Fallout - Chapter 141: Time to Take Action (Patreon)

The underground robot factory.

The corridor leading from the control room to the Beryllium Agitator vault resembled a forgotten tomb passage.

Moisture clung to the concrete walls, while emergency lights overhead cast a faint yellow glow, stretching several figures in blue work uniforms into long shadows.

They were gathered around a portable terminal.

A cable as thick as a finger ran from the data port beside the vault door and connected to the terminal's input.

Strings of hexadecimal data cascaded down the screen like a waterfall.

Every second, the data stream rewrote itself without leaving a trace. Bytes that had just been read transformed into completely different sequences with the next pulse, like a snake writhing across sand and erasing its own tracks as it moved.

"This encryption algorithm... it's insane."

One scientist removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose hard, exhaustion and disbelief clear in his voice.

"It's rebuilding itself in real time."

Another scientist crouched beside the data port, staring at the readout in his hand with his brow tightly furrowed.

"The encryption level on this vault is higher than the factory's main control system."

He looked up at the heavy alloy door.

A ring of dark blue fiber optics was embedded around its seams, pulsing faintly in the darkness like some living thing breathing.

"What the hell are they hiding in there that's worth protecting this much?"

"No idea."

The first scientist put his glasses back on, the cold glow of the screen reflecting across the lenses.

"But anything running an algorithm like this has to have a supercomputer inside. Civilian-grade processors wouldn't survive the first iteration."

The opposite end of the corridor opened onto the main workshop.

The equipment there had survived in astonishing condition.

The conveyor belts were intact.

Lubricant still gleamed around the joints of the mechanical arms.

The clamps at the welding stations remained fixed at the same angles as the last time they had been used, as though the operators had simply stepped away for a cup of coffee.

"I never thought we'd find a robot production line this well preserved..."

An older scientist gently ran his fingers over the RobCo Industries nameplate mounted on the side of the production line, tracing the raised letters like an archaeologist handling an ancient relic.

"This is excellent."

He straightened and looked around, visible relief in his eyes.

"With this factory, Robotics won't have to keep manufacturing Gen 3 Synth bodies. I still prefer the purely mechanical circuitry of Gen 1 and Gen 2 models. At least I know what all the parts are supposed to do."

Several quiet voices murmured agreement.

Within the Institute, manufacturing Gen 3 Synths had always been a sensitive subject.

Not merely because of the technical complexity, but because of the ethical gray area surrounding them.

One group manufactured bodies indistinguishable from real human beings.

Another implanted control components into their brains.

The process was clearly divided.

Every department knew its role.

But even the most committed scientists occasionally found themselves staring late at night at faces that looked perfectly human and asking the same question.

What exactly are we making?

Purely mechanical Gen 1 and Gen 2 Synths never created that problem.

One young researcher had already lost patience.

He rummaged through a parts crate and pulled out several intact actuators and a compatible central processing module. Someone else found a Protectron chassis at the end of the assembly line.

Several researchers quickly assembled the parts and connected the power.

The Protectron stood up.

Its joints moved properly.

The servos produced a low, steady hum.

The indicator on its optical sensor turned green.

Basic testing began.

Mobility passed.

Fire-control response normal.

Armor seals intact.

Every individual metric exceeded specifications.

But something was wrong.

"Huh? What's going on with this processor?"

The young researcher tapped at the terminal.

"Response delay. Command queue congestion. It's like something's missing."

The robot behaved like a body with part of its brain removed.

It could obey simple commands.

Forward.

Backward.

Turn.

Aim.

But the moment it encountered a complex task requiring independent judgment, it froze.

Any combat maneuver requiring multiple coordinated steps had to be directed through remote commands.

The researcher checked the model number three times before looking up.

"I couldn't find any control protocols for these robots in the main control terminal."

In the control room, Justin stood in front of the holographic console.

On the data panel floating to his right, the progress bar for cracking the vault was advancing more slowly by the minute.

Each time the percentage increased, the next step took longer.

He needed the Beryllium Agitator.

Not out of curiosity.

Whether the factory could be fully integrated into the Institute's military-industrial system depended on it.

But the vault was no longer his immediate concern.

A recall order sent directly from the Institute was waiting for confirmation on the communications channel.

The signal was unstable. The waveform trembled slightly across the display.

But the message itself was perfectly clear.

"...Institute location compromised. Return with your unit immediately."

"What?"

Justin's fingers paused on the edge of the console.

"Understood. I'll bring everyone back immediately."

He was about to terminate the connection when another sentence came through.

It landed like the final cut from an impossibly thin blade.

"Father gave one specific instruction. Do not bring Nate back."

Justin's fingers tightened slightly.

Why?

He didn't ask.

Orders from the Institute's leadership didn't require explanations.

In the Institute, asking why an order had been given was already overstepping one's place.

"Understood."

He ended the transmission and turned.

"Everyone. Teleport back to the Institute. Now."

He looked toward the Coursers waiting behind him.

They stood silently beneath the dim lighting of the control room, their visors reflecting the cold glow of the holographic displays.

Several Coursers activated their teleportation modules at once.

Teleportation request transmitted.

Pale blue quantum ripples spread through the center of the control room.

Then, without warning, they collapsed.

It was like throwing a stone onto the surface of water, only for the stone itself to turn to dust the instant it touched.

The ripples disappeared.

Nothing remained.

Teleportation failed.

Justin stared at the empty space for two seconds.

Something was wrong.

Hadn't the Enclave only interfered with the destination coordinates of the Institute's beaconless outbound teleportation?

The Institute's technical teams had analyzed the interference pattern.

They had confirmed that it only affected precise destination targeting.

It shouldn't interfere with teleportation itself.

And this wasn't an outbound teleport.

They were trying to return to the Institute.

The return trip didn't need destination targeting.

The Institute's teleportation chamber had fixed coordinates that had been calibrated countless times.

Those couldn't simply be jammed.

So what was happening?

Justin's pupils slowly contracted.

"Could it be..."

...

Near the C.I.T. ruins.

On the second floor of a partially collapsed academic building, military camouflage netting covered most of the windows.

Behind it, three figures in X-02 power armor crouched in the shadows.

Their breathing was almost completely muffled by the filtration systems inside their helmets.

One of them rested his fingers against the edge of a terminal, the joints flexing slightly inside his armored gauntlet.

Everything that needed to be done had been done.

Now all that remained was to wait.

Wait for the people in white coats underground to realize that the cage had already closed around them.

He watched the waveform on the screen, though his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Dornan had promised to introduce him to a female Vault Dweller after the mission.

He'd sounded completely serious about it.

And even if it turned out to be a joke, he'd already received his share of the caps.

Still worth it.

During his last leave, he'd heard Dornan mention an intact Vault somewhere west of the Commonwealth.

The people inside hadn't been exposed to radiation.

They weren't mutated.

Their skin was smooth.

Nobody had used them for bizarre experiments.

They even still spoke with pre-War accents.

...

Back at the underground robot factory, the silence in the control room lasted only a few seconds.

Justin didn't waste time trying to understand why the teleport had failed.

He turned.

His gaze swept past the Coursers waiting for orders and settled on the deepest part of the factory.

There was another teleporter there.

Not a portable teleportation beacon.

A fixed installation assembled by the defected scientist Virgil.

Its output only supported short-range teleportation, but if it could connect to one of the Institute's nodes, even if it only sent them to a surface access point, that would be enough.

Justin started walking.

Through the corridor.

Across the workshop.

Past the scientists still studying the production line.

His pace was fast, but controlled.

He couldn't run.

Running meant losing control.

He couldn't let anyone see him panic.

He reached the teleporter room.

The door was open.

Someone was inside.

Nate stood beside the teleporter.

His body was angled slightly away from the doorway.

One hand hung at his side.

The other, the wrist wearing the Pip-Boy, was raised in front of his chest.

His fingers hovered over several buttons.

As though he'd been waiting to press them.

As though he'd been waiting there for a long time.

He heard Justin approaching.

He didn't turn around.

"Where are you going?"

Justin stopped in the doorway.

He looked at Nate, then at the teleporter's core chamber behind him.

The spherical assembly was built from beryllium-copper alloy and high-purity copper coils, with traces of Virgil's hand-soldering still visible across the casing.

Nate stood less than a meter away from it.

Justin forced himself to remain calm.

"Do you want to come back to the Institute with me?"

Nate didn't answer immediately.

He slowly shook his head.

"No."

Then his finger came down.

BOOM!

A low, muffled impact sounded from inside the machine.

It sounded like metal organs being crushed from within, like the final growl of a massive beast suffocating to death.

The teleporter's core chamber abruptly split apart.

Its precisely stacked resonance units burst outward like shattered entrails.

Fragments of beryllium and twisted copper coils punched through the casing.

Mounting bolts snapped one after another.

The entire machine tilted violently and crashed to the floor, throwing up a cloud of dust.

The haze spread through the room.

Broken metal glinted faintly inside it.

Then another violent metallic tearing sound came from the direction of the vault.

The door that Institute scientists had spent hours trying to crack opened by itself.

A powerful wave of signal interference swept outward like a physical force.

It tore through the factory's control systems and communications network, engulfing the entire underground facility.

Every wireless signal vanished instantly.

Terminal screens went black.

Signal strength dropped to zero.

Communications died.

The control room.

The workshop.

The corridors.

Every screen went dark at the exact same moment.

A faint hiss of static lingered in the air, like a scream strangled before it could escape.

The Institute scientists working on the vault remained frozen in half-crouched positions.

Slowly, stiffly, they lifted their heads.

Their movements resembled rusted hinges.

They stared toward the vault door that had opened on its own.

What came through the doorway was no longer data.

It was vibration.

It traveled up through the floor, through the soles of their shoes, and into their bones.

There was no Beryllium Agitator inside.

Instead, eight heavy quantum Tankbots stood silently in the shadows.

Their armor was massive, constructed from overlapping layers of welded composite steel.

The plates carried a dull sheen beneath the dim lighting, every edge and corner seemingly designed for ramming, crushing, and breaking through obstacles.

Hydraulic pistons at the joints were as thick as a grown man's forearm.

Their locomotion systems combined tracks with mechanical legs, allowing them to traverse almost any terrain.

They remained silent.

Until now.

One by one, the crimson optical sensors on their heads lit up.

"Large number of unauthorized personnel detected. Elimination mode activated."

The scientists froze.

Crimson light reflected in their pupils.

Then another voice came from deeper inside the vault.

Hoarse.

Low.

With the pauses and breathing of a living human being.

"Switch to non-lethal force. They're still useful."

"Confirmed, Dr. Virgil. Suppression mode activated."

In the teleporter room, Justin still hadn't moved.

He stood staring at the wrecked teleporter.

Then he slowly looked back at Nate.

"What are you trying to do?"

His voice was lower than before.

"You think this will make the Minutemen forgive you for betraying them?"

Nate finally turned around.

Justin had never seen that expression on his face before.

He looked strangely relaxed.

Almost lighthearted.

Like a man who had finally been given permission to reveal a secret he'd held in for far too long.

Justin couldn't quite define the expression.

But he knew he didn't like it.

"You really should've checked the teeth on those corpses."

Nate didn't raise his voice.

Still, every word seemed carved into stone.

"Teeth that good were rare even before the war."

Justin's pupils contracted.

He understood.

They had never examined the mouths of the bodies.

Why would anyone pull back a corpse's lips to inspect its teeth?

Why would anyone question the illusion of those supposed casualties?

If Nate was telling the truth, then what exactly had they achieved in the "victory" they thought they'd won?

Had the entire thing been bait?

A trap from the very beginning?

Nate watched Justin's expression change.

He knew he'd understood.

"I suppose I should thank you for giving me high-level Institute access."

The corner of Nate's mouth twitched slightly.

It wasn't a smile.

Just an unconscious movement of muscle.

"Because of that, none of the Synth prisoners McDonough 'sent over' from Diamond City ever questioned why I was helping them put on Minutemen uniforms."

"Not until they died."

He spoke as though he were describing something that had nothing to do with him.

"Otherwise, pulling off that whole 'stabbed in the back by someone you trust' act would've been a lot harder."

Nate tilted his head slightly, as though remembering something.

"Good thing Synths have always been better actors than real people."

Justin stopped breathing for a second.

The Synths McDonough had sent?

The same ones Justin himself had arranged to infiltrate Diamond City as replacements?

Damn it.

When had that old Synth M7-62 turned against them?

"All right."

Nate didn't give him time to process it.

"Now I'm going to collect a little interest."

...

Beneath the C.I.T. ruins.

Deep in the sewer system, inside a dark maintenance passage, Danse received the signal to begin.

The surface signal he'd been monitoring suddenly vanished.

Communications from the factory had gone completely silent.

But that silence itself was the signal.

Danse raised his head.

The joints of his T-51 power armor released a low hydraulic sigh.

The long wait was over.

"All right."

His voice echoed inside his helmet and carried through the squad channel to the twenty armored soldiers behind him who had been waiting just as long.

"It's time to move."