Fallout - Chapter 128: The Escaped Slave and the Unknown Monster (Patreon)

Midnight.

The wasteland northwest of Dry Rock Gulch, on the outskirts of Nuka-World.

Moonlight filtered through a thin layer of radioactive clouds, turning a sickly gray-white, as though someone had draped a filthy, tattered veil across the entire sky.

Wind blew in from the basin, passing through Nuka-World's abandoned rides, collapsed roller-coaster tracks, and rusted Ferris wheel frames with a low, mournful sound like groaning metal.

A young woman was running for her life across the wasteland.

She had only one shoe left. She had lost the other while climbing over the wall and hadn't dared go back for it.

Her bare foot came down on sharp gravel with every step, each impact like stepping onto a blade. Jagged stones cut into her sole, leaving a trail of dark-red blood behind her.

She hadn't stopped running since climbing over Nuka-World's wall. She had no destination in mind. There was only one thought in her head.

Get as far away from that wall as possible.

Inside the wall was hell. Outside might be hell too, but at least the hell outside wasn't built from iron bars and chains.

She wore a ragged coarse-cloth shirt whose original color had long since disappeared beneath dirt and sweat. A large section of the hem had been torn away, and a fresh scrape on her knee was still bleeding.

About three hundred meters behind her came the sound of dogs.

Low, threatening growls rolled from deep in their throats and carried across the silent wasteland like the signal of an unstoppable predator closing in.

They were mongrels trained by raiders, with noses sensitive enough to track a scent from at least five kilometers away.

And following the hounds were four raiders from the Pack.

Their gear looked completely different from what raiders wore in the Commonwealth. No ragged leather jackets or rusty scrap-metal armor. Instead, their distinctive gear was assembled from animal hides, fur, and stuffed toys, all built around an obvious animal theme.

The leader wore a wolf-head mask. Fangs extended from its lower jaw, framing either side of his chin. The eye sockets had been hollowed out, exposing eyes that gleamed with excitement and cruelty in the darkness.

The three raiders behind him wore similar masks: bear, deer, and bird.

Each one had been made from real animal bone and fur. Crude and primitive, but intimidating in a savage way.

Classic Pack style.

Embrace the wild.

Worship strength.

The leader looked into the darkness ahead and raised a hand.

The other three immediately stopped.

A newcomer among them leaned forward slightly, confused.

"Boss, why are we stopping?"

He was young enough that his voice still carried a trace of boyishness. The chin visible beneath his mask was smooth and clean, with almost no stubble.

He hadn't been with the Pack for long. He had previously been a raider somewhere else and had only recently arrived at Nuka-World.

The leader answered in a low voice.

"Deathclaw territory starts up ahead. Those things spend most of the day lazing around in the shade. They don't move much."

He paused.

"Night's different."

The newcomer instinctively looked toward the black wasteland ahead and felt a knot form in his stomach.

"So we're just going back to the Alpha empty-handed?"

The leader turned toward him.

Under the gray-white moonlight, the wolf-head mask looked especially vicious, the shadows of its fangs falling across either side of his face.

His voice carried a trace of irritation.

"What else do you want to do? The four of us go in there and serve ourselves up as a midnight snack for the Deathclaws?"

He tugged the dogs' leashes.

The restless mongrels immediately turned around and obediently began heading back the way they'd come.

"Runaway slaves are basically dead the moment they get outside Nuka-World's walls anyway. Doesn't matter what kills them."

He reached down and patted one of the mongrels on the head.

The dog gave a quiet, contented whine.

"Come on. If we head back now, we can still catch the arena matches."

"Arena matches?" the newcomer asked. "What arena matches?"

"You're new, so you don't know?"

The raider in the bear-head mask immediately jumped in, his voice full of excitement.

"The Pack runs fights in the arena every day. We throw whatever mutant animals we've caught into a cage with slaves and see who dies first."

The four raiders chatted as they turned back, leaving only the howling wind and endless darkness behind them.

Meanwhile, the fleeing girl gritted her teeth and kept running.

She had no idea how far she'd gone.

Maybe one or two kilometers.

Maybe farther.

She didn't dare stop.

The fear inside her kept forcing her forward.

Then her foot caught on a protruding rock.

She pitched forward hard.

Her hands instinctively shot out to catch herself, but her knees slammed into the gravel, and a strangled cry of pain escaped her throat.

She lay there panting, using every last bit of strength to try to push herself back up.

Her arms shook.

Her muscles screamed.

Every fiber in her body begged her to stop.

To lie down.

In the end, she used the last of her strength to roll onto her back.

Moonlight fell across her face.

She looked eighteen or nineteen at most.

Maybe younger.

Her skin was pale, but not healthily so. It was the pallor of someone who had spent most of her life indoors, rarely seeing sunlight.

Her features were delicate, but now her face was covered in dirt and sweat. Her lips were dry and cracked, while dark shadows from fear and exhaustion hung beneath her eyes.

Her clear eyes glistened in the moonlight.

Then she noticed something.

A faint tremor passed through the ground.

Not footsteps.

Footsteps had rhythm.

This didn't.

The vibrations came irregularly, sometimes faint, sometimes heavy, like the deliberately restrained movements of something large approaching.

Her entire body froze.

She turned toward the source.

Behind a huge boulder roughly fifty meters away, a pair of eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight.

Yellow vertical pupils.

Narrow.

Cold.

Like the eyes of the house cat she had once kept in the bunker.

Except now those pupils belonged to something much larger.

Much more dangerous.

An apex predator.

A Deathclaw.

Its dark-gray hide was covered in thick scales that reflected a dull metallic sheen beneath the moonlight.

And it carried the weapons that had given the species its name.

A pair of claws shaped like deadly sickles.

The Deathclaw slowly emerged from behind the boulder, its huge, heavy body moving across the ground with impossible lightness.

It had smelled fresh blood from several kilometers away.

It was a young male, recently driven away by its matriarch.

No territory.

No pack.

It had spent days wandering the wasteland, surviving on little more than rad-rats.

Until now.

The girl lay completely still.

Her pupils began to lose focus.

Her breathing grew shallower.

All strength had left her limbs.

Primal fear surged up her spine, an icy suffocating sensation wrapping around her entire body until she couldn't even summon the strength to struggle.

The Deathclaw approached and slowly lowered its scaled head.

It studied the rare piece of tender meat lying in front of it.

Its vertical pupils narrowed into thin slits beneath the moonlight.

Its nostrils flared.

Not poisonous.

Edible.

Its jaws slowly opened, exposing two rows of inward-curving, serrated teeth.

Just as it prepared to strike, a cloud of yellow-green smoke suddenly burst directly in front of its face.

The smoke spread through the air in seconds, filling it with a harsh chemical stench like industrial solvent mixed with organic acid.

The Deathclaw snapped its eyes shut and jerked its head backward.

Its nostrils contracted violently.

The acidic fumes burned through its nasal passages, making it release a low, pained growl.

But two seconds later, the burning sensation was already fading.

A Deathclaw's eyes and respiratory membranes were far more resistant than those of ordinary animals.

Common acidic substances could irritate them briefly, but couldn't inflict serious damage.

Its eyes opened again.

Several blood vessels now streaked the yellow surface, but its vision remained essentially unharmed.

Its midnight meal had been interrupted for no reason.

The Deathclaw was furious.

It began searching for whoever had attacked it.

Then a particular scent from the dissipating yellow-green smoke entered its nose.

The extraordinarily powerful olfactory system that America's finest pre-War biologists had engineered into Deathclaws instantly identified it.

A specific chemical pheromone.

Identical to the pheromone giant ants released when calling their colony to defend the nest.

For anything that had ever survived in the wasteland around Nuka-World, that scent meant only one thing.

You had wandered into giant ant territory.

Stay here any longer, and thousands of giant ants would come pouring out of the nest.

The Deathclaw's hind legs tensed.

Then the creature spun around completely and sprinted back the way it had come at a speed completely at odds with its enormous size.

Only a series of deep claw marks remained in the ground.

They grew farther apart.

Shallower.

Then disappeared entirely into the darkness beyond the moonlight.

The girl remained rigid on the ground.

She stared at the place where the Deathclaw had vanished, her heart hammering so violently that she could feel her temples throbbing.

It's gone.

I'm alive.

Just as she was about to finally breathe again, a pale-blue figure slowly materialized in the air in front of her.

The newcomer wore a suit of armor with clean, sharp lines, its pale-blue surface giving off a soft sheen beneath the moonlight.

A full-face gas mask concealed every trace of human features.

Two glowing red lenses stared from the mask like dark-red gems embedded in pale-blue metal.

No pupils.

No irises.

Only a deep, uniform red glow that seemed almost to burn.

The girl recoiled instinctively, pushing herself half a step backward with her hands.

Her lips trembled.

She was too frightened to make a sound.

The person in front of her looked even more like a beast standing upright than the Pack raiders in their animal-head masks.

Something about that figure inspired fear at the most instinctive level.

The figure remained still for two seconds.

Then a voice came from behind the mask.

Muffled by the filters until most of its original tone was lost, but unmistakably young and female.

"Slave?"

The girl forced herself to control her trembling and dragged her mind back from the terror of feeling like prey.

Slowly, her thoughts began working again.

Then she saw the white five-pointed star on the figure's shoulder.

The Minutemen emblem.

It was the symbol the slaves whispered about at night inside Nuka-World's lightless cages.

The Commonwealth Minutemen.

They protected people.

They killed raiders.

Hope surged through her.

She nodded hard.

The blue figure didn't immediately respond.

Her head turned slightly as she quickly looked the girl over.

Her gaze paused briefly on the bleeding sole of her foot, the scrape on her knee, and her ragged clothing.

She took in every injury.

Then a short command came from behind the mask.

"Arsie, come here."

The girl didn't understand.

Then a faint, low hum came from the darkness.

It grew steadily closer.

A sleek hoverbike emerged from the night and came to a smooth stop beside the blue figure.

She walked over to the girl and crouched.

An armored hand extended toward her.

The pale-blue glove had textured fingertips for grip.

Clean.

Precise.

The girl hesitated, then reached out.

Her own hand was filthy with dirt and sweat, grime packed beneath her fingernails.

The armored hand closed firmly around hers and pulled her to her feet.

The instant her bare foot touched the ground, the adrenaline holding her together suddenly faded.

Sharp pain tore through her body.

She sucked in a breath.

The armored woman noticed.

Her mask tilted downward as she looked at the girl's bleeding foot.

She didn't ask anything.

She simply gestured toward the back seat of the hoverbike.

The girl climbed on stiffly, hands hovering uncertainly in the air.

"Hold onto my waist."

She immediately wrapped both arms tightly around the woman in front of her.

The next second, the hoverbike accelerated.

Without warning, wind screamed past them on both sides, whipping the girl's hair backward.

The pressure of the speed made her close her eyes instinctively.

But the bike itself remained remarkably steady.

Its hover system automatically compensated for uneven terrain and bumps in the ground.

She could barely feel any vibration at all.

Only the wind.

The constant roar of it reminded her that they were crossing the wasteland at incredible speed.

After ten minutes, perhaps longer, the hoverbike gradually slowed to a stop.

The girl opened her eyes.

A huge structure stood before her.

The Nuka-World Power Plant.

Its thick gray concrete walls took on a cold blue-gray cast beneath the moonlight.

Dim yellow light glowed from several windows.

Two Vertibirds were parked on the rooftop platform.

Several soldiers in T-51 Power Armor guarded the plant's main entrance.

Their metal armor reflected the cold light of night while helmet-mounted spotlights swept back and forth across the surrounding terrain.

The hoverbike stopped at a checkpoint below the hill.

It was a crude outpost assembled from old shipping containers and sheet metal.

Two soldiers in power armor stood guard with their weapons pointed outward.

The moment they recognized the rider, one of them spoke.

"Captain Josie, who's this?"

"She escaped from Nuka-World. Take her up and find somewhere for her to stay."

When the girl climbed off the bike, her legs almost gave out beneath her.

One of the soldiers quickly stepped forward and caught her by the arm.

Once she had steadied herself, she turned toward the pale-blue figure.

"Aren't you... coming inside with me?"

"I can't. I still have a mission."

Josie offered no further explanation.

She turned, mounted the hoverbike, and Arsie's engine gave another deep hum.

The girl wanted to say something else.

Before she could, the bike had already shot more than ten meters away.

All she could do was watch the pale-blue figure recede beneath the moonlight until she finally disappeared into the darkness of the wasteland.

The girl who had narrowly escaped death was then helped through the power plant gates by one of the soldiers.

Josie spent another twenty minutes riding Arsie through the wasteland.

There was a very simple reason she hadn't returned to camp.

She had been the one to say it.

Everyone takes turns.

One person gets Arsie for one day.

But she simply couldn't bring herself to hand the hoverbike over to anyone else.

Not even the comrades who fought beside her.

She knew perfectly well that it was shared equipment assigned to the reconnaissance unit by the General.

But some things were different once you'd actually had them.

Once you'd experienced them.

Giving them up became almost impossible.

Then her communicator activated.

Preston's voice came through the static.

Low.

Brief.

Not open to negotiation.

"Josie, return immediately. We have a new mission."

Josie's finger paused on the throttle.

She immediately turned Arsie around and sped back toward the power plant.

After returning to the facility, she activated stealth mode on both herself and Arsie.

She even lowered her posture and quietly slipped past every patrol she encountered on the way to the main control room.

When she arrived, Preston was standing by the window holding a file.

The control room was much brighter than outside.

Several industrial fluorescent tubes cast pale light from the ceiling across the aging consoles.

"Josie."

Preston turned at the sound of her arrival and handed her the file.

"Scouts reported a creature we've never seen before in Nuka-World's Safari Adventure."

Josie took the file and glanced down.

"Something we've never seen?"

Preston explained.

"Neither the Minutemen nor the Brotherhood of Steel has any record of it. It doesn't match any known mutated species. And according to the Brotherhood field scribes who examined it, the creature is extremely dangerous."

Josie opened the file.

Her eyes immediately locked onto the attached field photographs.

They showed a mutilated creature whose overall shape strongly resembled a Deathclaw.

Its head was completely different.

A Deathclaw's head resembled that of a lizard.

Short and broad, built for tearing and crushing.

This creature had no horns.

Its jaws were long and flat.

Like a crocodile.

File designation: Gatorclaw.

Josie turned to the next page.

Genetic analysis.

She read line by line, her frown deepening.

Analysis of all genetic samples revealed the following anomalies:

Genetic sequences are completely identical. 100% genetic similarity. The specimens are clones.

All specimens are female. No exceptions.

The genetic sequences show signs of artificial modification. Artificially inserted "backdoor" sequences are present in regions controlling aggression and obedience.

Conclusion: This is an artificially created biological weapon. Creator unknown. Intended purpose unknown.

Josie closed the file.

"We don't currently have any leads on where this weapon came from," Preston said, his tone growing more serious. "But one thing is certain. Nuka-World's raiders couldn't create a biological weapon this sophisticated."

"The scouts have only brought back incomplete remains so far. There isn't enough information."

"Your mission is to take a field scribe out there and investigate the site."

"Understood. I'll leave immediately."

Josie turned toward the door and started walking quickly, as though something were chasing her.

The moment she opened it, she froze.

Four scouts in Type 92 Powered Suits were standing in the hallway.

The one in front was tall and lean, with a conspicuous scar across his chin.

He leaned against the wall with his arms folded.

When Josie emerged, an unpleasant grin spread across his face.

"Captain. We've been waiting a long time for you."

Another scout immediately joined in, his voice thick with resentment.

"This entire week, we've had to ride those 'Little Electric Donkeys' on reconnaissance missions."

Little Electric Donkey.

The scouts' nickname for a basic type of hoverbike.

The crude model had only two simple hover jets.

It was slow.

Unstable.

Uncomfortable.

It had no voice control and no stealth system.

Compared to Arsie, it might as well have been a bicycle.

"Exactly."

A third scout joined in, sounding genuinely aggrieved.

"We agreed everyone would get one day. It's already been a week, and we haven't even touched Arsie's handlebars."

Josie instinctively took half a step backward, intending to retreat into the control room.

The moment her palm pressed against the door, however, she felt resistance.

Preston was holding it shut from the other side.

There was no going back.

Josie turned toward the four scouts.

Their smiles had become even wider.

"Let me explain."

She raised both hands, signaling for everyone to stay calm.

"I'm not saying you can't use it. I'm saying we should use it gradually. Carefully. According to a plan..."

"What plan?"

The lead scout stepped toward her.

"Hand over Arsie's key. It's our turn."