Day 498. Crazy, crazy world out there!

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Tom C. enjoying himself to death.

There was no break in the clouds. None at all. I started believing that we will never see proper sunshine and that whatever nature creatures were coming slowly back to inhabiting the sad remains of the Earth, were going to die out again due to lack of the direct sunlight.
I know it was too early for any kind of conclusions leading to another end but somehow, all my life I was more on the half empty glass side than to be on the half full glass side. That was my genetic and social build I suppose.
It was a bit harder to get that insight out of Nick as the way he saw the world was… neutral to some degree. He wasn’t lacking in human emotions or feelings, he just processed stuff and then he spat out his ‘human’ version of what bugged his insides. I started to find his presence rather comforting.
For so many years the society pushed the black – white, good – bad approach into my consciousness that when faced with a topic that had multiple ways of resolution (like any kind of conversation with Nick) my mind raced to the black – white end… while Nick’s mind had plenty of grey shades everywhere that were happy to remain grey or less grey without the need of becoming white or black.
There was no pessimists or optimists in Nick’s world. There just wasn’t place for polar opposites and it was strange. It wasn’t strange only due to the concept itself but to the fact that the synths were meant to be human’s invention and yet these came out so advanced(?).
Maybe some story about the Institute and synths themselves became skewed with the time passing, or maybe it was precisely planned operation…?
It was getting all a bit too much for me but luckily we came across a ruined diner and our moods perked up a bit as we could easily see, even from a distance, that we had another “client” to get busy with.
It was just an ordinary diner that somehow survived in the middle of nowhere, making it look like a sore thumb sticking out of someone’s arse… but it was there and we could perhaps get a bit of rest here.
After some research within the diner, and around greatly placed skeleton, we got a bit of information to work with. We were standing in front of Tom Clancy’s bones and these bones saw some interesting stuff. Well, that’s what me and Nick thought…
Tom used to make computer applications and programs that were meant to find a path through time warps to allow faster travel between gigantic distances. It was all too technical for me and, honestly kind of boring so I wasn’t paying attention to that bit of Tom’s live. No, that was too sci- fi for me. His love for food wasn’t though…
As we were scavenging through holotapes or bits of information included there and as we trued to dig out any personal info from Tom’s holotag we finally started getting a better picture of him and perhaps his end.
Tom had many brothers and all of them seemed to be better off than Tom, at least in Tom’s mind. His greatest pain was the lack of life partner and that led Tom to finding a strange hobby that would fill empty hours when he wasn’t working with computers.
He separated from his family quickly and spent most of his life alone, bar some co- workers or people that he’d come along at work. After his work time he used to become Jack and Jack’s passion was food, restaurants, odd dishes and crazy amounts of them.
It wasn’t clear to us why he needed second persona but from his notes it seemed he just needed that kind of escape from his cruel reality. It was sad really, to find a lone soul that probably died all alone among the strangeness of the world.
We found some very faded posters that perhaps shed some light on why Tom… erm Jack found himself here. There was an eating tournament happening, that would allow the owners of the diner to find the biggest, greediest, hungriest creature possible. Me and Nick decided to leave the case as one that saw Jack being defeated by his only love of his life. Food…
Well it didn’t really matter how accurate we were really as what mattered to me, was the sad and true fact that all the remains I came across since starting my personal escape, were in no way connected to me or my past… or at least the known me and my past…
I tried talking to Nick about the reasons for why I was doing it and where I thought I headed but Nick just told me to try to enjoy the journey and stop looking for the destination.
I was going to try to forget about the destination that to some degree was quite murky and unknown to me. I was going to try to do that and to try to enjoy my discoveries of the Wasteland… No matter how twisted these were.
I just wished for some sunshine to finally warm up my tired body…

Day 494. There used to be a sunshine after the rain…

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The last shower of Marion C.

Do you remember when someone would say ‘There will be sunshine after the rain’? Well I do. It was such a common phrase and such a true one. The rain drops would fall then eventually the Sun would clear them away, turn them into steam that would raise back up to fall on us as rain again…
Life was simple and we made it so complicated.
Hmm… After this strange and long episode of radioactive rain had finally came to a stop, me and Nick headed out expecting a walk in a somewhat sunny settlings. For some reason a semi thick cover of cloud remained with us, above us and there was no sunshine after rain. There just wasn’t any sign of the skies clearing out…
We walked for a while towards a new point in the horizon and we talked about this strange phenomenon and we wondered if we would ever see the Sun again. It must had been well over a week now without a single, the smallest break in this sinister looking sky.
Nick hypothesised about another bomb perhaps or some nuclear end to this sad world but there wasn’t any signs of emergency within the nature itself. No sign of rush or any anomalies (at least what we, would call anomalies- funny how human begins can adapt fairly easy but yet through centuries human race tried to adapt its environment to suit their needs…)
Our point in the horizon started growing and getting some familiar shapes until we finally stood in front of a small bungalow where we expected, someone lived at some point in time. I had this absurd thought of knocking on the doors (I really don’t know where it came from as Wasteland’s rules didn’t involve good manners or any basic courtesy anymore) but Nick managed to open the doors before I even fully realised what I was about to do.
Inside we found a very messy lounge and a kitchen full of pans and broken glass, a bedroom with a toilet and then a bathroom where we found our next ‘project’.
We assumed the skeleton presented to us was once this house’s occupier and after quick search for the hologram and different bits within the bedroom we could easily give the bones a name and a reason (well to a certain degree)…
Marion Crane was her name and she used to play in a theatre that was created post war, perhaps some years ago. From the bits of holotape and some poorly preserved pictures we assumed the theater main purpose was to bring as many old stories from the old world as possible to carry on with some continuity…
It was unclear to us how the people involved in the theatre were able to gather pre-war information. More importantly we wanted to know where this theatre was and if it was still functional. It was a long shot but we had nothing to lose.
After more thorough search and a night full of strange dreams I came to a conclusion that there was nothing else to find out about the theater but we gathered a bit about Marion.
As it turned out it was a story of a young woman who escaped one of the vaults. She was born and raised there but by the time she was 9 her parents or any members of family appeared to be lost to Marion. So she went onto learning in the vault and getting better at different crafts until the age of 15, making very little friends and acquaintances.
Apparently she was a great looking girl with a curve or two that would bring many man’s water to boil so somehow she ended up as a lover of the deputy overseer. Whether it was mutually agreed or imposed decision was not known to us but we found out that it led Marion to leaving the vault 17 and killing her lover.
Once out, Marion used her body and charm to get through many sticky situations as she travelled from the south. How far the travel was and how long it took, we didn’t know, but we knew was that once in the Boston areas Marion wanted to settle, slow down and see what life brings to her.
And the life did bring her someone. That someone was Norman, a small casino owner. The two quickly found common language and it looked like Marion finally had a glimpse of luck striking her way. It felt this way until she realised that Norman had a very unhealthy role playing fetish, something that started invading their bedroom life more and more often.
It was something she didn’t agree with, something that was done to her many times against her will. Something that led Marion to stabbing Norman in his sleep.
She escaped under the cloak of night and moved some miles away where she found a calm settlement of older people that were a bit strange, as she noted in her holojournal…
Rest of the story is a bit bland until Marion realises that Norman was married and he had thought he lost his wife in some super mutant ambush. It turned out that his wife found out all about Marion and Norman’s fling and somehow she traced Marion all the way here…
And that’s where the written story ended and life itself presented us this skeleton laid in the shower with no explanation as to what had happened… That is life’s way of covering some stories with the thick and impenetrable cover of mystery and somehow I was actually fine with that…
We needed to move on to keep our quest going but for that night we decided to stay with Marion until the next day. Nick said he needed to recharge his batteries and it was an appropriate place to do so.
I wasn’t sure what type of recharging he had in mind but I was too tired to look into the cloudy sky. I was hoping the next time I’d wake up we’d finally see some of the sunshine…

Day 491. When it rains, it is boring.

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Nick, fairly bored in an empty prison.

Well. We only managed to reach a small police station before the skies broke down in an emotional downpour of radiating rain. I have never seen anything like that. The drops of that toxic rain appeared to be tiny biological bombs full of destruction. In places you could notice burning slightly as the drops touched suitable stuff.
Raining weather was never fun in Commonwealth. It just wasn’t. Rain was something to avoid and pray for it to pass quickly…
Ah… The good old rain of olden days was brilliant. It was a great time for reading or walking down the park protected by an umbrella… Nowadays, if you were lucky to find an umbrella it wouldn’t protect you from the toxins included in every drop of the greenish lookin rain. It was deadly. Hence we were stuck in this tiny police station and Nick was bored…
After the recent discovery and all the fun Nick had finding out something about someone who he indirectly knew, it seemed like some new life was sparked into his rusty cables, wires and processors. He seemed happy and alive…. Well as happy and alive synths can be really.
We talked about loads of stuff while we searched through the station in hope of finding anything remotely interesting that could keep our minds busy. All we had left was talking as the station proved to provide us with noting but plenty of dust and empty cells…
So we talked about our feelings mainly as for some reason it felt like a good time to reach inside of your own self to bring plenty of ‘unimportant’ matters to the surface, one of which would be the so often neglected feelings…
Wasteland was no place for feelings. It was a brutal place where instincts and survival mattered the most. Not the depression, sadness or total hopelessness that would wrap around you like a sticky scarf full of dirt and misery wrapping around your neck… each day, tighter… Just tighter and tighter… Not even happiness had really place here or anywhere out there.
As strange as it sounds, Nick had plenty to say about what was bugging his insides. As bizzare as it sounds it was soothing to hear complaints coming from… a machine. It was like who ever took time to assemble Nick and put his chips and stuff in, coming from beyond the grave telling me how it all was meant to happen, how the ‘advanced’ society meant for our future generations to live and evolve…
And funny enough it wasn’t actually that far from what I’d like to see happening to the world around us where each of us mattered and where accomplishing common goal was the objective as opposed to being better than my neighbour or having more stuff than my friends…
Anyway. Nick got talking and talking how the experience he missed the most was that so common for us (and yet so neglected) feeling of being loved. Feeling of belonging somewhere and it struck me, all of sudden that we all ended up being thrown into this strange scenario where no one told us where we came from and where we are meant to be heading. Kind of journey to find…
Well, I didn’t know what I was meant to find in this world where everyone I had known was dead and everything i cherished, simply disappeared with the bombs falling down on the world. We and our forefathers built with our hands and heads, sweat and blood, we built something and it was all gone
Yes. Rain in Commonwealth was not a good thing. It gave us too much time to pause and idle in our struggle, simultaneously giving our brains that much needed breath of that dirty air to start thinking and feeling… And I started realising feelings were not a good thing in this gray world.
Someone, somewhere, sometime… Anyone really needed to put some plan to action and make sure that feelings where important and that everyone had the chance to express them…
Firstly though. Someone had to find a way to put the feelings on the map of the Commonwealth and I realised that it might be me that needs to kick start it all.
I wasn’t ready. All I wanted was to look for more skeletons, dig in the faded past trying to see if I can find a link to something that had already happened, something that probably wouldn’t happen again….
Rain in the Wasteland was a bad idea. And Nick somehow knew when he looked at me for a long time before I fell asleep…
First time since I ‘landed‘ here the rain didn’t seen to be stopping…

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Day 486. It’s all nonsense.

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Frank T. a waste within the wasteland.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try and how much you wish you could display some humanity, you can’t.
There is nothing wrong with that. We all have the right to think and feel as we please, as long as we keep matters within boundaries of our mental world, things are sure to be safe if we follow that rule. The problems might start occurring when the imaginary world starts to spill outside. I had done my best so far to avoid that.
Travelling along Nick was much more pleasurable than I originally thought. At times we could travel in silence for hours and I would feel comfortable, other times one of us would spin a yarn while the other would chip in with ‘ahs’  and ‘ohs’ or some direct questions and the time would fly…
The moment of cold hard waking up caught up with us though when Nick said: “I don’t know about you, but I really struggle to see this happening for much longer. Although ‘longer’ is quite a relative term. I think what I’m trying to say is, where are we heading?”
And that was that. We stopped in abandoned shack to catch some shadow and I told Nick that at the moment my objective is to walk and look for any lost sign connecting me to my past no matter how idiotic it might sounds. Nick nodded his head and whispered that it was ok but I could see his synthetic body kind of shrugged…
Next thing was me asking him what his plans are and the response wasn’t something I’d expect as nick said in his fairly monotonous voice: ‘I don’t really know. I’d like to find at least a scent of old type of community and settle there to get busy with becoming a detective again. On the other hand, I’d be comfortably happy in knowing that you’d feel OK with pulling the cord and turning me off… Forever…’
And just like that the doom and gloom was back but somehow me and Nick were happy to get these little things out of our chests.
I assured Nick that I’d give a serious consideration to his request of turning the lights off and he seemed content with what came out of my mouth. Well. The world was what it was and there was no need to go around the bushes. It was too late for that.
We decided to set ourselves around that fairly well constructed shack. After a bit of inspecting we realised there was more to that than just a shack. There was a manhole that led us to a little space underneath and here we came across a bed and Frank Tank.
As funny as the name sounded Nick displayed some signs of irritation and anger. I asked him what about these bones made him unsettled and he told me he knew Frank Tank. Not directly but from words of the folks around Nick from, perhaps 30 years ago.
As it turned out, Nick was asked to investigate a fella who was a pimp, a nasty piece of abusive shit and a piss head. Nick never managed to track Frank or even be hundred percent sure what piece of nasty work he was but the pieces of info he managed to find was leading to plenty of abuse, especially towards young girls.
It didn’t surprise me that Nick went after every single piece of evidence like a hungover sailor would go after a bottle of rum, I even offered help but Nick was just in his element and I decided to let him get on with it.
While Nick was getting all dirty on all fours I was checking stuff that Nick had already disposed off and there wasn’t much really. For my simple mind it would work out that Frank Tank had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol and rude approach towards people…
Nick was finally done and he looked accomplished. It was nice to see him ‘happy’ if that state was actually possible for Nick to achieve. I’ve asked him what he found and he replied that it appeared to be his suspected pimp and an abuser and he was glad he was dead. He was poisoned by his ‘girlfriend’ who added some toxins into his booze and then she had her way with him…
I don’t know how Nick managed to work it all out but he shared some light into it by showing me a faded picture of the girl, that had handwritten note at the back. I hope you fry in hell forever you small dick wanker.
Nick explained some stuff he learnt during his work and what led him to conclusion of murder by incapacitation and then torture. He said if we had been here earlier (like 20 years or over), there might be a bit more to go around and to find out how she finished him off but he was certain his ‘last lover’ was the end of Frank Tank. The piss head, abuser and a total waste…
I really felt nothing but pleasure knowing the justice was still able to exist in this crazy world and that it was still being handed out well.
Next day, me and Nick took off, wondering what happened to the girl named Amanda. It looked like it was going to be a radiation rain day soon so we chose an object in fairly close proximity for our next adventure or rest point.
Nick seemed to be a new born person…

Day 482. Simple things.

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Gregory K. worn out by his postman duties.

We didn’t manage to get inside of the Rely Station’s basement. There were just too much junk and too little man power to worth the bother.
In the end we had all of these areas to ourselves and we didn’t have to dig to find bodies. These were everywhere.
As sad as it was, Nick seemed to have perked up a bit and for a half of a day he was telling some crazy stories from his detective times. It was so idyllic for several hours that I almost forgotten where we were and what was happening around us.Well what already happened actually, as the current time seemed to have gone into slow motion, or we sped up. It didn’t matter.
For the few hours of us walking and Nick doing most of detective talking I remained myself how good we had in the olden days. How everything was easy to fix and how we managed to complicate every damn thing that eventually led us to this….
Idling land with remains of humanity mostly turned into radioactive nightmares we would have back in the day after we ate something rotten or smoked something dodgy.
And yet, somehow or other, the nightmares became reality. At least these were my reality and there was no alarm clock to save me from a monster or from that enormous fall…
Anyway. Nick’s stories came to a sudden stop when we approached an isolated building. Someone’s home one day… As soon as we were through the doors, we were welcomed to another faded memory of the past. Yet another skeleton, yet another mystery.
Before we got to find out more about our discovery we had to despatch a malfunctioned Mr. Handy which attacked us out of nowhere when me and Nick were reflecting about our own things.
Gregory Kremmer his name was and he was a postman from the good days. As sad as it appeared we realised that he was probably out delivering his post while the bombs fell… Perhaps he looked for shelter here? Perhaps he hoped that radiation wouldn’t get to him…? Or the shock of explosion?
It was hard to decipher that puzzle but from what little we managed to gather, Gregory left his wife and three kids that day… or they left him…? There was no drama associated to his person, no known to us illness or an angry argument resulting in us finding his bones. It all appeared so casual…
Gregory had a big bag full of letters(?), small parcels(?) that now turned to dust… He also had a holotape which revealed nothing but a soothing jazz that it was so pleasant to listen to. We let it all play out just in case there would be hidden information somewhere inside but no, just music he must had to listen to while doing his duties or perhaps while he looked for shelter when the bombs fell…
The bombs full of radioactive energy. Some were also full of unknown to us viruses causing mutations and death… The bombs that started my journey despite me enjoying the previous one so much, even though at that time I can vaguely remember feelings of depression and boredom coming to the surface…
Nick decided it wasn’t save here so we rushed out to find a better shelter to gather some energy and allow us some rest. We would probably travel through the night but that wouldn’t be an issue, especially not for Nick who was made to go on, no matter what… Unless he chose not to…
I wished my existence was that simple but no, sometimes I had to rest, had to sleep and had to have nightmares about how beautiful the old world was and how unreachable it had became…
It was going to be a long night in the world where clocks didn’t matter anymore…

Day 480. Cracks in the wall.

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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…

Day 475. Nothing’s sacred.

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An odd altar within the cemetery not far from Rely Station, East Boston.

It appears that even after the whole world goes to shit, some are still in a need of a spiritual life. Perhaps an escape from the horrid radioactive scenery into visions of redemption and mercy is still quite high on some people’s lists.

As we travelled through some remote (isn’t everything remote nowadays???) parts of the Commonwealth we could see a big satellite dish in a distance. We decided to head in this direction. Travelling outside was such a nice distraction from our recent voyages through the never ending tunnels of the Metro. We had to pop our heads out finally and it was a pleasure to see the leafless tress, broken branches, the odd radscorpion or a distant mirelurk. It was our nature. The way we left it.

Nick carried on being fairly philosophical in much oh stuff that would leave his lips and it was a bit difficult to try to work out what was bugging this crazy creation of the Institute. Poor fucker. At times I was wondering if it was possible for the synth inside of Nick to glitch or develop some bugs and what these could lead to…? It was a bit pointless worry. I’d deal with it as it would hit me, besides I knew several “generic passwords” for resetting synths and Nick told me one of them should work in the end. I really didn’t need a crazy half human half synth creature going nuts on me with some issues that could be well beyond my understanding.

I just hoped that sooner than later (really soon like now) Nick would finally stop talking to me in this encrypted philosophical monologue of his and came back to being the good old self Nick, sounding like some slightly broken gangster from a black and white movies that my great grand parents had to watch. (no matter how crazy the idea sounded before everything went to hell).

Anyway, the dish. We headed towards it but it wasn’t for long until something caught our attention. It was that odd sweet smell that, no matter how crazily it sounded, reminded us of flowers… We headed into this direction and we soon discovered, some strange cemetery, laid with some circular paths, graves laid out in some shape that was just too hard for my eyes and understanding to decipher.

I came to a moral dilemma pretty soon. All the graves had the stones scratched to the point it was impossible to read who laid there and for the odd moment of insanity I thought I’d have to dig out all the bodies and we’ll have to go through them all but the moment of mental breakdown quickly passed and I could think clearer about it all and I decided it was too much to go digging out graves plus something inside of me wasn’t agreeing much with it at all. Call me old fashioned.

Anyway, the sad truth was, as we quickly discovered going deeper into the cemetery, that someone else thought of digging the bodies out and soon we were coming across loads of holes in the ground that led us to this crazy chapel. I mean from outside the little building looked normal but when we went inside it became quite obvious for us that the digging out must had been a plan of some sort of ritual belief as the chapel was crazily decorated with bones, skulls, some flowers (where they started growing flowers???). 

I mean the whole scene looked like there just happened some barbaric ritual that was meant to lead to… well, I couldn’t come with an idea what it was all about, neither could Nick. I did look through the bones but I wasn’t able to find any holotags or anything else. It was almost sterile. I decided to “waste” one photo off my camera and document this place but it was all too strange for us and we decided to leave just in case if the “believers” were to come back and include us as a form of a life stock scarification. I mean fighting was always an option but given how many graves were robbed and how the chapel looked, it could well mean a solidly organised group of fanatics.

Perhaps some traits of crazy human nature were never to die out and perhaps some needed something to worship or at least keep their hopes alive, wrapped up in a cocoon of obscurity. Who was I to decide who was mad and who wasn’t and what madness was in the first place??? The whole world I loved and longed for died many centuries ago and all I was doing, was pretty much slowly losing any remains of the old fashioned sanity that would sooner or later (please let it be later!), turn me into a maniac or at least a suicidal walking bomb….

I just wished I could talk to someone about it but the only person near me wasn’t even human and somehow I thought it wasn’t even the same entity I had meet many radioactive months ago…

I was fucked and I wanted to wake up from this nightmare… But I knew I wasn’t dreaming at all. It was all happening in front of me and I had only way to finish the suffering…

I wasn’t ready for anything…

 

Day 467. New horizons.

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Megan M. and Steve S. Strangers preserved as a couple.

Change can sometimes be all that we need. Change very often is what we are afraid off though. In the end without a change there is no progress.
I could put each of these statement in front of my relationship with Nick and these would all be true and very much on time. I needed a new direction in my journey but I was afraid to admit it to myself and I needed to grow personally. It was something that slowly was creeping up behind my consciousness and I wasn’t fully aware of that but the journey along Nick would finally make me realise a few things about myself and the state I was in…
As we left The Trading Post, Nick suggested we should keep a low profile and avoid advertising our presence to the outside world. It got me really confused as it appeared we were kind of on our own anyway but after the Prestonian antics I didn’t mind a bit of paranoia served by Nick. So we headed under…
The under meant travelling through network of the old metro lines, it was a temporary solution according to Nick until we’d leave the immediate area of our start. I didn’t ask Nick who we were hiding from but it didn’t bother me that much and actually it sounded like a great start to some crazy adventure…
We didn’t make a long way and we already were blessed with a couple of skeletons we came across in one of the damaged train cars. Nick looked at me as if he was asking “that what you are after, my friend” and I nodded and before I even managed to acknowledge the stuff around me, Nick went on ballistic on us and started spraying some powder all over the bodies, and looking at everything with a magnifying glass, brushing off dust pieces with his tiny brush…
I thought to myself that with so much detailed searching we will be needing days just to get through one skeleton and I could see myself turning into one. I stopped Nick and I explained to him I was only looking for some basic info that would reveal the identity of who these bones belonged to. Nick appeared a bit disappointed but I explained that if we ever came anything suspicious or looking like a great discovery he then could just go all detective-like but in the meantime basic stuff would do.
Well, perhaps I hadn’t the greatest approach to my personal quest but it was mine and I was doing it to sooth my wounds not Nick’s.
It didn’t take long to realise these two birds weren’t connected as the body of a woman was coming from after the big war while the bloke was definitely a pre-war soldier.
Steve Sunny was his name, and he served in an army that fought for freedom and was trying to prevent the bombs falling down on us. There wasn’t much else to go about as all his notes and any other written word was faded and turned to dust as we touched it. We knew he lost the war. We paid the respects and got busy with Megan Moon who was a cancer ridden soul on a quest of finding her lover who served in an army that formed around 100 years ago.
There was a bit more in the story of Megan’s life but we couldn’t make much sense out of it. She either lost her child while in labour or when the baby was young. Her lover was serving in the army and was stationed some distance away from her place.
As she lost the baby the depression drove her to drinking and taking up on different drugs available that were filling empty nights when her lover wasn’t sleeping next to her. The diary we found in one of the pockets mentioned that if Teddy wouldn’t quit the army next time he’d come home, she’d do everything to make him change his mind.
Obviously whatever she did, wasn’t enough and hence she went onto looking for him but what had happened to Teddy and his army remains a mystery to us. As she travelled she noticed the weight loss, and when she was resting in Boston Police Rationing Station she was told by a doctor he thought she had a cancer and they’d take care of her.
Obviously she refused the help and continued her search which must have led her here where she died next to a body of a soldier she never knew but had hoped it was her lover’s. Well at least that was our take on the case and whether we were right or wrong the thought of dying slowly of cancer must have been an experience not many would like to go through in this post apocalyptic messed up world.
Nick seemed very stoic and reserved while I gathered my thoughts finally and decided it was time to leave the couple of strangers to their own flow of time. I knew that soon we’d be heading outside and I was hoping for a bit of sunlight as the recent discovery made me feel a bit strange about myself and my reasons for which I was still alive…
Suicide was always an option for me. From the moment the awful truth spilled it’s secrets in me. From the moment when I realised I’d never see her or them again…
There was something inside me that prevented it from happening yet but I started questioning how strong the thing was and how long it’d travel with me…
All I knew that day, was that I was alive and I was going to be… at least for a while…

Day 461. We are finally here.

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Tom H. and Meg R. enjoy their last beverage at a cafe.

Before my and Preston’s roads finally split at The Trading Post, a little settlement with no permanent settlers really, we came across this odd couple preserved behind a table inside of Big John’s Salvage, Red Rocket type of a station.
It was actually Preston who insisted to come inside and check, probably his last gesture towards me, he felt he needed to do. I didn’t wait long and we both quickly found a way inside despite all the rubble around the establishment that looked carefully arranged by someone trying to hide something inside.
There wasn’t much, just a couple o skeletons with another half really sat at one table. Initially we thought the trio knew each other but given lack of any information from the half corpse, mainly resting on table, we focused on the couple…
I don’t think it was a love story and them two were lovers but I might be mistaken. I’m not great at reading people or their minds. There was something about them that indicated they were good friends but nothing more. Pre war couple having a last drink.
Tom Hands and his friend Meg Rain committed suicide. It was as simple as that. Looking through their stuff we found few notes and one of them was saying that these two should meet together at Big John’s and end the infinite suffering together by having their favourite drink that was meant to be spiced up with some toxin that would end it all.
Unfortunately I don’t think I’ll ever manage to establish what really lead them to this actions as there just wasn’t enough information available but the couple was obviously content with their decision and so was that. One minute you enjoy a drink with your friend, the next, a dude finds your bones over 200 years later trying to find out what occurred at this table.
They weren’t poor, ill, troubled. They just appeared to have enough of what was around them at that time and decided to bring the end nearer to their time and it looks like they succeeded.
The half skeleton probably wasn’t involved as his clothing style and look of his bones suggested a different time but I might be mistaken. Preston pulled few jokes about them, especially about the half corpse but I just decided to let it swing by as I wasn’t in a mood for another lecturing tirade. We were done and the end of us was near.
I couldn’t bring anyone named Tom or Meg to my memory so I ticked them off as another pair of strangers I had the pleasure to meet but never speak to. The whole scenery was a bit depressing that day, with the overcast skies and mild wind blowing pieces of rubbish in different places so we left the couple to contemplate another centuries ahead of them.
Preston reminded me of The Trading Post and that’s where we decided to head, hoping to meet some keen travelers and we were not to be disappointed.
As soon as we arrived at The Trading Post, Preston was welcomed with a cheerful scream and all of sudden he was not my problem anymore. Francesca fancied Preston since the Bunker Hill battle where the two met but never had a chance to express her feelings towards Preston as he disappeared from her horny radar during one of the face offs the people had there… Hence her cheering was so loud.
Finally I had a room to breath but it wasn’t like I needed it for a long time and luckily by the end of the day I found sleeping Nick Valentine. A strange human synth who I met probably a year ago during my earlier escapades around the “Wasties” as we used to call the Wasteland.
Nick told me what he had done in the last few months and it wasn’t a lot as he mainly travelled with small groups of people looking for some mysterious stories to engage his detective brain with little success. When he heard what I was trying to do he kindly offered his help and this way I gained another travel companion.
Nick didn’t appear happy, ecstatic or even pleased at the thought of his new way of passing time and it puzzled me for rest of the night why he seemed so distant but to be honest, after Preston’s sing-alongs, having a company that was fairly mentally stable was a godsend.
Preston on the other hand enjoyed his welcome very much that first night. It seemed like Francesca was enjoying it too, while the rest of us was pleased when the welcoming duties finally came to a conclusion and we could all listen to our own thoughts again.
The next day was full of radioactive weather so we laid low until the clouds blanket had become thinner and there was no more threat of a downpour. Me and Nick stocked up on some stuff, I spoke the last time to Preston whose smile was purely disturbing and it was time to take off. I knew there were few settlements not far in many directions so decided to let my heart lead the way…
And it did, and the path was very tough to endure at times but I think it was worth it.
In the meantime though Nick was readying himself to open up to me but I was happily oblivious to what was about to come across us soon…

Day 459. Finding stuff is hard.

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The life of Frank Johnson ended in a strange set of circumstances.

It’s not going be much longer. Just a matter of days of holding up sane.
That thought kept on bouncing through my tired brain. I knew we had not been far away from a known and established settlement so I was hoping to part ways with Presto there providing we’d find people happy to travel through the Commonwealth with us.
I just didn’t know how to start the awkward conversation with Preston, especially when I realised he kept using some of the Rad-x and buffout to spice up his herbal smokes. It made me wonder what it was making to his already strange state of mental health but you can’t stop people from experimenting with whatever they fancy.
I was going to eventually bring it up, before we’d go our own ways (hopefully) as this stuff keeps us going and nowadays is really considered a medicine more than a recreational drug so I wasn’t pleased to know he was using it for fun. I mean we could go all into a huge philosophical argument about it all but hey. Look around, it was a bit too late to worry about the state of the World.
My quest for the skeleton discoveries wasn’t progressing as smoothly as I anticipated. One would thought you’d be going through hundred a week but sad truth was, plenty of them bones had nothing that would allow any trackable data. I decided to write down locations of the nameless skeletons just in case I’d end up in a neighbourhood in a future wanting to investigate.
All I really wanted were some bones that could be identified and ticked as done, but all I was getting was more questions than answers.
Given the fact that on some level I was escaping the inevitable my stronger inner voice was telling me to just keep on ploughing. So I did.
I was given the temporary relief of sliding the way of depression by coming across my next “project”. We came across Fallon’s Department store and decided to call it a day there. After doing our usual checks and making sure it was semi safe to crash here Preston just flew away into the land of sleep within minutes and all I was left with was a calming peaceful buzzing coming from poorly constructed generator that someone built a while ago.
I found the next “project” in toilets and as I saw what I saw I wondered what this poor soul was trying to accomplish there. When Preston saw it the next day he called it the death’s kiss but by then I had already learned a bit about Frank and his strange life although the scene itself still presented more questions than answers.
Frank Johnson was a post war inhabitant of Boston, that was one certainty. He used to go through a lot of chems on bad days and a lot of booze on good days. I think in the old world I would consider his case to be a lost one but given what the Wasteland had done to all of us it didn’t really matter that much anymore.
Frank worked for a “medical services” of some sort I never heard of. The time frame must had been from at least 50 years ago and it is hard to establish as what had occurred in those years when we were frozen, in vaults or elsewhere. Word didn’t travel well with the lack of media.
Frank had a wife or a girlfriend named Theresa and they had spent a long time together. They met working for the medical services company and appeared to have quite high values set to allow them to live peacefully with the values they cared about. Except Frank and his secret love to a bit of excitement on the side with a bottle or a syringe.
Anyways. I’m not going to write a book about the Johnsons’ life as it’d be hard and that’s not the point. I had known a Frank Johnson though and it made me wonder if that was him but given that strange time frame it was very unlikely plus I’d known “my” Frank as a teenager and somehow I couldn’t picture him having a life partner.
Now… Theresa was murdered by a Run Gunner when Frank was away on a mission(?). After Frank had realised what had happened his love to booze and chems really exploded and that somehow led to his death (I think).
When Theresa’s body was discovered Frank was away and he didn’t return until her funeral took place. His friend’s explained to him what happened and Frank was shattered to pieces. He promised to avenge Theresa’s life and went onto finding her killer. It wasn’t very difficult as the killer was known to some people that knew Frank and finally, one night Frank delivered his justice by chopping the fella’s head off, making sure he’d take the precious trophy to his home.
Frank must had some love for heads as for unknown to me reasons, he dug up his beloved partner and took her head with him too as he missed his bird and her warm loving nature. He’d also wished he remembered their last night spent together…
Looking through his tapes it was obvious he spent his last days completely out of this world on high dose of booze and chems and hell knows what else. It was quite difficult to follow his thinking process plus his speech was really hard to decipher at points but the bottom line is that, and here’s a lot of my imagination goes through, he decided to show disrespect to the Gunner or love to his wife but since he must had been pissed out of his head, he slipped and fell with his head onto the urinal breaking his neck.
If I was a bit more educated in human’s anatomy I’d perhaps be able to work out if the skull that was sat inside the urinal was male or female and if Frank tried to piss on it or have some disturbing act of sex with it but since I wasn’t I had to leave it at that point.
Next time I spoke to Preston I thought of Frank’s addictions and really made my mind about our friendship.
It wasn’t an easy talk but I explained to Preston that we should split our ways as soon as we both manage to find a companion and to my surprise Preston was very understanding and he didn’t make this conversation more awkward than it needed to be. I also mentioned the Rad-x stuff but he acted like I was talking some crazy language.
He did though create another song that day, that first’s verse went something like this… “I was dumped by that dry bitch…ouuuuoooohhhhhoooo…might she rest in peace now….oouuuuooooohhhhooo…”
It is best to keep your mouth shut at times and I decided it was one of these times when me and Preston walked away from the crazy scene of “the death kiss” of Frank’s strange end of his own personal journey…
I knew we weren’t far from settlement with friendly humans inside and I was hoping we’d find at least one that would travel with either of us. As much as Preston helped me back in the day he became a bit of annoying twat nowadays and it was the right time
We were yet to find the right place and right person….