Fall Out

Chapter One: The Dweller and The Ranger

"I've made a lot of tough decisions since I took this position. But none of them harder than this one. You saved us, but you'll kill us. I'm sorry. You're a hero... and you have to leave."

The man known as the Vault Dweller repeated the last thing Jacoren ever said to him over and over again in his head as he marched blindly into the depths of the arid desert that was now his only home. He didn't care where he trudged, as long as it was away from the people who had betrayed him.

"You saved us, but you'll kill us. I'm sorry. You're a hero... and you have to leave."

The Vault Dweller had left Vault 13 on orders from the Overseer to find a water chip to replace the old and decaying one in his old Vault. He went to the Hub, an enormous trading center and settlement established in an old town that was left relatively untouched by the Great War. Through the large community of traders, barterers, gamblers, and other interesting scum, the Dweller managed to find and strike a deal with the Water Merchants.

That wasn't enough, however, so the Vault Dweller had to delve into the ruins of Vault 12, which was located in the decrepit town of Bakersfield to find a replacement water chip. After braving the Necropolis, the City of the Dead, and dangers inside the old Vault, the Dweller returned to Vault 13 with the chip in hand and a chip off his shoulder. Instead of being welcomed home with open arms, he was thrust back into the wastes to deal with the mutant problem, as the amount of super mutants in the area was far greater than what the natural rate of mutation should've been, and the Overseer was concerned that the Vault might be attacked.

"I'm sorry. You're a hero... and you have to leave."

The Vault Dweller traveled to Mariposa Military Base, a twisted and horrific place where humans were dunked into vats of Forced Evolutionary Virus and turned into super mutants by an abominable being called 'the Master'. Little more than a horribly mutated brain, the Master was a hideous, F.E.V-mutated creature that had somehow hybridized with other humans and computers, turning into a deformed and schizoid monster that spoke with multiple voices.

The Dweller slayed the Master and destroyed the Cathedral, the place where the grotesque creature created it's super mutant subjects. Through trials and tribulations, baptism by fire, the Dweller had done everything asked of him. He made it back to the Vault in one piece... only to be refused entry.

"You're a hero...and you have to leave."

"I'm sorry."

The Dweller stopped walking along his staggered path and slowly turned around, looking back at the mountains in which Vault 13 laid.

"I did what I had to do, and I'm sorry."

He kept staring at the mountains, taking in the sight for what could very well be the last time. The Sun was just starting to set behind them, giving the peaks a haunting orange and purple backdrop.

"I'm sorry, Max."

Hearing his name snapped The Dweller out of his reverie. He tore his gaze from his old home and glanced towards the tall, lanky man that walked beside him. He wore dusty leather armour with a sand-coloured trench coat for camouflage and protection, and with the goggles over his eyes to keep the sand and glare out along with a gas mask hanging around his neck, the man looked like a mercenary-for-hire. The shotgun slung over his back further confirmed the illusion, but Max knew that looks were deceiving.

"You had to kill him, didn't you Tycho?" whispered Maximilian Dubrovhsky, more commonly known as the Vault Dweller, just loud enough for his companion to hear. "You had to blow the head off of the man that was like a father to me."

"I'm sorry," repeated Tycho, "but after everything you've been through and being told, no, ordered to leave your home and never return... that made me very, very upset. I don't exactly think straight when I'm that angry."

Tycho took off his goggles and forced the other man to look into his eyes. "Look at me, Max," he instructed. When the younger man averted his eyes and stared at his boots, Tycho grabbed his armoured shoulder and shouted in a commanding tone, "Look at me!"

Max stared at Tycho with his cold, green eyes, but didn't respond vocally. His hand was hovering over his one-of-a-kind .223 pistol, and his body was taut as a cord. Swallowing his survival instincts to reach for his own gun, Tycho spoke clearly and deliberately.

"Listen to me, Max. We Rangers hail from back east, what used to be called Nevada. Our heritage stretches back to the days of the Texas Rangers. We learn survival and combat skills in order to go out into the world and have a chance of surviving and making things better. The only difference between you and me is that you had a place to call home: I never had anyone before the Rangers took me in."

As Tycho paused to take a breath, he saw the vault dweller's eyes soften and start to scan back and forth, a habit that indicated he was thinking.

"Now, put yourself in my shoes and think about how you would've reacted in the same situation. You're forced out of one of the last safe refuges in California, and ordered to bring back a water chip. After that, you get unceremoniously dumped back into the wastes and told to deal with the mutant problem. Then, after going through hell and nearly dying by the hands of that...thing, you somehow managed to blow up the whole damn base, along with all the mutants as well."

Tycho exhaled through his teeth, feeling the anger already starting to build just thinking about it. "You did everything for them and you should've returned home to a hero's welcome. Instead, they gave you the finger and tell you to fuck right off." The Desert Ranger removed his hand from Max's shoulder and concluded, "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn't have done the same thing."

"I... I..."

The young man deflated like a popped balloon, his shoulders slumping as he fell onto his rear. Max put his head in his hands and muttered, "... You're right, Tycho. You're right. They used me. Used me to do their dirty work. Used me until they didn't need me anymore."

"It's the harsh truth, Dubrovhsky," said the Ranger as he crouched down next to the young Russian. "The War was a testament to human greed and insanity. Even after scorching the land in nuclear hellfire, humans are still manipulative and conniving bastards. I'm just sorry that you had to find out first hand... by someone you respected."

The Vault Dweller took his head out of his hands and looked towards the sky. "So... What do we do now?" he asked.

Tycho smirked. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

The two survivors shared a glance, then broke out laughing. Their riotous chuckling was halted when Max looked into the sky once more and saw something that seemed very out of place: a fiery light was coming down from the heavens and seemed to be on a direct path going straight towards them.

"Hey Tycho..?!"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is that?!"

The Ranger looked to the sky, wondering what had rustled Max's nerves: he had only heard him swear once before, and that was during an encounter with a deathclaw. It looked roughly rectangular in shape, and it was on a collision course with them.

"What the f--move!" screamed Tycho as he yanked the Vault Dweller to his feet and started running, trying to get as far away from the crash site as quickly as possible. He didn't believe in extra-terrestrials, but he did know that there were old satellites in the atmosphere of the Earth that had unsteady orbits.

Max didn't need to be told twice; he quickly caught up and even slightly surpassed the older man in their desperate sprint. They didn't get far enough away, however. The stellar object crashed into the desert sand with a shockwave powerful enough to launch both men off of their feet and raise a cloud of dust several hundred feet in every direction.

Tycho was the first to recover, his hardened leather armour and trench coat being far lighter than Max's combat armour. Coughing and unable to see, he managed to put his goggles and gas mask on. "Always help yourself first in an emergency event" was something the other Desert Rangers had drilled into him during his training. Breathing easy and able to see somewhat clearly, Tycho waded through the dust, using his ears to track the Vault Dweller's coughing until he found the young man. After hauling Max to his feet, the Ranger padded himself down until he found a cloth.

"Put this over your nose and mouth," instructed Tycho, his voice warped and distorted through the gas mask. Max nodded in response. The coughing lessened.

Together, the two survivors pressed onwards towards the crash site. The Vault Dweller had no idea what to expect when they reached the crater. A meteorite? A decayed satellite? A crashed alien ship?

He certainly wasn't expecting a creature straight out of a book from his childhood to be standing at the lip of the crater, holding something in its hoof and wearing a grumpy expression.

"It's... it's a лошадь!" exclaimed Dubrovhsky, unable to stop himself from blurting out the words.

"A... what?" questioned Tycho, who was starting to wonder if they had accidentally taken some Chems without realizing.

"H-horse! That is a horse, and it's standing right in front of us!" Max stammered. "Before my father died, he used to read me old Soviet stories about brave men charging into battle upon horses!"

"Actually, I'm a pony, but I understand the confusion," said the horse in a strange, unfamiliar accent.

The Ranger and the Dweller shared a look.

"And before you ask," it continued, "no, I'm not going to allow you ride me into battle. The last time I did that it almost broke the very continuum I was trying to fix." The equine made a couple more faces at the thing that it was holding before flicking it away with a sigh. "You two wouldn't happen to have the time and date by happenstance, would you? My watch didn't survive the rather rough landing."

"Uh," responded Tycho eloquently. "You can talk?"

It snorted indignantly. "No, of course not," it said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Turning to Max, it asked, "How about you? Any brilliant deductions or world-shattering revelations?"

"N-No," stuttered the Russian. "W-Why do you need to know the time and date?"

The horse-thing sighed and replied, "It would take far too long for me to explain to a sophisticated pony, let alone two humans such as yourselves. Please, for the love of Celestia, if you have the date and time, tell me so I can find the first bloke on my list."

The Vault Dweller blinked and looked down at his Pip-Boy. Swallowing, he said, "It's the year twenty one sixty and the sixteenth of March. It's-uh, seven thirty-five in the afternoon." Max wasn't sure what marching in the afternoon had to do with the time and date, but that's what it said on his wrist computer.

The horse-thing's eyes went wide after hearing the date. "Oh, bollocks. I've gone and messed up another timeline. Now I'm going to have to... wait a second..."

It focused on the Vault Dweller, it's expression becoming surprised, as if seeing him for the first time. "Of all the dumb luck... at least I'll get something done," it muttered before saying, "Catch!" and throwing two strange black objects, one at both Max and Tycho.

Out of pure reflex, both caught the object and looked at it with curiosity. "What?" asked Tycho, still not fully comprehending that they were having a conversation with a talking horse.

"Oh, just a ticket of sorts," the horse-thing replied offhandedly as it slid back into the crater and into what appeared to be some sort of personal booth. "Now, I'm going to have to ask you to stay calm. Everything's going to be fine. Hopefully you won't rip any holes in the fabric of time and space. Oh, and enjoy your stay!"

Before either of the wastelanders could ask what it meant by that, a popping noise akin to pulling a cork from a bottle was heard, and the two men disappeared.

If anyone else had been nearby, they would've heard the equine talking to itself from inside of the small, space-time traveling rectangle of blue steel.

"Doctor's note: First wastelanders have been successfully transported, albeit not the way I had originally planned. I may have to get creative in recruiting the next one, as I'm not entirely sure what possible chain of events I may have just instigated in arriving at the pre-determined location twenty-eight years, four months, twenty seven days, six hours and forty-two minutes early."

"All things considered, the mission is going smoother than originally anticipated. Doctor Hooves, signing out."