Twenty-Four Hours later, I woke earlier than normal, which was new. For a few seconds, I lay still, listening for gunfire, heavy footsteps, or that horrible crack of concrete giving up. There was nothing like that. Just the low hum of power through old walls, Claptrap's distant clunking patrol, and the softer mechanical work coming from the guard room. I sat up and rubbed my face with both hands. My eyes felt gritty, my hair was a mess and my neck was stiff from falling asleep oddly. The musket was still beside the bed where I could grab it. I looked at it first, then at my Pip-Boy.
No red letter had apeeared during the night it seemed. "Good," I muttered. The word came out rough so I cleared my throat, pulled on my clothes, and then put on the lab coat over them. The coat had smudges on the sleeves now, dust, oil, and a little blood. I tied my hair back, grabbed the musket, and opened the door. Claptrap was in the hallway. His head turned toward me. "PERIMETER SECURE."
"Aye. Morning."
"TIME OF DAY CONFIRMED."
"Grand," I said, stepping past him. "Glad we've cracked that mystery." The constructtrons had been busy during the night. I made my way toward the old guard bedroom. The mech gestator sat in the room. Beside it, the subcore encoder waited with its front panel half-lit. I stopped in the doorway. "Bloody hell," I whispered. One of the constructtrons turned toward me. "WORK ORDER COMPLETE."
I stepped closer and ran my fingers over the edge of the gestator. The metal was cool. The joins were rougher than I would've liked, but the whole thing held together. That counted as a win. The screen on my Pip-Boy flashed when I got close.
MECH GESTATOR DETECTED
STATUS: UNPROGRAMMED
CONNECT DEVICE?
I stared at the words for a moment. Then I looked at the little port built into the side of the machine. I pulled the cable from the Pip-Boy and plugged it in and the gestator clicked. A thin line of light ran across the front panel for a solid 4 mins and as it loaded I felt the information load into my head as well. Like I could do it myself in the future if needed. The whole machine gave a low hum.
PROGRAM PACKAGE AVAILABLE: BASIC MECHANOID
SELECT FIRST PATTERN
The options appeared one by one.
Lifter.
Militor.
Constructoid.
A Lifter would help with moving, hauling, and carrying everything I had to take from this place. But the memory of the super mutant in the entrance tunnel came back. Honestly having more guns didnt hurt at least for now. I selected Militor.
PROGRAMMING GESTATOR…
DO NOT DISCONNECT
The progress bar crawled across the screen. I stood there with one hand on the machine. At forty percent, Claptrap clunked into the doorway. "QUERY: IS THIS OBJECT HOSTILE?"
"Not unless I build it wrong."
"CONCERN REGISTERED." I looked over my shoulder at him. "That makes two of us." The bar reached one hundred. The gestator's lights settled into a steady glow.
PROGRAM TRANSFER COMPLETE
GESTATION REQUIRES: BASIC SUBCORE / STEEL
STATUS: READY
I unplugged the Pip-Boy and tucked the cable away. I looked at the subcore encoder. "Soon," I told it. Then I turned away. "First, the mess upstairs." The entrance still needed dealing with. The damaged one was still near the turret where I had left it, standing stiffly with its ruined arm hanging wrong. Sparks didn't pop from it now, which was something, but the whole limb looked dead from the shoulder down.
"I'll get to you," I said quietly.
"ACKNOWLEDGED." I covered my nose with the back of my sleeve. "Oh, that is foul." The super mutant's body was still where it had fallen. "PERIMETER SECURE."
"Good. I need you to drag that thing away from tunnel and away from here. Not far enough to wander off, just far enough that I don't have to smell him every time I come up here."
"ACKNOWLEDGED." It grabbed one of the mutant's arms and started pulling. The body scraped over concrete with a wet, heavy sound. I looked away and focused on the tunnel instead. I kept the musket in both hands and watched until the Protectron dragged the corpse farther out toward a broken dip near the rubble. As I walked back down the tunnel I looked at the turret. "You," I muttered, "are getting moved." I went back to the damaged Protectron. I had brought Claptrap's backpack rig up with me. The thing was stuffed with the parts from the farm, Harlowe's trade still paying for itself days later. I set it down, opened it, and started sorting.
Servo clusters, Optic harness, Actuator pins, Small plates, A spare kit wrapped in cloth, Wires, and Screws. I had parts, I did not have a full Protectron arm assembly. "Course," I muttered. Claptrap rolled closer. "RESOURCE INVENTORY SUFFICIENT?"
"No, well yes.. kinda" I lifted a servo ring and turned it in my fingers. "There's a difference."
"DIFFERENCE LOGGED."
The damaged Protectron stood in front of me, quiet and patient, while I checked the shoulder joint. The bullet had done more than dent the casing. It had torn through the mount, wrecked the feed line, and cracked something deeper near the rotation housing. I could patch the torso. I could stop the bad arm from draining power or shorting out. I could not make the arm work again with what I had.
"Right," I said, mostly to myself. "We're taking it off." The Protectron's light up. "LEFT ARM FUNCTION IMPAIRED."
"Aye, and if I leave it hanging there, it will just get in the way and drain power."
"MAINTENANCE ACCEPTED."
I worked slowly. First the outer panel, then the damaged casing, then the wires. I marked what I could with scraps of tape so I wouldn't forget what went where later. When the last mount came free, the arm was heavier than I expected. I almost dropped it, caught it against my knee, and swore. The Protectron's whole side looked weird without it. I set the ruined arm aside for salvage.
"Sorry," I said under my breath.
"REPAIR STATUS: PARTIAL."
"I know." I patched what I could. A plate over the worst torso dent. New wiring where the old line had been chewed up. A servo pin was replaced near the shoulder, so nothing rattled loose. It still looked damaged, but safer. When I finished, I leaned back on my heels and wiped my hands on a rag.
"Move your right arm." The Protectron lifted its remaining arm. "Good. Step forward." It did. "Turn left." It turned. "Combat?" "COMBAT FUNCTION LIMITED. MOBILITY FUNCTION NORMAL."
"That'll do for now." I stood, my knees popping. "You did real good yesterday." The Protectron stared at me with that blank metal face. "STATEMENT RECEIVED." I rubbed at my forehead. "Aye. Don't make it emotional or anything."
Claptrap's head tilted. "EMOTIONAL STATUS DETECTED."
"Shut up." I looked at him as he stepped off the eleveator secotion and walked in.
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
I ordered the good Protectron back to watch the tunnel. The damaged one I moved farther inside, close enough to help if needed, but not first in line anymore. Then I handed Claptrap's bag back to him and went back down with him. The old guard bedroom felt different when I returned. Near the subcore encoder I pulled up the system menu. The encoder only lit fully when I touched it.
USER PRESENCE REQUIRED
BASIC SUBCORE AVAILABLE
"Of course, only I can do it," I said.
One constructtron stood near the wall. "WORK ORDER?"
"No. Stay there. Don't touch anything unless I ask."
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
I loaded the materials by hand. A little steel. A component I really would have liked to keep. Some wire. The encoder closed with a heavy click.
PLACE HANDS ON CONTROL GRIPS
I sat down on the little stool in front of it and put my hands where the screen wanted them. The grips were cold. The machine hummed up through my arms, not painful, but strange enough to make my fingers flex. A pressure settled behind my eyes. I watched my hand move on its own and craft a complex path on the screen as the encoder warmed under my hands.
BASIC SUBCORE ENCODING…
I had spend, i Honestly wasnt sure a hour or two just pathing the brain and setting up basic commands. And towards the end a little compartment opened and inside sat a small core. It looked simple. Roundish. Dense. Warm when I picked it up. Heavier than it should have been for its size. I held it for a moment.
My first real step. I stood and brought it to the gestator before I could get too stuck in my own head. The pod opened when I approached. I loaded the subcore first, then the required steel and remaining components. The piles outside were still there, but the good stuff was thinning fast.
The screen blinked.
MILITOR GESTATION READY
BEGIN?
I swallowed as I clicked yes and the pod shut. A low vibration moved through the room. The lights inside changed from dull white to a steady working glow. Something shifted under the casing, pumps clicked and a thin mist clouded the inner glass, then cleared enough for me to see the start of a frame locking into place.
MILITOR GESTATION STARTED
ESTIMATED TIME: 24:00:00
Then the timer began.
23:59:59
23:59:58
I stared. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I was hoping to leave soon...." The timer kept going.
23:59:55
I let out a tired laugh and dragged a hand down my face. "No, that's fine.." The constructtron beside the wall did not react. I should have sat there and watched it longer, but the day was not kind enough for that. I still had turrets to prepare to take with me. The first turret on my level was mounted high enough to annoy me that I dragged a chair and placed it on a desk under it and tested the legs before climbing up. The chair wobbled once, and I felt my soul left my body for half a second.
"No," I hissed at it. "Do not start." I shut off the power to the turret line before touching anything. Then I got to work. The bolts were old and stubborn. My arms started aching before the first one came loose. I had to stretch up on my toes even with the chair, which made the whole thing more dangerous. The constructtron waited below with both arms raised as I had told it.
"When it comes loose, catch it."
"WORK ORDER ACCEPTED."
"I mean, catch it, not me."
"CLARIFICATION ACCEPTED." The last bolt gave suddenly. The turret dropped. The constructtron caught it with a metal thunk that made me flinch. "Ha!" I pointed at the turret as I had personally defeated it in battle. The second one went easier, still took time but it would be worth it. By the time both were down, I was sweating under the lab coat. I had the constructtrons carry them to the main packing area. They looked odd sitting beside ammo crates and food stacks.
After that, I checked the gestator again.
23:12:41
"Slow, baby," I muttered. I nearly went back to packing then, but my feet took me toward the gym first. I did not want to look. Which was exactly why I had to. The Protectron I'd posted at the staircase was still there. Its head turned when I approached.
"RESTRICTED AREA SECURED."
"Good."
I opened the gym door, and thankfully the room was quiet. I walked in slowly, musket ready, even though a musket would not fix the problem waiting behind that wall. The cracks had grown. A few little chips sat on the floor that had not been there before. My mouth went dry. "Nope," I whispered. I did not touch the cracks this time. I backed out of the gym and shut the door. The lock clicked, small and useless. I left the Protectron at the stairwell.
"If that door shifts, if the wall cracks loudly, if you hear anything big in there, wake everyone."
"ACKNOWLEDGED."
I walked away faster than I meant to, while I walked I thought of what i could take, Food for sure. Scrap, I had to leave. Ammo I needed. Weapons mattered too. The components were all gone. The turrets were worth taking because they had parts I could not easily replace plus any kind of protection was good. But all that raw steel stacked in the living area? Too heavy.
I grabbed the military duffel bag and opened it wide. Food first. Canned meat. Snack cakes. Salisbury steaks. Anything that would not spill or crush too badly. Water next. Ammo went in separate smaller pouches so I could find it without dumping everything onto the floor like an idiot. 10mm rounds. Shotgun shells. Power cells. The little bits of .45, .308, and .50 I had found. I packed the combat shotgun carefully, wrapped in cloth so it wouldn't clatter too much. One 10mm pistol went in, then the other after a moment of staring at it. The pipe bolt-action was awkward, but I kept it near the bag instead of inside.
Medical supplies went into an inside pocket. Stimpaks stayed with me cause im currently the only one that uses em. Bandages, Med-X and RadAway,went into the pockets. Other people existed. Trade existed. Problems loved showing up. I packed the notebook and pencils. Then I stopped and looked around.
There was too much. Claptrap watched from the hall. His backpack rig sat on his back. "Are you coming with me?" I asked him.
"UNIT IS ASSIGNED TO USER VAULT MOUSE."
"That means yes?"
"AFFIRMATIVE."
"Good boy." I pointed at the bag. "Then you're carrying your own parts again."
"RESOURCE TRANSPORT ACCEPTED." The constructtrons stood idle once the main packing was done. I gave them the next orders. After that, the day blurred into research, packing, and checking the timer more often than I wanted to admit. I slept badly, woke early, and ended up in front of the gestator before it finished. The gestator finished with a soft chime. I had been staring at the thing long enough that my eyes had almost cosed from bored, so the sound still made me flinch. The progress bar on my Pip-Boy hit full, blinked twice, then changed.
GESTATION COMPLETE.
For a few seconds, I just sat there. Then something inside the machine unlocked with a heavy click. Steam hissed from the seams, thin and white, carrying the smell of hot metal and something sharp like burnt wiring. The front plate split open. Inside was my first real mechanoid.
It was small, squat, and kinda ugly in a way that made my chest feel weirdly warm. About three and a half feet tall. Rounded armor plates. A red visor slit. Thick little legs. One arm ended in a built-in shotgun-looking weapon, and the other had a clawed manipulator hand. It stepped forward with a stiff little motion, stopped in front of me, and looked up.
My Pip-Boy buzzed instead.
MILITOR R-1 — AWAITING COMMAND.
I stared down at it and then I grinned. "Oh, you wee terrifying thing." The mechanoid tilted its head. I crouched slowly in front of it, not touching yet. "Right. First rule. Don't shoot me. Second rule. Don't shoot anyone unless they are trying to kill me. Third rule…" I looked around the room, then back to it. "Actually, those first two cover a lot." The Pip-Boy gave me a short confirmation tone.
IFF UPDATED.
Good. I stood again and looked at the gestator behind it. The machine was still warm, still tricking as it cooled. The subcore encoder sat beside it, these two were far to important but I wanted to leave as fast as possible. For a moment, I thought about taking them apart properly. Getting some of the Components back if I could. "Better safe," I muttered. I took the two frag mines from my bag and held them for a second. My fingers were careful around the triggers. Maybe this was stupid,blowing things up inside a bunker was the kind of idea that got people talked about in past tense.
Still, leaving this behind whole felt worse. I set the first mine inside the gestator, as far back as I could reach, right against the part where the data and control housing sat. The second went under the encoder, wedged into the frame. I backed away slowly, then pointed at the little Militor. "You're with me." It followed right away.
Claptrap waited outside the room, optic turning toward the little mechanoid as it stepped out behind me. He stared at it. The little mech stared back. "NEW UNIT DETECTED," Claptrap said. "Aye. Be nice."
"THREAT ASSESSMENT PENDING."
"It's a baby." The Militor's red visor glowed. Claptrap paused. "BABY CLASSIFICATION REJECTED."
"I wasn't asking." I moved him back with a wave. "Come on. Hallway." I got both of them around the corner before I crouched, aimed the laser musket through the doorway, and took a breath. "Sorry," I said to the machines and then I fired. The mine went off with a crack that punched the air out of the hallway. The second followed right after it, louder and nastier, and the floor jumped under my boots. Dust burst from the ceiling. Something clanged off the wall and skittered across the floor near my foot. I ducked by reflex and held there, teeth clenched, waiting.
A cloud of smoke rolled out of the room. The smell was awful. Hot plastic, burnt copper, and the sad death of useful technology. I waved a hand in front of my face and waited until I could breathe without coughing. Claptrap rolled forward half an inch.
"DESTRUCTIVE ACTION CONFIRMED."
"Aye," I said, lowering the musket. "And nobody gets to use it but me." The Militor stood beside my leg, still and ready, like the explosion had been boring. I looked down at it. "You need a name." It looked up. I rubbed at my face. "Militor. Milo?" The Pip-Boy chimed.
UNIT DESIGNATION UPDATED: MILO.
I blinked. "Oh. That was easy." Milo stayed exactly where he was. "Grand," I said. "Milo it is." I did not go check the gym. I didn't even look down that way. The fusion core could stay where it was. I had thought about switching it back, but that meant going near that wall again, and every sensible part of me wanted nothing to do with it. I had enough cores now. I had enough reasons to leave. I wasn't going to risk getting curious and ending up as breakfast for the thing behind the concrete.
"Fuck all that," I muttered. Claptrap's optic turned toward me. "STATEMENT UNCLEAR."
"Good." The elevator ride up felt crowded with just the three of us. Claptrap took up more space than he had any right to, Milo stood near my boot like a tiny armored guard dog, and I kept one hand on the musket the whole way. When the elevator doors opened on the first level, the others were already there. For once, something had gone exactly right.
The Protectrons and constructtrons stood in the hall near the upper entrance, waiting with all the patience of machines that did not know how annoying waiting was. Supplies had been moved up in neat piles. Food. Water. Ammunition. Weapons. The military duffle bag was strapped across one of the sturdier Protectrons, The duffle bag hung awkwardly off one side, but it was secure.
I stared at it, then nodded. "You're Packrat now." The Protectron turned its head. "DESIGNATION ACKNOWLEDGED." I pointed at the damaged one with the missing arm. "You're Spark."
"DESIGNATION ACKNOWLEDGED."
"You," I pointed at the healthier guard unit, "Rook."
"DESIGNATION ACKNOWLEDGED." The two constructtrons got my look next. "Wrench. Rivet." They answered together. "DESIGNATION ACKNOWLEDGED." It wasn't a proper naming ceremony, but it would do. I needed names before I started calling all of them lad and confusing myself into an early grave. Claptrap rolled closer, his weapon arm twitching slightly. "THIS UNIT ALREADY POSSESSES SUPERIOR DESIGNATION."
"Aye, Claptrap. You sure do buddy." Milo made no sound at all. I checked the duffle. Food and water first. Ammo wrapped and separated so it wouldn't spill everywhere. The shotgun and 10mm pistols were packed where I could reach them if I had to. The laser muskets were awkward, but one stayed with me and the spare was strapped to Packrat. Medical supplies were tucked into the inner side pocket, not buried. Caps, small tools, RadAway, Rad-X.
I tightened one strap on the duffle and stepped back. And moved to load the shotgun shells into Milo, he had a little comparement near his shoulder and i managed to load up to 12 shells. "Alright," I said. "We're leaving." For a few days, it had been walls and a bed and water and lights. It had been the first place in this world where I could shut a door and pretend I had a chance.
I went through the metal door first, musket ready. Rook and Spark followed, then Packrat with the bag, then Wrench and Rivet. Claptrap came after me with Milo close beside him. The whole lot of us moved like the least subtle caravan in the Commonwealth. Past the metal door, the concrete security room waited quiet and empty. I set the musket against my shoulder and pulled out a scrap of board I'd kept for this. One of the pencils from ArcJet came out next.
I thought about what to write. Not too much. Not where I was really going. Not anything that would invite the wrong kind of person to follow too close. I wrote slowly, pressing hard enough that the pencil nearly snapped.
ROSE / FARM FOLK / FRIENDS
HEADING DIAMOND CITY WAY.
LEAVE WORD THERE IF YOU NEED ME.
— MOUSE
Good enough. Rose would know. The farm people would likely know. Anyone else would just see another wastelander leaving a note and maybe decide it wasn't worth caring about. I wedged the sign where it could be seen from the entrance but wouldn't fall the second the wind got rude. Then I stepped back and gave it one last look.
"Close enough," I said. Claptrap rolled beside me. "MESSAGE PLACEMENT ACCEPTABLE."
"Glad you approve." I snorted despite myself and turned toward the exit. Outside waited the same broken world. The air felt colder now that I knew I wasn't coming back tonight. I brought up the Pip-Boy and turned the radio on low. Static first, then music, thin and crackling. Low enough that I could hear it, not loud enough to announce us to half the wasteland. Some old song fought its way through the speaker as I adjusted the volume with my thumb.
"There," I murmured. Milo stepped out beside me. Packrat clunked forward with the duffle bag. Wrench and Rivet followed, then Rook and Spark. Claptrap rolled out last, his optic sweeping left and right like he owned the place. I took one last look at the Boston Mayoral Shelter. "Thanks for not killing me," I said quietly. Then I turned away from it. Diamond City could wait a little. There was one vault I wanted to visit first.