“I’m Travis Lonely Miles...Keep an eye out for the Rust Devils, a new gang making noise around Fort Hagen. They’ve been reported using repurposed robots...so keep your...eyes...open.” Sigh. The exhale was perfectly audible across the airwaves.
"Coming up next, the Nutmegs and their Untold Story. Diamond City Radio. Always on the Air...for you."

\111/

"Everything looks surreal, Meathead." His shotgun barrel pointing the way, "Which park do you think Nora wanted us to go to?" He closed his eyes for an extra second walking forward, trying to imagine what things used to look like. The jogs and swimming the wind blowing through the buildings and the roar of the cars from the overpass. "Going for a cruise..stroll around the Commons...Fuck Meathead." He shook his head softly.

The sounds were gone. He listened to Meathead following at his side, the soft panting, and birds...they walked past three gray crows that only looked at them as they passed by, twisting their heads and cawing. Chirps. Then quiet, every sound was slowly becoming white noise except for his own footsteps. Buildings rose up around them, quickly surrounding them as they

Ping. Concord.

Entered the township of Concord. The road curving around to the right with nearly every home and business store front was busted in and broken. He felt unbalanced, looking at the number of bullet holes in a brick building, trying to remember how it looked like yesterday was more of a distant jarring memory. Bodies, long dead from the nuclear blasts and fresher as civilization reemerged to fight and die in the streets of Concord. Block after block of seeing double vision, with one eye in the present, the other forcing him to see the wrecked buildings and how they looked in the past.

The eruption of gunfire and electrical discharges filed the air, Nate led Meathead to the sides of the street, taking to the sidewalk and staying low.

Kertch-BLAM BLAM. Two shotguns blasts followed by clacks, like rocks banging around inside of a soda can.

Nate clenched his knees together and squatted down low. Looking for the source, the Museum of Freedom dominated the skyline, four stories tall, taller than the church steeple next door.

Meathead ran ahead and dropped his ears low. “Meathead! Meat!”

Two cars and seven heads, he couldn’t even see what they were fighting as Meathead turned tail and sprinted back up the street. One the main street, a flaming, smoking, smoldering wreck of a sentry bot, a three legged, rolling tank with most of its armor missing but its arms were still working as barrages and hailstorms of five millimeter bullets chewed up everything directly infront of the barrel. The bright red glaring, eyes made the sentry bot look like a train engine moving directly at you, about to explode. It’s chasis was glowing white hot, buckling outwards from within.

The sounds of a robot's electic siren, a self warning for the robot and people around it to be aware, were deep bass and distorted, like strumming an electric guitar, and bending the strings until the musical note was broken, booming out as loud as possible through old speakers.

Snaps and cracks of electrical fire scorched walls and bodies. Screams, men, women, more women than men, as the closer someone was to death, the more indistinct their shouts were. Nate peeked his head up, shotgun and pistol ready.

Four women and three men, scattered across the main intersection of Concord, directly infront of the museum of freedom were steps away from reaching the inside doors, but the endless typewriter chatter of gunfire and a rocket sailing from the sentry bot’s arm to a rusted orange car. The engine explode into a massive fireball, killing both a man and woman when two eye bots, hovering floating orbs larger than a human head, carrying broadcasting equipment for acting as a combat ready radio and welded with a proton laser and two distinct red and green wires jammed into the bot powered the weapon. These bots floated in behind the sentry bot, blasting off red bolts of energy, they were recoiled backwards with every shot. In the rear, two slow, lumbering securitrons, human size and excessively clunky with a overall bowling pin shape design. The robot was designed to have easily replaceable parts and able to take large amounts of damage while on the job. These standard models were blue, no special finishing underneath, but unlike everything else in the wasteland, these bots were clean. Other people might of noticed the bot’s cleanliness, and Nate saw the ‘fresh off the line’ paint job from twenty meters away. One laser bolt roasted a woman’s face, a second and third bore burning holes into her chest, cooking and searing the organs instantly. Her white shirt stained brown, and brown pants stained black were covered in dirt, yellow sweat stains, and grease and oil, soaked in red blood as she fell to the ground dead.

Firing both barrels, Nate shot down the first eye bot. With only enough time to reload once, attention swung his way as he fired again, this time aiming at the protectrons.

The bullet spread slammed into them, knocking them side ways, but only managing to knock metal and glass around rather than do any real damage. Pulling both pipe pistols from his rear belt, he fired both of them out infront, watching both protectrons fall forward onto their chests as he aimed for the leg joints. A spinning barrel from underneath the sentry bot spun up, firing off three hundred rounds, his arm swung across the street. Everything was torn up, more bullet holes for the wall, two more people dead, only two women were left.

Squatting down, he faced north west, looking up the street as he tried to come up with a solution to their sentry bot problem. Rifles littered the ground, and the two women retreated, moving east as the sentry bot rolled right past them and slammed into the side of a bus. The bot back up, forward into the bus again, and then back, spinning around and immediatly firing off another missile. The rocket sailed down the street and passed

Nate’s feet pounded against the pavement, leaning down, he swiped a pipe rifle off the ground and fired the last of his 10 mm clip at the eye bot, hitting it in the core parts, the metal splintered and the bot fell to the ground. The two women ran for the doors of the museum, Nate fired down the street at the sentry bot, gaining its full attention. He ducked behind cover as the minigun bullet burst tore into the shelves, and store around him. A bench cracked and splintered, glass, already broken, breaking some more. Dust and wood chips filled the air, raining down on his hair and shoulders.

A steam kettle...Nate thought. The hot compressed air rushing through the cracks in the sentry bot’s hull made it sound like a whistling tea kettle. Glancing down at his Pipboy, his arms and legs were shaking. He turned the pipe rifle over in his hands, seeing the nail working as the makeshift bolt arm. He pulled it back and checked the barrel and clip. Thirteen rounds. Listening, his head was just barely out of cover when he raised the rifle and stopped.

The setry bot was slumped over, its fusion cores exposed as steam and fans blew off the overheated frame to cool it.

“Oh my god.” Nate jumped the cover and sprinted around the backside, one grenade in hand, he held it against the fusion core and waited as the core became cooler and cooler. Then he pulled the pin as the metal door slid back down, and pressed it against the inside chamber. Bolting, Nate dropped his rifle, his guns, everything but the 10mm tucked into his holster so he could run faster. Counting the seconds inbetween his feet hitting the ground, the barrel to the sentry bot’s minigun spun up and he could hear the wheels and gears shifting and spinning in place to face him. The bot’s arm rose and the entire frame exploded once, then the cracked fusion cores made it explode again, and a third time as motionless rockets buckled and warmed from the heat, detonating in place as molten hot shrapnel went every direction. A crater two feet deep where the robot once was showed very little traces of it ever existing in the first place. A rotor was impaled in the side of a building three blocks away, it’s head clanging back down onto the ground after being thrown high up into the air. It’s arms were blown into a yellowed city bus.

“It’s dead!” the voice echoed up the street.

“It’s dead!”

“Kill the scrapper!”

\111/

Meathead ran across the floor to a savings and loans, the blue faded carpet was worn down and engrained with dirt, following the footsteps to the back and tracing a scent upstairs, Meathead didn’t growl. Leaping at the first attacker, he went straight for the throat. Sinking his jaws into the man, he scramed and yelled, pushing himself off with his paws, he dropped to the ground and rolled, popping back up on his feet as the man slapped his hand around his neck and shouted. “DOGS!” Meathead growled and jumped the man again, biting his arm and letting all his weight hang down to rip and tear. Screaming the man punched Meathead in the face and jaw and then jammed his thumb with the force of his fist behind it into Meathead’s windpipe. Letting go, he coughed once and dodged a kick aimed for his right shoulder, as he bit the man’s leg and pulled back. Falling onto the ground, Meathead chewed and bit as a second man came in and tackled him off. The second man grabbed Meathead’s legs and flung him at a table, but held onto his paws, jerking him so he slammed down onto the wood, then was hurled through a broken window back into the street.

His body hit the bare cement, sucking a lungful of air out of his chest. Winded, he rolled up and winced as his legs felt overextended, and it hurt to walk.

Growling, he rolled over and ran back in with a limp.

Nate ran up into the bus, and saw the opposite side was missing a large chunk, as if something picked up the side of the bus and took a bite out of the entire thing. Gunshots made his ears ring and his blood felt hot coursing through his veins but his arms felt so damn cold it hurt. He shivered, hauling the sentry bot arm up to his chest level and setting it against the busted window frame of the bus. His hand was burnt by the scalding metal, but he knew exactly what to look for and braved the pain for a second.

Gunfire tattered the bus, and Nate pulled the firing mechanism for the sentry bot's missile launcher and screamed as his right hand was burnt by exhaust flames, but the rocket raced out through the main street of Concord and into the second story window of Beaumont's Antiques, and the back wall of the store was blown out, causing the roof and rest of the building to crumble and fall backwards.

"MEAT! COME BACK!" Nate yelled, blinking through the pain as he uncapped a stimpak and hopped out of the blown out bus, moving towards the Museum of Freedom. Jamming it into his blackened hand, he moaned and stumbled. The skin peeled rapidly, exposing fresh raw skin that was hot to the touch. Meathead dashed down the street as unseen shooters tried taking single shots at the dog, carrying a man's arm in his mouth with the fingers still wrapped around a Glock-17 , bouncing against the sidewalk.

Stopping to rip the fabric off of a green flower dress from a skeleton on the stairs, he wrapped the strip around his hand.

"Hey You! Last man standing! VAULTER!" Nate jumped for cover and waited for the barrage of bullets to rain down, but they didn't come. "I need your help! Grab that laser musket on the steps! Raiders incoming! TOP FLOOR! MOVE IT!"
Crawling into the building, he picked up the laser musket and a two handfuls of energy cells, twice the size of D batteries. Propping the door open with the barrel of his rifle, he reloaded and cycled a charge into the musket, aiming into the street as Meathead chased after Nate into the building. He fired and the laser musket glowed brightly and warm for a moment, and he wasn't even sure if a shot was fired off until he looked down the scope and saw a man on a balcony two blocks away. He was on his knees, curled over screaming in pain after the laser blast burnt a hole in his stomach. Slamming the door shut, he wrapped his arms around Meathead and pulled him to the side as more bullets tore into the door, splintering wood onto the floor.

\111/

Kicking away from the door, he rested his back against the wall, hands slowly regaining some of their warmth, he reloaded the pipe pistols, grateful that despite their 2x4 technology look, they didn't explode in his hands.

Taking the man's arm from Meathead, he pulled back with his legs down low to the ground, shaking his head up and down. "Meathead. Drop."

"Let go."

"Drop it." Meathead unclenched his teeth and sneezed, doing a small circle in place he sniffed in every direction, panting and whining quietly. "Gross."

Taking the gun, he was satisfied with the 15 bullet count still in the clip, and reloaded the rest of his guns. Two shotgun shells to his name, he swung it around to his back and resorted to the pistols. "Meathead, you know how to reload a gun?" He asked, the dog turning to face Nate. Shaking his head, the dog's ears rose up and his head dropped down.

Baring his teeth, he locked eyes with Nate then motioned with his head towards the ceiling and upper floors.

The Museum of Freedom was built reminiscent of other colonial era buildings. Tall white pillars, plenty of red brick, bay windows, cozy feel, homey, to keep the warmth in during the winter months. Vaulted ceilings, tapestries and banners hung down from the ceiling, each twenty feet long and waving in the breeze coming through any of the holes in the skylight of the main room, or somewhere else in the building.

'Bzzat! Bzzat!' Glowing red hot bolts seared chunks of flesh through to the bone and muscle and skin. People wearing brown shirts and work slacks were instantly pined down on both sides as Nate came from behind and shot them dead. moving upwards, they needed to skirt the edge of the ground floor, as the rest collapsed into the basement, leading up towards the grand staircase at the back of the main hall, and downwards to a generator room still humming along undisturbed.

Pulling a fire axe out of its case, Nate hefted it in his hands. Crouch walking along the ground, he saw the next person focused solely on the door infront of him, pipe rifle aimed directly at the frame, he was waiting for any part of a shooter's body to appear. Sneaking up behind the man, he brought the axe up over the man's head, then wrapped the metal stock of the axe to his neck and fell backwards, choking him.

"Quit it! STOP! Stop! Stop!" Nate said, easing off the pressure, but still holding him close to get the man to stop struggling. "You want to survive? Then stay quiet." The man shrugged a knife from his pocket, the hilt wrapped in brown dirty rags and stabbed it wildly. Nicking Nate, he jerked the axe side to side.

"STOP FUCKING FIGHTING AND LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPON!" Pulling tighter, Meathead bit down on the mans arm, forcing him to drop the knife. Wrestling on the ground, the dog barked and he continued to struggle. Nate threw him off, jumping to his feet, he spun the axe around and slammed the head down onto the man's ankle. It snapped easily enough, and the scream exploded through the museum. Stripping the man's shirt, he forced it into his mouth and dragged him underneath the shoulders.

"Stop complaining, I could've brained you in the back of the head with the axe. Good thing I didn't!"

"You get three choices, one. you try to do the stupid thing and fight me, and I kill you immediately. Two. You limp out of here with a broken ankle. Or three you get a stimpak, heal your ankle, and then you get the fuck out of here without looking back. Hear that?"
Struggling to drag him into a side gallery room, Nate propped him against the display case, and held an axe to his neck.
"So what's it going to be?"

"You fucking joking cocksucker. I'll fucking kill you once this is over. HE'S IN H

The blood filling his throat and gaping wound in his neck stopped him from speaking. Gasping sucking blood down into his lungs he choked and garbled and gagged and thrashed on the ground and Nate brought down the axe blade to the back of his skull.

"Fuck, Meathead, I need to work on my people skills."

Returning to the main atrium, the air was quiet, but he saw plenty of movement, five people plus the two women who ran in earlier all making their way to the top floor.

Nate held the axe in a particular way, arms up over behind his head, axe head tilted back down towards his rear, he was ready to throw it. Bzzat! Bzzat! From a hole made in the walls of the top floor, leaning over drywall and wooden beams, a man fired down back at the intruders and gave Nate an indication of where the people were as the blasts lit up dark areas for brief seconds.

Hurling the axe, it caught a woman in the back, the blade taking hold in the left shoulder blade and cleaving through her armpit as well as she fell to the ground.

Fighting upwards to the offices on the third floor, he tried to reason again, but was unsuccessful. When he finally reached the supposed door, he nodded his head. Inhaling, exhaling, he raised his fist, and knocked on the door like a gentleman. A series of short raps against the old wood door,

"Vault Tec. Calling." Nate said, Meathead swept his tail back and forth as the footsteps moving across the wood floor creaked with every step.

The door opened slightly, "I don't know who you are..." the door swung open completely, "But you're timing couldn't be better. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen." His black hair, was cut short, the brim of his Minutemen hat was ringed with sweat. His colonial duster looked like it was pulled off one of the mannequins from a themed set piece. His brown eyes were searching Nate and Meathead, guessing how much trust he could put into the vault dweller.

"Nate, United States Army. Combat Mechanic. Meathead, German Shepard."

Meathead "Boofed" and raised his paw twice, trying to hand shake.

"You've got a raider problem."

"They've been hammering us since Lexington, and before that, Ghouls. I've been with this group since Quincey, but I'm he last Minutemen standing. Over there on the computer is Sturges, on the couch is Mama Murphy, hiding in the back is Marcy and Jun Long."

"How big was your team?"

"Last week. Twenty. yesterday, eight. Today. Five, counting myself."

"Know where they're coming from?"

"Corvega Plant, south of here."

"I know it. Any reason why they're after you in particular?"

"Not in particular. Our local fortune teller says it's an old grudge match between her and the leader of their gang. James. She said he called him a punk turning into a monster when he was younger, and that he's coming to hunt her down."

"Alright, so you're fucked and have an endless amount of raiders coming for this place. Whether or not you're alive isn't their problem, but I can make it their problem. Tell me about the ghouls. What are they?"

"They are swarming Lexington in droves-" He started, noticing Nate's expression change. "Wait. You...don't know what ghouls are?" Preston asked.

"Just stepped out of the Vault about three hours ago for the first time in two hundred ten years, so aside from people still killing each other, tell me what ghouls are." Preston looked at the blue vault suit, the yellow leather numbers stitched into the right breast and yellow strip running down his chest.

"You don't know...they're people who've lived a long time...They look all sorts of messed up, but they're still people. They've been irradiated to shit and never died from radiation poisoning."

"Hooray for the unshakable human will?" Nate posed, Preston shook his head.

"They got the regular ones, but there's feral ones too. These ones are old, irradiated, and trying to eat your face off. the only difference is that the sentient ones will tit-for-tat if you mess with them. They both have to suffer through the pain of radiation poisoning for a few weeks before it...changes them. their brains are rotted away, along with parts of their flesh. They swarm. They stick together, and they have terrible senses, but if they get even a whiff, it's on. We thought Concord after Lexington would be a safer choice, but the raiders proved us wrong. But we might have a solution."

It was at this point in the conversation, Sturges stood up from the computer and adjusted his jean overalls and flannel button up. Around his neck was a welding mask connected by elastic bands, and black thick gloves stuffed into his pockets.

"We got a crashed vertibird up on the roof and a cherry of a goodie left behind. Some prewar tech, a suit of military issued T-45 Power Armor. Might'a seen the bird coming in."

"I missed it with the sentry bot going through town, and then the relentless barrage we've been going through for the last fifteen minutes since this started is catching up to me." Flexing his fist, the skin cracked and peeled again, making him wince. His ears rung, and was freely bleeding from unattended cuts on his arms.

"Nate...you've got a knife in your ribs." Preston said, noticing the blood patch forming under his left arm, the broken tip of a knife was stuck in his side. Nate kept eye contact with Preston and Sturges.

"I'll get to it. Now about the power armor. Does it work?" Taking one side long step to lean against the wooden support beams, he wobbled and plucked out the tip with a lightning quick strike. He swung his head around the room, and limped to a desk with his hand pressed to his side.

"Yes sir, only it's out of juice. It's probably been sitting there for a hundred years."

"We need a standard F.C. battery, a fusion core nuclear battery. Compact and long lasting, we know where one is, but we can't get to it." Nate opened the top drawer, and shut it. Opening the second drawer, he pulled out a stapler, and opened it briefly to look at the stainless steel staples without any signs of rust on them. Flipping the stapler open, he slapped the stapler over the knife wound, binding the meat and flesh together to save his last two stimpaks for something worse than a knife stab wound.

"Oh yeah? Where is it?"

"Down in the basement. It's locked behind a security door and computer. I've been trying to see if I can connect to the one downstairs from this computer and get access, but I'm an engineer. I fix stuff and tinker with things, trying to break into computers and things just ain't what I do."

The gash was still bleeding, so he needed to staple his skin back together two more times, plus two additional times to be sure. Swinging his arms, he brought himself up to his feet and leaned down to pet Meathead.

"So what are you going to do after I get that door open?"

"Heh, there's a minigun mounted to the Vertibird. You get the suit, you get to rip out the minigun. Do that, and those Raiders would be sent on a one way ticket to Tartarus. You dig?"

One hand supporting his weight on the desk, Nate nodded, "Yep. But I could use a shot." He said, opening the first drawer on the left side. Plain and clear as day was a half full 20 oz bottle of light orange, single barrel, black label, seven year American whiskey.

"Well now. Ask and ye shall receive." He said, uncapping the bottle, crusted sugars around the lid made it hard to twist open, but he unscrewed it and poured a five count 1 1/2 oz. shot over the knife wound and drank the rest. Exhaling quickly, he ran his tongue on the roof of his mouth to get the flavor and he brought up his laser musket to rest on his shoulder.

"Come on, Meathead. Let's go."

\111/

October 23.
This is still Day 1. He's going to have a very long day.