Fallout - Chapter 130: Nuka-station (Patreon)

Jace put on his full gear and headed toward the escalator at the far end of the lobby.

The escalator led directly to the lower level of the transit center, where the dedicated platform for the Nuka-Express monorail was located.

The platform was in far better condition than he had expected. Neat gray tiles covered the floor. Two centuries of dust had accumulated over them, yet even the grout lines between the tiles were still clearly visible.

At the far end of the platform, a train hung motionless from the track.

The Nuka-Express.

Its rounded, streamlined front rested securely on the monorail, and the entire train appeared remarkably intact. It could still operate normally.

Jace's gaze lingered on the train for a moment before movement at the other end of the platform caught his attention.

A man lay curled up in a corner, his body twisted awkwardly as though he were badly injured and unable to move.

Jace walked toward him.

The crisp sound of his footsteps broke the silence of the underground platform.

Hearing him approach, the man on the floor slowly raised his head.

He looked to be somewhere in his thirties or forties. Dark bruises surrounded both eyes, and dried blood stained the corner of his mouth. He looked miserable.

His eyes settled on Jace's black Type 92 Powered Suit.

He paused.

That color and configuration belonged to only one person in the entire Minutemen.

The General.

"Thank God..."

The man's voice was hoarse and weak. Emotions he had apparently been holding back for a long time finally broke through, making his words tremble.

"General... you finally came."

He leaned forward and tried to push himself up.

His arms shook weakly.

He barely managed to support himself for two seconds before collapsing heavily back onto the floor.

Breathing hard, he looked up at Jace with pleading eyes.

"Please... help me."

Jace stood still and looked down at the man acting at his feet.

He knew exactly who this was.

Harvey.

The man was an exceptionally skilled liar. Even a Gunner squad that had spent ten years surviving in the wasteland and had seen more than its share of death could be completely taken in by him and willingly let him go.

And now Jace stood in front of him, calmly watching him perform the entire tragedy.

Harvey noticed nothing unusual.

He only spoke faster, his emotions growing more desperate and his voice shaking harder.

"My family... they took my family!"

His eyes reddened almost immediately, tears gathering in them.

Those emotions were real.

They had been dredged up from memories of genuine pain.

"The raiders at Nuka-World did it! They set a trap and lured us inside. Our whole group fell for it! I barely escaped with my life, but my wife and son are still trapped in there!"

He suddenly reached out and seized Jace's boot.

His fingers tightened until the knuckles turned white.

"Please! Save them!"

Jace looked down at the hand gripping his boot.

He had to admit it.

Harvey's acting was first-rate.

Especially when he spoke about his family.

Despair, guilt, regret. Every emotion was layered together with the pain of someone thinking that if only he'd tried a little harder, none of it would have happened.

A thought flashed through Jace's mind.

Maybe I should just shoot this miserable fraud.

He dismissed the idea half a second later.

There would always be another Harvey.

Jace sighed softly.

The sound was unusually clear on the silent, empty platform.

"Enough. Stop acting and get up."

Harvey's entire body stiffened.

Then he kept acting.

His breathing became even weaker, like a dying man barely clinging to life.

But the hand wrapped around Jace's boot loosened slightly.

He was gambling that the General was merely testing him.

If he kept going for just a little longer, if he made the performance convincing enough, surely the man would soften.

Jace didn't give him the chance.

His voice suddenly turned cold.

"Don't make me kill you. I don't believe Colter would care whether one slave lives or dies."

Silence swallowed the entire platform.

At last, Harvey slowly released his grip.

Then he stood up.

Smoothly.

Steadily.

Without even the slightest trace of weakness or pain.

The dying man who had been too injured to stand only moments earlier vanished as though he had never existed.

All the despair, pleading, and anguish disappeared from Harvey's face at once.

What remained was exhaustion.

Deep, numb exhaustion.

Jace spoke calmly.

"Turn on the train."

Harvey's voice no longer trembled.

"General, if you already know it's a death trap, why are you still going in?"

Jace turned away.

"For those 'family members' you were talking about."

Harvey's lips trembled slightly.

Something churned behind his eyes, but in the end, he said nothing.

He silently walked toward the control panel at the far end of the platform.

Under the dim lights, his hunched figure looked strangely lonely.

The power came online.

Indicator lights across the control panel lit up one after another, standing out brightly against the gloom.

A moment later, the train doors opened with a hiss of escaping pressure.

Jace walked toward the car.

His footsteps were steady and even.

He never looked back.

Harvey remained beside the control panel, silently watching the black figure enter the train.

The doors closed.

The Nuka-Express slowly pulled into the tunnel.

Its rear lights grew smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared into the darkness.

Harvey stood alone on the empty platform.

His name was Harvey.

He had once been an ordinary wasteland trader.

Once, he had a family.

His wife, Lisa, was gentle. When she smiled, faint lines formed at the corners of her eyes.

Every night, after putting their seven-year-old son Cody to bed, she would sit beside Harvey near the campfire and help him count the caps they had earned that day.

They were poor.

But they had stability.

The three of them, together with a handful of other merchants, formed a small caravan that traveled through the Commonwealth.

They moved from settlement to settlement, buying and selling whatever they could.

They weren't wealthy, but they always had enough to eat.

Then they heard the Nuka-World broadcast.

It promised strong walls.

Plenty of food.

Clean water.

A place where they would never have to wander again.

Harvey brought his wife, his son, and the entire caravan to Nuka-World with every hope of finally finding a stable home.

Then everything fell apart.

On their very first night, raiders surrounded the caravan.

Their weapons and supplies were taken.

They had no chance to resist.

Lisa.

Cody.

Harvey closed his eyes.

He couldn't bear to remember the rest.

That memory had carved itself into his bones.

A thorn he could never pull free.

Every day and every night, it reminded him of the same thing.

You failed as a husband.

You failed as a father.

Harvey and the handful of merchants who survived were fitted with shock collars and reduced to slaves.

In that living hell, they had no names.

No dignity.

They were tools.

They hauled supplies.

Cleaned garbage.

Fed mutated creatures.

Day after day.

Harvey began calling the merchants enslaved alongside him his "family."

Because in that hell, they were the only people who would still speak to him.

The only ones who would help him up after his collar shocked him to the ground.

The only ones who would quietly cry beside him in the middle of the night.

Then Porter Gage found him.

The raiders' second-in-command offered Harvey a choice that wasn't really a choice.

Serve as bait.

Or die by electrocution.

Harvey chose to live.

From that day forward, the underground platform became his stage.

Day after day, he repeated the same tragic performance, deceiving every stranger who came to Nuka-World.

Some took pity on him and fell for the story, walking willingly into the deadly Gauntlet before being killed by traps and mutated creatures.

Others ignored him and entered alone.

Most met the same end.

"I really deserve to die."

His quiet voice echoed across the empty platform.

No one answered.

Meanwhile, inside the tunnel, the Nuka-Express glided smoothly along the track, its maglev system producing a constant low hum.

Jace leaned back in his seat.

His legs were stretched out comfortably, his hands folded in front of him.

There was no sign of tension in his posture.

Nothing about him suggested that he was about to walk into a death trap.

Suddenly, the train's overhead speakers came to life.

A bright, youthful female voice filled the car with the carefully polished enthusiasm of the pre-War era.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard the Nuka-Express! Please remain seated and hold on securely while the train is in motion. Through the windows on your right, you can enjoy one of Nuka-World's signature attractions, Fizztop Mountain! Atop this artificial mountain, hundreds of feet high, sits a luxurious five-star restaurant!"

"We will soon be arriving at Nuka-Town USA. We hope you enjoy your visit!"

The pre-War announcement abruptly cut out.

Silence filled the car.

A second later, a rough male voice forced its way over the speakers.

There was amusement in it.

And mockery.

"Looks like Harvey's little act worked."

"I don't have time to waste. Listen carefully. Name's Porter Gage."

Jace immediately recognized the name.

Gage.

One of the central figures in Nuka-World.

He belonged to none of the three major gangs.

Instead, he operated between them, surviving through his wits and his ability to manipulate the balance between all three.

"That friend of yours, Harvey, the one crying about saving his family? He only gave you half the truth."

"Where you're headed isn't a theme park."

"It's one big death trap."

"But if you manage to make it through alive, I've got one hell of a job waiting for you."

There was a brief pause.

Then Gage gave a mocking chuckle.

"Train's about to arrive."

"Good luck."

The transmission ended.

The car fell silent again, leaving only the low hum of the maglev system.

The corner of Jace's mouth lifted slightly.

Everything was happening exactly as he had expected.

The train gradually slowed.

It came to a smooth stop at the platform.

The doors opened.

Jace stood and stepped out, officially arriving at Nuka-World's first stop.

Nuka-station.

He walked toward a window and looked out at the ruined remains of Nuka-Town USA.

Another announcement suddenly blared over the speakers.

This voice was male, exaggerated, theatrical, and openly mocking.

"This is Raider Radio, and I'm your host, RedEye! Attention, unwanted guests! Fresh meat just rolled into the station! You know the rules. Time to run the Gauntlet!"

A burst of harsh static followed.

Then the broadcast cut off.

The dim station fell silent again.

The red lenses of Jace's mask glowed faintly in the shadows.

He turned and headed toward the entrance to the Gauntlet.

The entrance led through an abandoned souvenir shop.

Two hundred years earlier, it had been a store for Nuka-World visitors, its shelves packed with Nuka-Cola merchandise.

Now most of those shelves had collapsed.

Products lay scattered across the floor beneath layers of dust and broken glass.

Hidden behind ruined shelves, beneath the counter, and in corners near the ceiling were twelve automated turrets.

Their infrared sensors blinked faintly red in the darkness like predators waiting to strike.

Every one of them was aimed at the intruder.

Jace stood in the doorway and took in the entire killing field at a glance.

The next second, all twelve infrared sensors locked onto him at once.

"Beep."

A short electronic tone sounded.

Then came the rising whine of gun barrels spinning at high speed.

Jace's hands dropped instantly to the quick-draw holsters at his waist.

Two modified heavy Magnum pistols came free, their barrels tracing short arcs through the darkness.

The lenses of his Type 92 Powered Suit lit up.

Deep crimson light burned against the darkness, like a humanoid predator suddenly opening its eyes.

His voice emerged from behind the mask, slightly muffled by the filters but perfectly clear.

"You want a show?"

"Fine. I'll give you one."

The turret barrels reached full speed.

Jace drove both feet into the floor and exploded forward into the darkness.

"I just hope you're still laughing when it's over."

Before the last word had faded, gunfire erupted through the entire shop.

Ten seconds later, it stopped.

Suddenly, the wooden door of the gift shop burst open from the inside with a heavy crash.

The plastic sign hanging from the frame swung gently.

It bore the classic smiling Nuka-Cola mascot and an old slogan.

Welcome to Nuka-World! Have a Wonderful Day!

Jace rushed through the doorway.

Smoke still curled from his pistols.

His armor had no bullet holes.

No scratches.

He hadn't been touched.

All twelve automated turrets, however, were destroyed.

Yet Jace looked more upset than if he'd actually been wounded.

"Damn it."

He stared down at his chest armor.

His voice came through the mask with unmistakable disgust.

"Couldn't these bastards have thrown a couple of nuclear waste barrels around the corpses to keep them from rotting?"

A thick layer of dark-yellow putrid fluid coated the smooth black armor plates.

It slowly ran through the seams and dripped into the dust beneath him, leaving dark stains behind.

The air was filled with an overwhelming stench of decay.

Hydrogen sulfide.

Putrescine.

Cadaverine.

While destroying the turrets, one stray round had shattered an old shelf.

A fragment of debris had driven straight into a badly decomposed corpse lying inside the store.

Then came a dull burst.

The bloated corpse had exploded like a skin bag filled with rotten soup.

Jace had been facing away from it at the time, checking for any remaining threats.

Then something warm splashed across his back.

Several soft objects of uncertain origin struck the back of his helmet and shoulders.

One of them slid downward.

Jace saw what it was.

A piece of rotting large intestine.

"Urgh..."

The filtration system inside his mask blocked most of the smell.

It couldn't block the warm, wet, sticky sensation.

Jace immediately crouched down, grabbed a handful of dry ash from the floor, and began scrubbing at his armor.

The more he scrubbed, the more irritated he became.

This had been completely outside his expectations.

In the Commonwealth, and almost anywhere else in the wasteland, corpses didn't rot.

At least not like this.

After the Great War in 2077, a thin layer of radioactive dust had settled over the entire North American continent.

The radiation wasn't strong enough to kill a healthy person in a short period of time.

But it was enough to alter the microbial ecosystem.

The enzyme systems used by soil bacteria to decompose organic material had become extremely inefficient in irradiated environments.

That meant most human corpses decomposed incredibly slowly after death.

Water evaporated.

Tissue contracted.

Skin became leathery.

General McGann beneath the Castle was a good example.

He had died in 2240.

By 2287, his corpse still hadn't rotted away.

And the wasteland wasn't lacking in other scavengers.

Leave a corpse exposed outdoors, and within two days, animals would strip it down to bone.

So in the wasteland, the normal process of decomposition was effectively skipped.

If a corpse wasn't buried, it generally became either a mummy or a skeleton.

Nuka-World was different.

Jace remained crouched on the floor.

The ash in his hand had already turned into muddy paste.

He stopped and looked around at the surrounding structure.

Nuka-World might look like an amusement park, but in reality it had served as an auxiliary facility for U.S. military technology development, showcasing and testing various experimental military technologies.

Every building, including the brightly colored amusement attractions, had been constructed to strict military standards.

That included radiation shielding.

Lead plates and composite shielding materials had been built into the walls.

The roofs carried sealed protective coatings.

The foundations had been poured with high-density concrete.

Otherwise, Nuka-World could never have remained habitable while surrounded by swamps contaminated with radioactive wastewater.

And that meant the bacteria and fungi responsible for breaking down organic matter inside those buildings had retained their normal activity.

Here, bodies truly decomposed.

They rotted.

Fermented.

Bloated.

Liquefied.

Once Jace understood what had happened, he shook the muddy ash from his hands and slowly stood.

A faint layer of filth still covered his black armor.

Some of the liquid had seeped into the lining between the armor plates.

There was no way he could clean it properly with ash.

He would need solvent when he got back.

Jace took a deep breath and forced down his disgust.

"Whatever. At least the turrets are gone."

He deliberately emptied his mind and refused to think about exactly what was coating his boots and armor.

Then he walked steadily onward into the blood-soaked amusement park that had endured for two hundred years.