Day 480. Cracks in the wall.

Fallout 4-comfortably-drunk-dude

Tim B. drunken and happily dead.

You can lose track of time, track of your own essence when you stop paying attention to details. It really is not that hard. Once you are excluded from the normal flow of action, once you are no longer part of something, once your friends are not there for you any more, it is easy to just lose yourself within yourself and perhaps, never be able to come back.
The routine becomes some old ritual no one remembers about and the chaos that we once were so afraid of, becomes your bread and butter. You learn to pick up only these pieces that you can carry, as there is no one to carry you around. Living in Wastelands makes you feel lonely.
Despite travelling along Nick I felt like that was it. We reached the bottom and there was no coming out of this shit hole. I dwelled on faded memories of what a lazy Sunday used to feel like, what coffee tasted like… It was all, almost a part of some strange dream I had experienced thanks to too much of chems. Or perhaps my rads counter was fucked and I was poisoned…
When Nick started talking like good old Nick, I though I hallucinated but after rubbing my eyes and hurting my foot on some rubble it seemed the old synth was back! The thing was, Nick wasn’t himself too. He felt poisoned, toxic and broken.
He finally opened up as we carried on walking towards that satellite dish which was nearing us with each step. Nick opened up and said: “If you hadn’t arrived at The Trading Post, I think I’d had allow myself to go rusty and malfunctioned there. The despair I see every day in eyes of the people that pass me by is too much, even for my robotic soul. It is just too much and I’m only someone’s invention and not a blood and flesh that has roots in pre war times. It is too much for me and I can’t imagine how much it must be for creatures like you…”
It got me so shocked that before I came with an answer it seemed like Nick switched back to his recent paranoid-self. I finally managed to open my gob and asked him what he really meant by malfunction, only to hear from his robotic mouth that there are ways of short circuiting everything…
Goosebumps rolled all over me as I realised that if even human/synths were getting so depressed, we as humanity probably crossed an invisible bridge that saw us coming through gates of hell and we just quietly accepted the changed scenery…
All this thinking stopped suddenly as we reached a path leading us to the dish and we started checking the environment. It seemed OK. After some checks and semi thorough tour of the insides we decided to camp here for a bit as we both felt obnoxiously exhausted.
It wasn’t until the next day when we discovered some basement and there waiting for us, was the security guy named Tim Beam. As it turns out, he lived here, making sure the Rely Station was semi functional for a radio transmission and some extra terrestrial encounters.
Tim’s duties were assigned to him by Brotherhood of Steel and were quite simple. ‘Look after her, keep her going and log any transmissions that might be caught in the air’, and that’s what Tim was doing for a while. It appeared he enjoyed the loneliness, he had no family or friends. It was just him, the dish, regular visits from BoS with supplies and… the strange conversations he appeared to had with aliens.
Given the amount of empty whisky bottles and chems packaging one should take it with the pinch of salt but given some of his drawing we found in his desk, we weren’t sure if the conversations he had with aliens were a product of substance abuse or a real encounter caused by the radiation coming from the Earth, inviting alien civilizations to visit. Well, at least that’s what Tim’s entries led us to believe.
There was no immediate anxiety or nervousness around the entries Tim made about the aliens, from his records it appeared the Zolos (hard to decipher) were friendly and were interested in the radiation that started coming to their vision of their technology which eventually led to leave their place and investigate. Apparently there wasn’t enough radiation for them to visit ‘in person’ hence the strange transmissions.
Nick had a look at the daily log, trying to see if Tim had the chats with Zolos around times of new deliveries of supplies from BoS but he gave up in the end stating there didn’t seem to be any pattern that followed anything in here.
We didn’t manage to came to solid conclusion regarding Tim’s death but our hypothesis was a simple one. He decided to drink until he felt happy and that time he perhaps had one drink too many.
There were more undergrounds to discover but me and Nick felt rather exhausted from all this strange stuff so we decided to call it a day and see if tomorrow we’d find a way into the guts of the dish…
The night was in a full display and for the first time since Nick joined me, he smiled…
The way he smiled though left me a bit puzzled. These days it was hard to work out the facial expressions and body language… Plus Nick was a synth and I started wondering if it ever was to play a part in my journey…

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