ArcJet looked like what I expected. I stood there at the edge of the open ground for a moment and just took it in. Dead vines hung off the edges. The sign was still there, though, even if it had seen better days. ArcJet Systems. I let out a slow breath through my nose. The walk up from the woods had been uphill, and my legs were still feeling like jelly. Once I made it up there, I noticed a little outbuilding, which must have been a guard shack, basically.
It was also the first place I checked. The main building had one door from the front, from what I could see from here. That was good, but it also brought the question, why hadn't anyone moved in? This was a good spot and could be defended if someone placed walls of any sort to try to make a kill box. There was also the elevator entrance around the back, but that shouldn't work unless someone powers it from the bottom level of Arkjet. I mean, I could still, I hadn't set anything up yet in the mayoral shelter. And I honestly didn't want to deal with a death claw that was bound to make it through that wall, but would I rather deal with a bunch of synths? No. But both places could have synth attacks; well, any place could be attacked by synths. I could use solar power in case the power here dies. The main thing would be setting up turrets and walls, but I could crap most of the stuff around.
Fusion core, right. That had been the goal. Somewhere near ArcJet, if memory wasn't screwing with me, there should be one. But still, I was already here. And ArkJet was tempting. "Just a quick look," I muttered. I moved toward the guard shack first, keeping my musket ready as the energy in its casing glowed a bright red. The open ground around the building wasn't exactly comforting. The wind dragged over the cracked pavement, broken cars, and made dry weeds. A rusted pole leaned near the front lot, wires hanging loose. I circled the shack once before I went in, just in case something was inside. The windows were cracked or broken. One pane had a jagged hole punched through it. Then I stepped inside.
The room was small with two desks and a few filing cabinets with scattered papers everywhere. A chair tipped over near the back wall. One of the filing drawers was half open, and there were old folders stuffed inside, warped from damp. No surprise, feral in the corner, thankfully. I sat my backpack down and finally let myself breathe properly. I didn't realize how much my shoulders hurt. My hands were steady now. Mostly which was good. I took the bottle back out and had a longer drink this time. After that, I pulled out my food and ate while sitting on the desk, looking out through the broken pane every few bites.
The food wasn't tasty, but it didn't need to be. I leaned against the desk for a second and listened to the wind outside. Then my eyes dropped to the filing cabinets. I checked them just in case there was anything useful. Most of it was old paper junk. Schedules. Security logs too water-damaged to be worth much. A few pens that still seemed to work, those I added to my backpack. I found a flashlight in the back of one drawer, tested it, but it didnt seem to work; however, I could scrap it at some point. I kept it.
There were two coffee cups in the desk, both stained brown on the inside. A cracked lunchbox under it with nothing but a mold stain and a fork left in it. I wrinkled my nose and let that alone. Nothing amazing, but that was fine. I wasn't really here for the guard shack. When I was done eating, I packed my things back up, took one more drink, and stood there a second with my hand on the strap. Then I looked at the main building. "Alright," I murmured. "Let's go see if you have any treasures."
I left the shack and crossed the open lot toward the main door. The main door itself was one of those split metal kinds. Two panels that opened apart and overlapped when shut, thick and heavy-looking even now. One side had taken damage at some point. The seam wasn't perfect anymore. Still, it was better than most places. I put my hand on the edge and pulled. The door resisted at first, then moved. I winced, breathing hard from the effort, and paused. I pulled it open just enough to slip inside. The first thing that hit me was how much space the lobby had. If this was rimworld Id have made this into a kill box. The room stretched wide, a big open floor. Curved stairs on the right leading up. Office windows cut into the walls. An upper walkway runs around part of the room.
I shut the door behind me and smiled before I could stop myself. "Ah, that's lovely." I took a slow walk through the lobby, musket held low but ready. My boots crunched over scattered debris. Broken panels. Old paper. Bits of plaster and metal. A tipped-over chair. Along one side sat a Nuka-Cola machine on its face, half buried in dust and debris. I went to it first, and the red paint was mostly gone under grime. I crouched by it, checked the front, and found two caps. I pocketed them and checked the machine a little more, but found nothing. I stood and looked around again.
No turrets, thank fuck for that. The office windows on the lower level showed dark rooms behind them, desks and terminals, and old corporate junk sitting where people left it. One of the windows on the left side had been shattered. The broken glass was mostly long gone from the floor, leaving a wide enough opening for me to get through if I wanted. Beyond it, I could see the side hallway with rubble in the way. And across that hallway, if my memory was doing its job, should be the room with the Protectrons.
I turned my head toward the stairs and the second floor. If I remembered right, the second floor also had active defenses. Three turrets. Two Protectrons and another Protectron in its pod. The kind that would absolutely open fire the second I stepped wrong. I could hack my way through if I got lucky, sure, but that still required getting to a terminal while under pressure, and I really wasn't interested in testing how well my legs could carry me if bullets and lasers started bouncing off the walls.
If I could get into the terminal that controlled the robots on the first floor, I could maybe turn this whole building into my own private little metal parade. And God help me, the thought made me happy. I stood there in the middle of the lobby, looking from the stairs to the broken window and back again. "Info first might be a good idea," I whispered to myself. Then I pictured the upstairs door opening. Turret fire. Red beams. Me diving behind some old brochure stand and dying.
My eyes went back to the broken window. "Robots first." I moved to the broken window and put one hand on the frame before climbing through. The metal edge was cold and dusty. I slung the musket carefully so it wouldn't catch, then stepped over the lower part of the window and dropped into the office behind it. Desk against the wall with Terminal. The terminal screen was dark, probably dead, though I gave it a glance anyway.
I moved through the office and paused at the doorway to the hall. The hallway had rubble, but it wasn't bad enough to stop me from getting to the room I needed to get to. Across from me sat another room with a wider opening and the first pod just visible from where I stood. "Alright," I whispered again. I crossed the hall and stepped inside. Five Protectron pods stood along the room in a neat row, each one holding a machine inside. The glass fronts had held up. They looked untouched, which is good. Dust sat thick on some surfaces. Small indicator lights glowed here and there.
And near them sat a terminal. I stared at the bots first. "Hello, boys," I murmured. I moved to the terminal, and brushed enough dust aside with my sleeve on the keyboard, and checked the screen. I set the musket within easy reach, flexed my fingers once, then sat. The terminal woke properly when I touched a key. I couldn't help the little laugh that escaped me. The Fallout hacking minigame, I had done this so many times in my old world. I leaned closer. I started doing what I always did. Slow first pass.
I picked one word first. Wrong. The screen told me how many letters matched the correct answer. Which was only one. "Right," I muttered. I checked the list again, working through the options in my head. My finger hovered over another. I tried a second word. Closer it was 3 letters. A grin pulled at my mouth. "Gotcha." I started hunting brackets next. Little matching pairs hidden in the junk. Find those, and sometimes the system would remove a dud word or reset my attempts if it felt generous. The first took away a dud. The second reset my tries.
I went back through the remaining words. One now stood out more than the others. I hit it and got access granted. "Yes." I straightened in the chair, already scanning the menu options. Protectron Pod Management. Personnel Security. Unit Designation. Behavioral Package. Registration. Oh, this was beautiful. I clicked into the pod management menu first, and a full list of the five units came up. Current status listed as standby. I checked the designation options. Standard labor package. Security. Sanitation. Construction.
"Constructron," I said quietly, pleased. Maybe the official term here was still construction model or utility construction. In my head, those two were about to become Constructrons. I selected the first unit and changed its package. The screen gave me a warning about task specialization and external tool compatibility. I ignored the boring parts and confirmed it. Unit one updated. Then in Unit Two, I did the same thing. The other three I left regular for now. Regular Protectrons were still useful. Patrol. Carry. Guard. Scare the shit out of raiders. All solid qualities in a companion.
I backed out and went into registration. If I just woke them without tying myself into the system, I was asking to get Shoot by my own new friends. The terminal had a personnel registry section, which made sense. ArcJet wouldn't want its bots punching employees in the face unless management said it was okay. I glanced down at my Pip-Boy. There was a cable port under the terminal. I hooked them together carefully.
The terminal asked for an identifier. I thought about typing "Morgan," then paused. First names felt weird to give out, So id go with Vault mouse. The system accepted it. Authorized User Registered. Then I went into follow and protect protocols. I set the five units to recognize me as an authorized command source and designated them for escort and protective behavior on activation. Follow when ordered. Defend registered user against hostile entities.
I read through it twice before I confirmed it. Only after that did I hit activation. First came the hum. Then the pod lights brightened, one after another. Seals released with heavy metallic clunks. Pressure hissed from somewhere in the frames. The glass fronts split and pulled back. Inside each pod, a Protectron stirred. Mechanical arms adjusted, servo motors whined. The first unit stepped out of its pod with that same sturdy, awkward dignity Protectrons always had, and I swear I nearly laughed out loud from pure joy.
Five of them. Five! All mine, the first one's speaker crackled. "Awaiting assignment." I actually put a hand over my mouth for a second. "Oh, you beautiful little bastard." The Constructron package had changed the arm assemblies on the first two just enough to mark them as labor-capable units. Just a bit more specialized in the tools and mounts. The others remained standard issue.
I stood slowly from the chair, watching them all orient toward me. They just looked at me and waited. I stepped closer to the nearest one. "Right," I said softly. "We're going to try not to shoot each other. That'd be nice." The Protectron's speaker clicked. "Statement acknowledged." I barked a quick laugh. "Good." Still, one of them could maybe be salvaged later if I brought the right tools. My eyes drifted toward the nearest frame, already picturing it hauled back to the Mayoral Shelter piece by piece. Having an actual robot pod to study, strip, or adapt it to something else.
"Later," I told myself. The bot nearest me said, "Awaiting assignment."
"Aye, I heard you." I turned to face all five of them and squared my shoulders a little. "Follow me. Protect me. Don't wander off and don't shoot unless something needs shooting." There was a pause. Then, one after another, the speakers answered in slightly different timings.
"Affirmative. Protect and serve." The sound of five Protectrons shifting in place behind me did something very nice to my nerves. I picked up the musket and headed for the door. The whole little group came with me. I crossed the hall first and headed back through the broken window into the lobby. "Alright, I need you to clear a path to the main lobby." And the two Constructron moved and got to work. I climbed through the window and sat on the nearest chair.
I shifted my grip on the musket and glanced at my boys as they worked. "Forgot the bloody point, didn't I?" I muttered. One Protectron answered immediately. "Negative. Current objective clear." Right now, I have five new robots now and still had a fusion core to find. "Rose would laugh at me for this." That brought her caravan to mind. Rose with her scarred chin and missing fingers. Levi with the notebook. Trig and his dry mouth. Karma with the watchful eyes. The little routines of a moving group, the sound of people around a fire, the feeling of not being the only soul in a stretch of wasteland. I wondered how they were doing. Whether they'd reached somewhere safe. Whether Levi had kept taking stock of everything in that careful way of his.
The thought made me smile, but only a little. I missed them. One of the standard Protectrons turned its head toward me. "User vault mouse. State your next command." I noticed they finally cleared the path and made their way to me. "Yeah. Right." I looked from bot to bot and then to the door again. "We're heading out. There's something nearby I need to check. Stay close."
"Affirmative." I moved to the front door and pulled it open again. Sunlight spilled across the lobby floor. The dry outdoor air hit different after the building's cooler interior. Behind me came the heavy, clunky rhythm of Protectrons lining up to follow. I stepped outside with my little squad and had to stop once more just to appreciate the nice weather. "Not bad," I murmured. The nearest bot said, "Statement logged."
A crow sat on a bit of twisted railing near the front lot, staring at me. I looked at it for a second. Was this a real crow or a fake one? Weird bird or not, the fusion core mattered more. I headed around ArcJet with the building on my left and the bots following behind me in a slow metal line. Ahead of me up the hill sat the shed I'd been thinking of, tucked beside a machine housing under an old lamp. And there, right where the photo in my memory said it should be, was the fusion core.
My mouth curled up. "No more distractions," I took a few steps closer, then stopped. Something in the ground looked odd. I narrowed my eyes and looked harder. At first, it was just dust, leaves, and broken concrete. Then I caught the edge of a metal disk near the path.
"STOP!"The Protectrons behind me went still. I stood there and scanned the ground again, slower this time. Once I'd spotted the first mine, the others started showing themselves. Another closer to the shed. A third was tucked near the dead grass by the machine. "Course there's mines," I muttered. I took two careful steps back, brought up the laser musket, and aimed at the nearest one. The shot hit. The blast cracked across the back lot and spat dirt into the air. I waited, listened, then found the second and took that one too. The third went up a second later. After the last bang faded, I stayed still for a moment and looked over the ground again.
I moved in slowly, watching every step, and when I reached the machine, thankfully, it wasn't damaged. I put one hand on the housing and pulled open the access panel. The fusion core sat inside, dusty but whole. For a second, I just stared at it. I reached in, worked the release, and pulled it free. I turned it enough to see the charge strip; it had 60 percent charge, way more than what I had expected.
I breathed out a laugh before I could stop it. "Aye. There we go." The trip was worth it. I slid the core into my Pocket right away. Once it was gone from my hands, I shut the panel and looked over the rest of the machine. Nothing else useful there. So I turned to the shed. The door stuck at first. So i motioned for one of my new bots to force it open. It opened with a rough scrape, and I stepped inside with the musket up just in case.
The place was small with just a bench and some shelves. A toolbox under the work surface. I checked it quick. The toolbox had a screwdriver, pliers, a small wrench, and some electrical tape that still looked usable. One shelf held a pair of old work gloves, stiff but intact. Another had two spare fuses in a paper sleeve and a short coil of wire. That was about it. I took the lot. The gloves especially made me pause for a second. "Well. Better late than never."
I tucked them into my bag and gave the rest of the shed one last look. I stepped back outside. The Protectrons were still waiting exactly where I'd left them, besides the one that had came to open the door for me. I looked once toward the main ArcJet building. I could come back at a later date, go for a full deep looting. But I needed a way to bring everything back. Plus, I needed some kind of armor, I don't think just because im part of the science team that would save me. Oh, that was an idea. An AI called Melody could be useful.
I already had enough for one trip. "Right," I said. "Home." One of the bots answered right away. "Affirmative." I started around ArcJet again, this time for real, the bots falling in behind me. Their footsteps were loud enough that there was no point sneaking anywhere now. As I came back around the front, I glanced toward the crow again without really meaning to. It was still there, still staring. "Off with ya," I muttered, and kept walking.
My one worry was that Claptrap was going to take one look at them and decide he'd been replaced. I really hope the lad didnt think that. "Relax," I said under my breath. "You're still my favorite loud idiot." The nearest Protectron turned its head toward me. "Statement unclear."
"Wasn't talking to you." We left the open lot behind and started down toward the woods again. The change from cracked pavement to dirt and roots felt more natural than it had on the way in. Maybe because I wasn't alone anymore. I still looked, still listened, and still checked the tree line before stepping too deep back under it. The memory of those super mutants hadn't gone anywhere. Neither had the smell of that hollow, not fully.
And besides, behind me, I had five Protectrons clunking along like the dumbest, best escort in the Commonwealth. With five Protectrons behind me, a small group of super mutants didn't sound so impossible anymore.