There's plenty of lessons we need to take to heart. People are always telling me, hey, Travis, do this that way, or something...The best lessons we learn are from dear old Mom and Dad. If it's watch out for the belt, or making sure we keep our nose clean, this song is for Momma.

Momma didn't lie, Jan Bradley.

Coming up next on Diamond. City. Radio."

October 27th, 2287
10:25 P.M.

The automatic security system for Mass Fusion was trapped in lockdown.

Forced into a permanent state of alarm from the Great War, the building shook from the force of the atomic bombs, and all the elevators locked down.

All the doors that could be locked, were locked. All the emergency lights burned and burned, until the wiring producing the light finally burnt itself out. In the center of the lobby was an atomic particle sculpture in the middle of a fountain, the swirling electrons and neutrons around it, making it look like a perfectly balanced kinetiscope.

Mass Fusion was home to a massive nuclear power plant in the basement, and scores of scientific geniuses all gathering in one place in the name of science. These scientific havens were the beginnings of utopias, that were idealistic and tangible, but the means to fund such an operation was not.

These scientists wanted to get away from the war, and not take sides, they believed science could not pick sides or be biased.
The immutable fact was true, science could not be biased.

However, humans conducting science can be biased.

They can pick sides, they can test and test and test, and find enough one in one hundred scenarios and present the results in such a way, that it must be true. Perspective wise, the scientists didn't know the founder of Mass Fusion, Karl Oslow, was signing their research away on fusion energy in a lucrative contract to the United States Government. The scientists didn't know that despite all the nuclear waste being created, that it wasn't being treated or being disposed of properly. They lived their lives like any other well off American at the time, clocking into work, and ascending one of the seven elevators up five stories, then to another elevator which could take them as high as eighty five stories into the air where they would conduct their research, toss trash into the waste bins, and have the janitor come by and take it away to dispose of it.

Same with all the barrels that were being shipped to the basement of Mass Fusion tower, where each one was loaded with nuclear waste produced by the reactor powering hundreds of thousands of homes all around Boston and the tri-city area. From Concord to Quincy, and formerly Roxbury where the Glowing Sea was now the main source of all the radioactive dust and storms plaguing the Commonwealth, Mass Fusion provided energy for everyone.

The interior of the massive building was hollow, offices ringing around the square interior accessible by elevator or stairs. The only exception were the labs from the seventy first to eighty fourth floors. Where the Fire and Safety Commission were swayed by the installation of emergency elevators that were guaranteed to work in any situation, even with fire, terrorist bombing, earthquake, flooding, power outage, and pressure from the U.S. military and Mass Fusion that these floors contained research too valuable to be reached any other way.

Same with the reactor room in the basement, the only way down was by elevator. If, by some act of God, the containment field of the reactor broke, or an atomic bomb fell, then everyone was doomed either way.

But, during the time of design, there was no chance an act of God or nuclear bomb would fall.

Then times, unfortunately, changed.

The researchers, assistants, scientists, anyone unfortunate to be caught on the tallest floors of the Mass Fusion building were instantly trapped as the elevators were locked down, and left to starve or take the fast way down to the first floor, just mind the step.

\111/

The Gunners taking residence in the lower levels of the Mass Fusion tower were not able to activate the central lift elevator that would've taken them straight to the top, a key-card activated lift that was only given to certain employees before the war, and were stuck using torn down pieces of ceiling that gave away, and collapsed to the floor below them, where they could either push office desks and filing cabinets to use as ladders to reach higher floors.

There was a second lobby on the sixth floor, the floors below being administration, accounting, company records, and human resources. Everything above the sixth floor to the roof was considered a high value company asset that they didn't want just anyone being able to waltz in off the street.

Given time, the Gunners would've brought in specialists who can work on computers, disengage the security system, and activate the building's defenses on their own. But, faced with a guy who waltzed in off the street, drunk, holding a combat rifle and a grenade, they didn't have much time at all.

Nate killed the first three Gunners on the ground floor before they were fully aware of the situation. They were on alert, but the bullets ringing out silenced their thoughts.

Nate sweeped his gaze across the ground floor, looking into a security queue to his right side where two Gunners were staring out, readying their own weapons, when Nate fired six times and heaved the grenade into the booth.

MacCready and Meathead both came in after the grenade went off, seeing Nate slip into a corridor leading off to the left, where more monitoring stations were, along with the actual terminals to activate the protectrons from the first, to sixth floors, along with the installed machine gun turrets located on the roof of a walkway crossing the fourth floor.

Before the other Gunners could even fire back, they saw who was down at the bottom of the building and saw MacCready rushing towards Nate.

"HEY! It's MAC CREADY!"

"MacCready?!" The name echoed through the building, "MacCready! Kill him!"

MacCready shut his eyes for a moment and cursed to himself. "Damnit."

MacCready ran into the office, slamming the door shut and walking up to Nate hunched over the security terminal, dazing with his head dipping down. "Hey! Wake up! GOD DAMN DRUNK!"

"WHAT!?" Nate jerked his head up, realizing his fingers were resting on the keyboard, and the screen was filled with,

[kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk].

His eyes went around the room twice, trying to remember what he was here for when it hit him. Bullets crashed through the window looking out into the lobby. "Fuck!" Drunk Nate was less prone to stressful situations, but his awareness also handicapped as well. Trying to remember which stage he was in hacking the terminal required a sober thought to fight its way through drunk Nate's brain cells.

"They're coming!" MacCready shouted, taking post behind the wall, peering out, he raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a volley back up at a Gunner at the third floor.

Ctrl. A + Delete, Nate tapped away at the keyboard, running the maintenance program. Gaining access to a highly advanced security system while very drunk and his adrenaline was coming and going like the crashing and receding of waves against the beach shore.

"And done." Nate said, picking up his combat rifle and Justice leaning against the wall. Two protectrons powered up, waddling out of their pods, and all around the building, the Gunners now dealt with turrets firing down on them from above, killing seven Gunners before they could fire back in response and blow up both of them.

Using the protectrons as cover, they followed the robots up the stairs behind the receptionist desk to the second and third floors. Nate held both guns out, resting them on his hips as he dual fired his rifle and shotgun at anyone who ducked into an office to avoid the now destroyed turrets.

The protectrons took up the entire hallway, a walking wall of death coming for all perceived threats. Firing around them, Nate and MacCready both progressed forward, even allowing for Meathead to run through a side door leading into an office, and rip the gun out of one of the Gunner's hands, and run it back for Nate and MacCready to use.

"Neat Trick!" MacCready shouted.

When one protectron went down, Nate fired a full clip of ammo from the taken assault rife directly back at the muzzle flash coming from an office on the other side of the building. Up and up, they reached the fifth floor, killing seven more gunners along the way.

The majority of the damage to the building was from collapsed ceiling panels, and floor boards that cant take the immense weight of the building above it, everything was slowly getting squished and had a slight lean to it.

When Nate and MacCready abandoned the protectron, the robot couldn't register following up a collapsed roof leading up to the fifth floor lobby. Separating the eighth floor and the roof of the seventh floor was a glass ceiling that was now covered with dust, dirt, and two skeletons along with small fracture marks where they impacted the glass after their fall from the higher stories.

They'd heard the stomping, heavy loud metallic stomping, and the hiss of hydraulic steam.

"MacCready! Show your damn face!"

"Lonnegran! It that you? Same old fucker?!" MacCready shouted back, a hail of bullets flew in their direction as their position was given away. Bullets tore through the side paneling and office space, sending bits of wall, papers, and metal everywhere.

Nate waved his hand down, slicing once across the neck, Meathead stuck close to Nate.

"I've already sent a man out, MacCready! Everyone will know it was you! You kill me, you're still DEAD! I'll just KILL YOU NOW!"

"Lonnegran, you couldn't scare a child with those threats!"

More rapid gunfire aimed at MacCready's voice chewed up the office building. "And you're a terrible shot!" The response was more bullets aimed at their driection, with the splintering of plaster and wood raining down on top of them.

Nate and Meathead moved up onto the fifth floor lobby, taking cover behind couches and a dried out planter in need of some water. Nate rose up and fired ten bullets at the power armor wearing Lonnegran. The shots impacted the T-51 armor, denting and riveting the armor, but doing no damage. Reaching for his laser pistol as Lonnegran turned and fired at Nate, MacCready pelted the Gunner Commander from behind, catching the man in a crossfire. When Lonnegran tossed a grenade, Meathead caught it before it even left his hand, waiting the grenade out as it blew up less than a foot away from the commander's hands, obliterating the right hand down to a bloody stump. The rest of the armor on the right side was impacted and warped inwards, driving metal and shrapnel into Lonnegran's body.

"Hah! Talk about a dud!" MacCready shouted, Lonnegran was screaming in pain and shock at the loss of his hand.

Neither were able to comprehend the green glow around the grenade that appeared for only a brief moment, but the explosion brought the fight to a booming halt.

Clapping his left hand over the right arm, the armor was flayed and warped from the force all along the right arm. He fell over onto his knees, then dropped onto his side. Screaming and yelling, he couldn't fathom how much pain he was in.

Nate rose over the couch, and aimed down at the Gunner Commander writhing in pain. Shooting him with the laser blast, the red bolt launched out and melted divots in the power armor. Melting through the outer layer, Lonnegran was trying not to scream, to feign confidence long enough to die with dignity, but the pain was too intense.

After Nate's laser rifle ran out of ammo, and the Captain of the Gunners was still alive, a dark simple thought entered Nate's head.

"Ohyah...Mac! Go get that firehose." Nate was swaying on his feet, so drunk he could barely stand as the alcohol was rushing through his system, but the exceptional core strength made him counterbalance every step, he aimed one hand at a fire hose box built into the wall of the upper lobby.

MacCready ran over, and heaved the hose out, dragging it over to the screaming Captain and Nate. He quickly took the hose, and then tied a noose around Lonnegran's neck, then tightened it up.

"Your gonna hang him?" MacCready asked, Nate's response was a grunt as he flipped the man over, and removed the fusion core, powering down the suit.

"Help me with this." Nate said, reaching both arms under the Lonnegran, the suit and human combined weighed nearly 250 lbs, but Nate grit his teeth and MacCready picked up the legs and they both carried him to the ledge.

Meathead was the only one who noticed the dilemma they were about to face, and tied off the other end of the fire hose to a couch bolted into the ground.

"Fuck you, Lonnegran." MacCready said, pushing him over the edge.

Nate let out a long groan that morphed into a yawn.

"Shoooot." He said, stretching his arms up and out.

"Alright, you had your fun. Now, there's still the matter of you not actually paying me yet, but now I'm going straight to the top of the Gunner's shit-list."

Nate walked across the lobby and sat on the couch directly across from the receptionist desk. "You were fucked the moment those guys started hassling you." He said, putting his feet up. Digging through his pockets, Nate pulled out the caps Whitechaple Charlie paid him and Meathead for taking care of Mayor Hancock's 'Rat' problem.

"Well, MacCready. You have two choices. Stay with me, and I'll set you up right, and we go straight to the top. Or Two, you take your caps and leave right now, but I only have a hundred. I'd say that's a good profit for an hour of your time. I wont hold it against ya."

"I honestly think your a little too extreme, charging into a Gunner's den like this. Your efficient, ruthless, a good shot, and tech smart, but after this...I gotta lay low for a bit. There will be more Gunners coming here, and when they find all the bodies, they'll just be twice as pissed off and want my head even more."

"Good. An angry enemy will lead them to do something stupid, it'll unbalance them. You can either keep going the way your going, or find a new path. You ever want work, come find me." Nate offered.

"I think I'll take my caps and go." MacCready said, Nate pulled out his stash of bottle caps, four stacks of twenty five caps tightly wrapped together in electrical tape. Nate laid his head back and looked up at the ceiling after putting them out onto the coffee table in front of him.

"One last thing... You ever hear about a Byrillium Agitator?"

"Nope. Can't say I have."

"Popular Mechanics Magazine." Nate said, pointing to the receptionist desk, there was a small news stand rack with magazines stuffed into the dispenser. It was the last words he said before finally passing out for the night.

MacCready looked at Nate, drunk asleep on the couch, and then to the rack of magazines. Advertised and distributed in their own building, Popular Mechanics was a magazine from before the Great War, and on the front cover was the Mass Fusion edition of Popular Mechanics, inside was articles about projects Mass Fusion was willing to publicly announce and provide more inside information on.

The main article, past ads looking for interns, new lines of cars, at home appliances available for purchase, was the Byrillium Agitator, the main reactor component to start the nuclear power plant in the basement of Mass Fusion, as well as the key to starting Liberty Prime. There were only two in the world, and one was located one hundred feet below them.

The other was destroyed outside of Washington D.C., MacCready knew this, but he never saw this magazine before. The article said that there was only one Liberty Prime in the world, but that didn't mean some pre-war government officials secretly ordered the construction of a second one. That sounds like something some shady person from the past would've done.

MacCready finished glossing over the article, then looked to the unconscious form of Nate, juggling the caps in his left hand. Shaking his head, it wasn't worth his time. There were still plenty of questions, but all of them came with the big grain of salt that Nate was black house drunk when he said everything. He couldn't even pronounce half the things he was saying.

Turning around, MacCready left.