wrapped in canvas from his side.

He opened the wrapping, revealing a plasma rifle.

“Hopefully I won’t need this.”

He glanced up at the industrial floodlights, which were still shining steadily over Station 1.

The wiring here still worked, but there was no guarantee the Stations farther down would be the same.

“Everyone check your gear. Prepare to advance.”

The hydraulic systems of the Power Armor gave off a low hum. Fresh batteries were loaded into laser rifles, and lever-action rifle chambers snapped shut and locked.

Jace stepped forward.

His heavy T-45 came down on the loose gravel of the tunnel with a sharp crunch.

The light behind them grew more distant.

The darkness ahead drew closer.

...

Meanwhile, beneath Old North Church, inside the Railroad HQ, the cramped underground space was packed with people.

Wounded members could be seen everywhere, along with terrified Synth refugees who had nowhere else to go.

An emergency meeting of the entire organization had been called in haste.

Every Railroad safehouse scattered across the Commonwealth had fallen overnight. Even Ticonderoga safehouse, the largest and most secure of them all, had been completely overrun.

The entire headquarters was in chaos as everyone argued over what they should do next.

Some gritted their teeth and insisted on fighting the Institute to the bitter end. Others were beginning to waver and suggested asking the Minutemen for help.

Still others immediately objected, afraid that the Minutemen would use the opportunity to force them to execute all the Synths, leaving them with the same tragic outcome in the end.

But not one person suggested surrender.

Everyone knew that if they fell into the Institute’s hands, all that awaited them was endless experimentation and torment worse than death.

Desdemona stood before the crowd, wearily watching the chaos unfold, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.

From the day it was founded, the Railroad had been deeply idealistic and had retained many democratic decision-making practices from before the War.

Years ago, the Railroad had suffered a devastating blow. Trinity safehouse had been wiped out in a surprise Institute attack, and former leader Pinky Thompson had been forced to resign after a string of defeats. The entire organization had been on the verge of collapse.

Yet even in that desperate situation, no one had tried to seize absolute control.

Instead, the organization held a general election.

The two candidates had been Desdemona and Dr. Carrington.

In the end, Desdemona had won the vote thanks to her greater reputation among field operatives and her stronger combat record, taking command of a Railroad that had already been battered nearly beyond recognition.

But that same democratic structure was also why the Railroad struggled so badly whenever a sudden crisis erupted.

Decisions dragged on, responses came too slowly, and the organization simply could not establish a unified position and act decisively when every second mattered.

The arguing continued without pause.

Desdemona suppressed her growing irritation and swept her gaze across the room.

That was when she noticed Amari at the very back of the crowd.

The director of the Memory Den had remained calm and composed throughout the entire meeting, showing none of the panic or anxiety gripping everyone around her.

Even with the Railroad cornered and facing disaster, Amari hardly looked like someone trapped in a hopeless situation.

She looked more like she was enjoying a leisurely vacation.