Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day…"

Under dark skies of the wasteland, a lone figure trudged wearily through the unforgiving terrain of the big MT, his armor faintly glowing from the moonlight. The upbeat, jazzy tune of 'Big Iron' blared from his pip-boy as it always did.

"Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn't have too much to say…"

He grunted as he stumbled a little bit, the collective weight of the stuff he was carrying taking a toll on his legs. Strength, he acknowledged, wasn't his forte. However, he was still alive through the power of will and guns, and that was all that mattered to him for now.

Stumbling again, he cursed softly at his own miscalculation, the Pip-Boy's warning sounds of being over encumbered nagging at him yet again.

"No one dared to ask his business, No one dared to make a sli-"

His movements sluggish, he sat down on a nearby rock, finding a moment's peace on the hill he'd just climbed. With a soft grumble, he cut short the playing holotape, the song abruptly silenced.

He turned his head upward, greeted by the unforgiving sight of the Big MT's rocky, barren expanse. Futuristic buildings loomed like skeletal remains, their once gleaming surfaces now weathered and scarred. Amidst them lay a few ruins, a testament to a world that was betrayed by its own creations.

In his estimation and what he could remember from his ever-fading memories from the ruins of D.C, his home, the place itself stood out among the many he'd encountered. It remained untouched by the relentless and never-ending march of war, a desolation of a different sort. Compared to the sprawling, neon-clad decadence of Vegas, it held a somber, haunting beauty, which only became more apparent once you had a brawl or two with its inhabitants.

He was soon interrupted from his musings by movement detected by his Pip-boy, and found a silhouette shambling a couple of meters away. It hadn't spotted him yet, but he trusted his instincts and guessed on its hostility.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

His hand deftly retrieved his Ratslayer from his duster, propping it against the rocky earth. A flick of a switch illuminated his surroundings, the helmet's lights casting a faint red glow. Through the scope, he focused on the approaching lobotomite, noting its armament and deciding which round to use.

The lobotomite, donning a gas mask and goggles, was wandering around aimlessly with a glowing bright-blue proton axe in hand. Those weapons did quite a lot of damage, and once managed to take his arm out in a single hit. He didn't feel like fighting it head on, so he reaffirmed his decision to use a sniper rifle. With the right mark, he could take it out in one shot.

With a practiced motion, he squeezed the trigger, the silenced 5.56mm round finding its mark. The resulting carnage left nothing but a grotesque display of innards and gore… a perfect [Bloody mess] in his opinion.

*Sneak attack critical on Lobotomite

He silently thanked Boone, his trusty companion whose presence was as reliable as the setting sun in the wasteland. The sniper's keen eye and unwavering loyalty had saved them both more times than he could count. Where in Cass he found fondness and a sense of positivity in the wastes, he found understanding in Boone, who was hardened by the dangers of the wasteland. His stoic demeanor mirrored the Courier's guarded nature, and despite their rare disagreements, they shared a mutual respect for each other.

The rifle returned to its resting place, and he flipped the helmet's switch, leaving his surroundings to be illuminated by the moonlight, which his eyes quickly adjusted to. He felt a weariness cast a shadow over him upon remembering the load of paperwork waiting at home as he prepared to embark on the journey back to the Strip, the weight of his baggage lightened from the momentary rest.

Governing an entire city, it turned out, was no easy feat. The endless paperwork proved a pain to work through, and he couldn't help but sympathize with James' tendency to lock himself in his office for days on end. With a grin on his scarred face, he passed the bureaucratic torch to Arcade, his trusted comrade, and set off to indulge in his favorite pastime—scavenging.

Money had to come from somewhere after all.

Despite his position of authority in New Vegas, he still kept a stash of stuff hidden deep in the Divide, co-shared with Ulysses. Trust in the NCR was a currency he couldn't afford to spend recklessly, and so, he maintained his secret cache. Negotiations had smoothed out, thanks in part to James and even General Oliver, surprisingly. Yet, he remained vigilant against their occasional covert maneuvers to take over New Vegas.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid, though.

As he journeyed, he stumbled upon one too many cigarette cartons, and unable to leave them behind, constantly picked them up, prompting his present, overweight trek through Big MT. Rising from his rocky perch, he grunted through his gas mask at the sudden strain on his legs.

A quick flip and glance at his trusty Pip-Boy revealed Ulysses' Point was a short walk away. Thoughts stirred and disturbed his mind at the mention of his now-friend, but he silenced them with a determined focus, setting off with songs blaring through the air.

"I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle…."

He finished dumping a few pilot lights, tin cans and some weapons he got from killing lobotomites into one of the footlockers laying around, and used the workbench nearby to craft some ammo and recycle some microfusion cells. ED-E had gotten him into the practice of it, and it stuck to him ever since. In the wasteland, every single resource mattered, which he learned first-hand. More often than not he'd find some shells and various other bits-and-bobs lying on the ground, and when he learned to use them, he'd found himself gradually attaining more ammo, to the point he never had to worry about running out ever again, unless he used a minigun or something.

*You are no longer over encumbered

Tucking away the newly made ammo in the folds of his duster, he subtly shifted his weight on the chair, contemplating his next move, before he decided that it would be best to head back to Novac, get some rest, and sell his stuff to Cliff in the morning. With that in mind, he stood up and fished out his Transportalponder!, holding his breath while preparing for another unpleasant bout of nausea. Pressing the trigger, he watched it hum to life, the blueish glow in its glass chamber brightening with every second, and he closed his eyes and steeled his legs.

…

…

…Odd.

Opening his eyes after the flash, the Courier found himself to be in his original spot, rather than the Mojave drive-in. He furrowed his eyebrows, initial shock replaced by confusion, and looked down at the device in his hand.

The Transportalponder! looked like it usually would, but upon closer observation, the light in its glass chamber that normally emitted enough light to establish a presence in a dark area had faded considerably. The Courier however, deciding to make one more faithful attempt, squeezed its trigger again. He saw the blue light pulse and expand briefly, before it quickly fizzled out, leaving nothing but the unilluminated glass chamber behind.

After staring at it for a few seconds, followed by pressing the trigger another couple times, he noticed that there was a lack of both the distinct humming as well as the light of the device. The Courier reasoned that the power had run out. Of course, there could be other causes, but he preferred picking the most simple cause. With that in mind, he sat down in the chair near his workbench with a grumble and started to disassemble the gadget, completely forgetting about the minds of the Think Tank which lay a short walk away.

Disassembling the thing was not much of a challenge, simply removing the screws located on the fixtures between the chamber and chassis and applying enough force to separate the two sufficed, and he found himself taking a look at its inner workings. He quickly found the failed power supply, a black box connected to a pair of black and red wires. He quickly snipped and put it away. Despite considering himself one of the brightest minds in the Mojave, he was not on the level of the Think Tank. Their lack of morals, however, required them to have someone watch over them, and he resolved himself to do it until his death.

Washing away his thoughts, he proceeded to try and figure out the voltage and current rating of the device, a job made harder by his sleep deprived mind. Nevertheless, he persevered through with thoughts of his queen-sized bed back in Novac.

After some trial and error attempts, he managed to figure it out, by adding the expected current and maximum and minimum supply voltages of each of the components on the same power buses. He then proceeded to calculate the current going into each of the resistors using the voltages and resistance encoded on them, finally finishing the repairs by hooking up a rather mediocre setup consisting of an old fission battery and some more resistors.

After cleaning up his workplace, he took a look at his handicraft and stood up from his seat and walked to the center of the room. Angling it so that its tip faced away from him, he took one last look at the transporter, before he pressed the trigger. The first time he pressed, it came to life, its soft humming returning and its light restored back to its original brightness. He cheered internally at that, shoulders sagging at the fact it had not exploded on him like one of his early attempts to fix a laser pistol.

With it somewhat restored, he steadied himself and pulled the trigger, hoping his [Luck] would not betray him. The humming of the device increased in response and so did the light, in size and intensity. However, he soon heard the distinct sound of a spark come from it, and the light quickly grew and eclipsed what its brightness should've been.

…?!

The light continued and, soon enough, pierced through his lenses and his hands shot to his face in reflex, unconsciously letting theTransportalPonder! fall to the floor. A crash followed by the sound of glass breaking came forth, and he felt himself be dragged into the light.

…

….

….

He tore his eyes open, drawing in a raspy breath. Upon drawing in air, however, he immediately gagged. His stomach felt like it had flipped over and over again and every bit of his body ached. His vision was initially nothing but a blur, but slowly focused to reveal a white ceiling which was shiny enough to reflect his gas mask-

The Courier immediately shot to his feet at the unfamiliar sight. Instead of the sandy, barren Mojave wasteland, he found himself in a strange, gunmetal-gray room with sickly yellow lines running throughout the walls. Strange devices of all kinds lined the walls of the mysterious building, giving no clue as to what purpose they might be used for. His breath quickened and for a moment, he found himself fixed to an operating table, a whirring blue light slowly approaching towards his chest, all the while four beings, clearly not human, watched from above, smiles mocking and jeering.

"Temporal displacement from alternative timeline successful. Commencing quarantine protocol of resultant subject."

In a flash, Lucky was pulled from its holster, .357 Hollow Point loaded in its chamber, his finger squeezed, ready to shoo-

The Courier blinked, a sudden pause in his movement.

His enemy was, in all seriousness, not what he had expected. It was a little girl, with black hair and pale skin, clothed in a frilly black dress with red highlights and had mismatched red and yellow eyes. She was also wearing gauntlets on her arms. The Courier immediately relaxed the grip on his gun's trigger upon seeing that his opponent was a child, but still prepared to open V.A.T.S because of the fact that she had pale unnatural skin, an immediate red flag, and what she was sitting on.

The girl was riding what the Courier assumed to be some sort of a weapon, from the various cannons fixed in various places, including the two huge turrets that rested on either side of it. She herself was sitting on what looked like one of the helmets of the old knights he had seen in various comic books. The helmet itself was the front to a large cluster of various mechanical parts, each connected by various springs and bolts. At the very top of it was what looked like an exhaust, a glass chamber filled with a red liquid that was fuming through its opening. Frankly, she looked like something that Dr. Dala would create with her…obsession with humans. He was reminded of Harkness, the Synth he met in D.C, but as a whole, she looked too advanced, beyond anything he'd ever seen.

To any lesser man, it would've been intimidating, but to the Courier, who had seen many things during his travels, it felt like another thing to take care of.

He silently pondered what the hell the Commonwealth had been up to, only hearing some bits about their so-called 'institution' over the radio occasionally.

"Subject has drawn a weapon. Warning: Forced capture mechanisms will be initiated if the weapon is not withdrawn."

He immediately affirmed his suspicions of it being a Synth and readjusted his grip on the trigger, squeezing it lightly.

Red-Yellow orbs stared back defiantly, showing no signs of fear despite the barrel pointed at her.

The Courier drew in a subtle yet shaky breath at the display of bravery. Killing children, human or not, was something he could never bring himself to do, despite being the butcher everyone regarded him as. It always unsettled him, and was the only reason he hesitated to bomb the Legion at the Divide's final showdown.

He drew in another breath.

One bullet was all it would take. He was confident a Hollow Point would finish the job, and the only thing left would be a few bits of machinery, scattered across. If he missed, he could always open V.A.T.S, combined with the pulse gun for the extra effect.

"Final warning to test subject given. Failure to withdraw weapons will be dealt with swiftly."

Just. One. Bullet. Nothing but another soon-to-fade-away kill added to his growing numbers.

"Subject has not withdrawn weapons. Commencing Forced capture mechan-"

"That's enough," a voice echoed through the sterile environment, snapping the Courier out of his thoughts and causing the Courier to almost open V.A.T.S on reflex. The Synth on its robotic weapon lowered her guard, glancing toward the source of the interruption. He drew his other hand to grab a pistol, but a swift movement of one of its smaller cannons caused him to stop amidst it.

"Severe warning: Any aggression against the creator will not be tolerated and use of lethal force will be recognised."

Not fazed by it. The Courier continued to reach for his pistol, the Synth's eyes narrowing as his hand moved towards it.

"I wouldn't recommend picking a fight with it. Those cannons aren't your normal ones,"

The newcomer advised . Turning his head in the direction of the voice, he found himself staring at a man clad in a black shirt and white pants, overwhich a lab coat rested. A necklace was hung around his neck, as were glasses on his face. Whitish-gray hair was tied into a neat ponytail, and his gaze conveyed a sense of both intellectual curiosity that the Courier felt was directed towards himself and a subtle weariness from the complexities of his work, offset by a neutral smile.

The Courier simply stared at what he assumed to be a scientist, waiting for his next words. The scientist seemed to be the key as to what was happening. He needed answers, fast. The scientist simply gazed back in response, an awkward silence developing between them. After a few seconds, he decided to speak the first words, wanting to get back to Novac as soon as possible.

"What do you plan on doing with me?" The words rolled off his tongue harsher than he'd liked. His thick, coarse American accent echoed through the room, his now-aching throat waiting for a sip of water from his trusty Vault-13 canteen. The scientist was evidently surprised by his voice and accent, as his eyebrows rose a tad, and the curious glint in his eyes only increased. The Courier sighed inwardly at this. There was a reason he spoke so less, as the Madre took its toll on him in many ways, mentally and physically.

"Well, that's part of the problem, I didn't expect the experiment to go so well… Hmm… You look different from what I expected… Are you human?" He responded, looking at him up and down questioningly.

The Courier nodded at this.

"Last time I checked, yeah."

The Synth, who had been observing silently this whole time, interjected, "Subject has been found to have multiple metal implants throughout his body."

The Courier turned to the Synth with narrowed eyes at the revelation, and swore he was able to see the tiniest of a smirk on its face.

"Oh? Very interesting. Well, anyway, I would like you to drop the weapon. I assure you that I have no intent of hostility, and I believe both of us would like to keep things simple, right?"

Throughout the exchange, the scientist maintained a composed demeanor, a neutral smile on his face, showing no signs of aggression... at least not yet. The Courier hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering over his holster. After a brief internal struggle, he begrudgingly dropped the weapon and returned it to its holster.

He appeared to ease slightly at that, his smile becoming a tad natural. It was a promising sign, nonetheless.

"Excellent. Now what would your name be? I believe an introduction of sorts would be good?"

"Shouldn't you be the one to offer your name first?"

"Of course, my apologies for the oversight. You can call me Dr. Aoste," he said, his tone steady and confident despite the slip-up.

As he spoke, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over the Courier, causing the room to sway. He gripped the edge of a nearby table for support, creaking under his strength. His vision began to blur.

He cursed, his mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that he had been drugged. His other hand began searching for a Fixer on reflex.

"Aoste… " He managed to repeat, his voice strained. The room seemed to spin around him, making it difficult to focus. His hand on the table slipped, and the world seemed to tilt and blur, slipping away like water through his fingers. Panic surged within him as he fought to retain consciousness, memories of the Madre and the haunting voice of Vera Keyes flooding through, but it was a losing battle. With a final attempt to call out, his voice faded into silence. Darkness claimed him.

...

BLINK

Confusion washed over him, a disorienting sense of displacement. He was submerged, the weight of water enveloping him, muffling all sound around. Cold water flowed around his unclothed fingers, chilling them. The weight he carried quickly began to take its toll, and he found himself sinking further and further. Adrenaline soon began to flow through his veins, and he felt [Implant GRX] start to act along with it, causing time to slow down.

Water seeped into his mask filters and salt water reached his mouth. He fumbled at the straps, hands moving to remove the now useless piece of equipment. After a moment of frantic struggle, he finally managed to take it off. Panic set in, and he searched desperately for the rebreather stored away somewhere in his duster. The time of GRX would end soon, and if he didn't act, drowning was inevitable.

Finally, his hand closed around the familiar shape, and he drew it out, quickly securing it onto his face. Gasping for air, he drew in a ragged breath through the device, feeling the welcome rush of oxygen. The sensation of GRX ended, and the world blurred as time sped up back to normal. He then began to swim upwards, pushing through the weight of the water.

By the time he managed to get to the surface, his arms and legs, along with chest, were aching, which made his last strides extremely hard. With one last breath using his rebreather, he breached the surface, dark blue surroundings morphing into gray. His wet hair hung over his face, water dripping from it. He blinked and furiously rubbed his face, tears pooling in his eyes with irritation. With one final brush of his gloved hands, he opened his eyes, his surroundings focusing into view.

He saw absolutely nothing.

Everything around him was clothed in a thick mist, masking any possibility of him knowing where he was. All he could see was water, most likely sea water from the salty taste in his mouth, extending a few meters from him, eventually fading into mist. He turned in all directions, yet found the same sight. Feeling himself sinking into the sea slowly, he quickly tapped on a button of his Pip-boy.

…

Nothing happened. He pressed the button again, a chill settling into his gut. Nothing again. He quickly began tapping the button furiousl-

BEEP

Suddenly, its screen flashed to life, followed by it being backlit. Relief flowed through the Courier's veins at the sight.

…

**********PIP-OS(R) V6.1.5**********

COPYRIGHT 2075 ROBCO(R)

LOADER V0.9

EXEC VERSION 40.1

48K RAM SYSTEM

167811 BYTES FREE

LOADING HOLOTAPES….

251 HOLOTAPES LOADED.

LOAD ROM(1) DEITRIX 303

RECORDING INVENTORY… OK

LOADING USER STATUS…RUNNING HEALTH CHECKS…OK

LOADING TIME…FAILED..LOADING LAST RECORDED TIME.. OCTOBER 26, 2282, 01:13 AM

ACCESSING NEAREST ROBCO SATELLITE….FAILED… TRYING AGAIN… FAILED

WARNING:NO ROBCO SATELITES FOUND. MAP GENERATION WILL BE LIMITED TO HOLOTAPES AND ROBCO SONAR SERVICESTM. TIME AND DATE WILL BE CONSIDERED INCORRECT TILL MANUAL INPUT OR ESTABLISHMENT OF CONNECTION.

BOOT SEQUENCE COMPLETE.

ENJOY YOUR PIP-BOY, VAULT CITIZEN.

The Courier furrowed his brow, a sense of unease and confusion creeping over him. The absence of RobCo satellites was unusual. They were supposed to have coverage all over the globe. He started thinking of possible reasons, contemplating whether something was jamming the signals, disrupting the usual connection. The misty surroundings coupled with the malfunctioning Pip-Boy raised a myriad of questions in the Courier's mind.

However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he felt the persistent drag of the water pulling him downward. With a stroke to keep himself afloat, a renewed urgency surged within him and his eyes started scanning the misty expanse for any sign of land or a solid surface. The rebreather would prevent him from drowning for what it was worth, but he couldn't stay in the water all day long.

He raised his wrist, activating the Pip-boy with a few taps. Its normal user interface was shown, illuminating his surroundings with a faint green light. He brought up the map, and was greeted with a blank screen that showed the text 'Scanning terrain using sonar..'. After a few minutes, the Pip-Boy's display flickered with incoming data. The map was extremely small compared to the one he used in the wasteland, but was still big enough to be usable. Looking at it, most of the map was blank, which indicated water, but on the far right side, he was able to see the beginning of something that had a distinct shape.

The Courier's eyes narrowed on the faint outline displayed on the Pip-Boy map, his curiosity piqued. He looked in the direction of the shape, debating on whether to go or not. The mist around him added a level of danger, but the prospect of solid ground drew him in. Deciding to take a leap of faith, he adjusted his rebreather and began to swim towards it. The fatigue in his arms and the resistance of the water slowed him down considerably, but he kept on.

After a few minutes of relentless swimming coupled with some breaks in between, the Courier's efforts began to bear fruit. The faint outline on the Pip-Boy map gradually materialized into what looked like a gray cracked wall, and a surge of relief washed over him. The mist thinned further, and his view expanded as he closed the distance, and his strokes became more forceful. The wall revealed itself to be a ruined building, and cracks ran along its edges, half of it being submerged, leaving only windows around it. Just before he reached the ruin, the mist thinned enough for the Courier to get a clear view of his surroundings, and his eyes widened.

A ruined cityscape laid before him, its likes even eclipsing that of New Vegas. He could faintly remember seeing something like this in D.C, but nothing clear came to mind. Various ruined buildings, some short enough to climb into, and some tall enough that they could reach the height of the lucky 38, lay before him, many with broken windows and cracked concrete… a sign of what the Courier assumed was the result of the man-made apocalypse that turned the world into a shit-hole.

Reeling in his shock, he swam to the building in front of him, before grabbing onto a broken window ledge. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, water dripping from his drenched duster.

He balanced on the windowsill, taking a moment to rest his sore muscles. He unclipped the rebreather and took in the air through slow steady breaths, which somehow managed to feel fresher than the air back in the wasteland.

He turned his head to look into the building and was greeted by darkness, accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the crashing of waves. It did not faze the Courier however, who was already used to the feeling. With one last look at the sea that he landed in, he swung his legs over the ledge and hoisted his body through the shattered window.

He landed perfectly on his feet, his boots making a thud which echoed through the room. Switching on his Pip-boy light, the room was illuminated by a green hue, making him able to clearly see his surroundings.

The room itself was not a surprise to the Courier. It looked like a typical room found in most of the wasteland. Paint flaking off the walls, a moldy smell, dust motes flying around, and some cracks in the walls which seemed to continue downwards, past the floor. In one corner of the room, a wooden chair stood, faded but not yet rotten. The distinct smell of wood rot reached his nose, all too familiar to him.

Floorboards creaked under his footsteps as he approached a corner of the room. Tired and sluggish from his unexpected adventure, he sat down drowsily on the dusty ground, his legs finally getting some rest. The aged wood groaned in protest, but he was too fatigued to care.

Eyes beginning to close, he settled into the corner and covered himself with his damp duster, the chill from it only increasing his weariness. Pulling out Maria from its holster, he grasped it in his hands, the cold metal offering a familiar reassurance. The room, shrouded in darkness from the absence of sunlight, provided a semblance of peace and solitude, and the Courier leaned against the cracked wall.

His eyes grew heavy and with one final glance around the room, he turned off his Pip-boy light and closed his eyes, head hung low, drifting off to sleep.

…

…..

…

"W…p!"

His eyes opened sluggishly, wondering who bothered to wake him up so early in the morning. The voice who called him was familiar, a high pitched girlish tone. He felt the voice's hand brush against him, and he pushed it away, drawing the blankets back around him-

"WAKE UP!"

The urgency in the voice snapped him awake. Blinking against the residual drowsiness, he groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to discern the source of the disturbance. His vision slowly came into focus, revealing a young, tall woman with green eyes. She was clothed in the standard vault 101 uniform. Her expression was morphed into one of pure panic and fear, which instantly managed to wash away his sleepiness.

"Amata… What's wrong?" He mumbled, still trying to rub residue out of his eyes. Before he could get another word out, she quickly placed her hands on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. He reeled back a bit in shock, forgetting how strong her grip was.

"This is serious! My Father's men are looking for you. They've already killed Jonas! You need to get out of here!"

It took a while for her words to register, but once they did, he felt a chill settle in his gut unlike anything before, and a briefly, disbelief clouded his face.

"Amata… this isn't funny, you know. I swear, if this is some stupid prank by Butch again.."

"I swear, it's not a pran-"

Her words were interrupted by a sudden gunshot, and he could hear steps in the distance. He looked back at Amata, whose eyes widened in fear, her grip on him increasing.

He swallowed a lump in his throat which he was sure wasn't there before.

"Jonas… is dead?"

Amata looked at him, and he could see the guilt on her face. What looked like dried tears sat in the corner of her eyes, and it only made his stomach drop even further.

"My father's guards… got him."

What kind of bullshit was this? He had just woken up, and this is what he was greeted by?

This had to be a prank.

Just the other day, he saw Jonas joking with the Overseer about a radroach infestation. He still remembered his bright smile, even while covered in soot from working all day long. The Overseer himself said that he considered Jonas to be indispensable to the vault, so… why?

There was no way she was right. This had to be a dream. He remembered sneaking some of his dad's stash of alcohol after Butch made fun of him saying he was a lightweight. That must be it. Just another dream to wake up fro-

He felt something slap his cheek, followed by a stinging pain. Amata was closer than ever to him, and he could feel his heart beating fast in that moment, her bright green eyes staring into his.

"Listen to me! It's your dad. He left the vault! My dad thinks Jonas helped him escape, and so they… My god.. They killed him… They just beat him and beat him… and wouldn't stop.."

By the time she finished, tears flowed freely from her eyes, dripping onto the bed sheets.

He didn't know what to do. His dad supposedly left the vault without even telling him, and Jonas was dead. It felt like the safe world he thought he was in all came crumbling down on him. He really hoped it was all a hallucination caused by his dad's stash, but everything felt too real, too clear for it.

When the sounds of Amata's sobs reached his ears, he looked at her, seeing her sobbing with her hands clutched in her face.

"Are… you okay?" His voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic attempt at comfort. Amata looked up, and rubbed her face, brushing away her tears.

"...Yeah, don't worry about me. I'm.. just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend."

He swallowed again, feeling his throat go dry. Jonas was his best, and only, friend, alongside Amata in the vault. All the other kids were just dicks. He didn't want to think about what would happen if… he was really gone.

"I.. need to see Jonas for myself. What was that about my dad leaving the vault?"

Amata hesitated, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sympathy and grief.

"I don't know. I came to you hoping you'd know what his plans were. Did he not tell you anything?"

He blinked at the mention of his dad leaving, and it suddenly felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

…..Why didn't dad wake him up? He used to always talk about taking him outside after the radiation was gone.

Was it something he had done?

He always listened to his dad, so that couldn't be it.

Then what?

What did he do?

How had everything gone wrong in such a short time?

If he had woken up earlier… could he have prevented this?

He half-expected his dad to show up, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and telling him off for being late for breakfast, but nobody came.

The silence only made his eyes misty.

"I… don't know." He croaked, feeling his voice crack. Amata's face flashed with something akin to pity, much like how the other members of the Vault looked at him, and he felt a short surge of anger and frustration at the sight and clenched his fist.

"I have a plan to escape the vault."

His eyes immediately locked onto Amata. He couldn't believe what she was saying. The Overseer's most prized daughter, planning to escape from her dad's own vault? And he had to do it too?

Even if he did, where would he go? The overseer always said that the outside world was vault was his home, no matter how bad it got. He didn't think he could bear to leave the place where he was born. Maybe when he was an adult, but not now.

"I know how you feel. The vault is our home. But… you need to understand. We… no you, don't have a choice. It's either you escape or let my dad do whatever he wants with you. And I can't imagine it'll be pretty." Amata said, the urgency in her voice rising. Something about her tone made a tiniest but of determination rise within him. Pushing all of his other thoughts away, he inhaled sharply, chest expanding and retracting rhythmically.

"Alright. What do we need to do?"

Amata brightened in response, shoulders rising.

"There's a secret tunnel under my dad's desk in his office that leads to the vault. You'll need to access his computer to get it to open though. The password should be somewhere in his office. As for getting in… use these." She handed a few bobby pins to him. He and Amanda once decided to do a competition to see who could pick a lock the fastest. He ended up winning that. Ever since then, he found the skill handy to sneak into places he wasn't supposed to be.

"But, wouldn't it be guarded? I mean, if it really leads to the vault entrance…" He asked back cautiously. Amata's face contorted in annoyance.

"No it won't. Me and my dad are the only ones who know about the tunnel. Now hurry up and start moving! My dad's men will be here anytime soon!"

"Wait-"

Before he could respond, Amata got up swiftly and ran out of the room, footsteps echoing throughout the metal flooring, leaving him hand outstretched in his room. He placed his hand back down onto the bed.

He blinked, suddenly feeling a cold metal surface touch his hand.

A 10mm pistol lay on his bed, looking almost brand-new, the reflection of the ceiling visible on it. A magazine was clearly visible in it. He picked it up and pointed it away from him, squeezing the trigger a couple times. While he was a 'gun-nut', as his father used to call him, he was never allowed near any weaponry, although he did practice with his BB gun from time to time.

He wondered when the hell did Amata get the time to give this to him. Then again, she was the sneakiest person in the vault.

Shaking his head, he stood up and placed the gun in his holster, which for some reason all vault uniforms came with, before he began to exit his room, but got a glance of his BB gun laying on the table and stopped.

He slowly walked to it before picking it up, flipping it over in his hand a couple of times. The memories he had with his dad and Jonas came flowing through, and for a moment, he stood there, wondering about what Amata told him.

Wiping a few tears that formed with his blue sleeve, he took the BB gun as well as the baseball bat that lay on the table, and ran to the entrance. The door opened automatically, screeching all the while, and he stepped outside into the metal corridors.

He would catch up to his dad, no matter what.

The Courier awoke with a startle, eyes snapping open. His fingers reflexively almost pressed the trigger, but he managed to stop before he shot himself in the leg…. Again. His alertness from the sudden waking subsided, and only silence which was broken by the sloshing of water reached his ears.

Feeling something wet on his face, he wiped it with his hand, and a sense of embarrassment flooded him as he realized he drooled, some saliva dripping onto his now-somewhat dry duster. Grimacing, he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

He looked to a window which lay a few feet away from him, what little sunlight that made it through the mist casting a faint glow around it. He stretched his limbs, feeling some satisfying cracks and pops from them. He chuckled to himself.

"Best sleep I've had in a while. Shame it wasn't on a bed."

His thoughts drifted back to the events that led him to his current sleeping place. He was extremely tired during then, but now that he was awake enough, he recognised the strangeness of it all. Getting teleported to an unknown place, almost drowning and finding a city ruin in the midst of a mist-shrouded sea- it felt like a dream. He felt like he was forgetting something, but couldn't remember what it was.

Deciding to make sense of it all later- survival first and foremost, he tapped on his Pip-Boy. As he navigated through its interface, he remembered the advice Doc Mitchell gave him after he got shot in the head.

"You have a very bad case of amnesia. If you ever feel like something weird has happened, or you feel like you are forgetting something, try writing a diary. It might help."

Opening a new entry, he began to type, fingers tapping on the on-screen keyboard.

Year 2282

October 27

Strange shit happening to me once again….

Tick-Tock… Tick-tock..

Bismarck sighed and placed her pen down on her desk, looking at the clock that lay on the wall.

It was six in the morning. And here she was, already working at her desk.

To say she was exhausted was an understatement. With everything that was going on between the various factions and the combined paperwork, she had barely any time left to rest. She hadn't even gotten a chance to meet her sister yet. While Friedrich taking some of the load helped, she still had to show her authority and responsibilities as the Ironblood's leader. She had just received word of what happened at Ofotfjord as well. Although the destroyers managed to fight off the royal navy, there was no telling when they would strike again. Along with keeping up tabs with the various factions, there were also the Mirror seas they were experimenting with given to them by the… Sirens.

The guilt she felt for working with humanity's enemy clawed at her constantly. The fact that they were collaborating with what they were created to destroy- the enemy of humanity, was unforgivable. However, she knew very well what she was doing, and as the Iron Blood's leader, would see it to the end.

And if all their plans worked, they wouldn't be working with the sirens for long.

Clearing her thoughts, she focused back on the stack of papers on her desk. She lifted her pen, and slowly started to write, ink gliding across the papers.

However, her strokes gradually slowed down, and her writing became sluggish. Before long, she dropped the pen back on the wooden desk.

She really didn't feel like writing anymore.

She tried drinking the coffee Köln left on her desk, but it was already too cold. Placing it down with a sigh, she looked towards the phonograph on her desk. It was one of her most prized possessions and she used to listen to it most of the time in her office, only turning it off when she heard someone's footsteps. Many of the other members thought it was just for show.

She stared at it intensely for a few minutes.

Should she…?

It was too early in the morning… but not like there was anyone to wake up. She took out a vinyl disk from under her desk and placed it on the turntable, before setting the needle over it. After winding the hand crank, the record began to spin, and the melody of violin and piano music filled the room. The melancholic music combined with the solitude of her room caused her to naturally relax, and for a moment, she forgot all her worries, simply enjoying the calm atmosphere.

"You're still using that old piece of crap?"

"Who-"

With a jolt, her relaxed mood disappeared. She stood up and with a flash of light, metal materialized around her, rigging appearing. Her turrets pointed at the new arrival and the rigging growled, its metallic jaws opening and closing rapidly. She turned to the interruption, fists clenched.

Artificial yellow eyes gleamed back, a condescending smirk plastered on its face. with milk-white, fake-looking skin. Its long white hair split into lashing tendrils past its shoulders- almost floating. Sleek, armored sleeves enveloped its upper arms, and crablike tarsi replaced them from the elbows down. Likewise, its legs terminated at the knees, the rest of its legs being encased in another pair of dark metal tarsi.

It wore nearly nothing, apart from minishorts- carrying a trio of cannons on each hip- and a nearly literal breastplate-but all of this was almost literally overshadowed by the black-yellow rigging, shaped like a crab, with three barrels jutting over each of its shoulders, separated by a neon yellow, almost glowing radiator.

"Siren." She forced out, malice dripping from her tone. The Siren, Observer Beta as she recalled, looked annoyed at the tone.

"No need to be so harsh. Don't forget, you still use our knowledge and technology, unless you.. don't want it anymore?" She taunted, only increasing her frustration. She felt her instincts throb, demanding her to kill the thing she was created to wage war against, to destroy it.

But she resisted. The Ironblood, as loath as she was to admit it, currently needed their help to survive. They could not withstand the might of the Azur Lane without outside help. Their alliance was still in the early stages however, and many of the KANSEN still had doubts. She composed herself and reined in her urges.

"...What do you want?" She asked with narrowed eyes, ready to attack at any moment. She gave a quick slap to her rigging to calm it down.

"Oh, nothing. I just came here on orders to tell you that one of ou- your mirror seas has developed an abnormality. Specifically, the one stationed in the North Sea which you were experimenting with yesterday." It replied nonchalantly. Bismarck's face contorted into one of confusion. An abnormality in one of their mirror seas? She had Friedrich monitoring them almost all the time and regularly conducted experiments there. The chance of an anomaly developing was almost close to zero according to their calculations. She didn't doubt their calculations either. After all, they were still dealing with siren tech, which could not be handled lightly.

Bismarck's disbelief echoed in her next words, "Impossible. Our calculations were near-perfect." Her eyes narrowed further, and she took a step forward, her rigging flickering with restrained aggression. The Siren simply stared back, unfazed.

"The measly arithmetic you call calculations is only a fraction of what you call accurate, but the appearance of an anomaly is indeed true. If you are that unsure however, take this. Something I found at the site of the anomaly. Of course, investigating the anomaly is completely up to you. It is your research area, after all. I would be careful with it, however. It's radioactive enough to give a human quite a concerning amount of radiation sickness."

The siren tossed a small coin shaped object to Bismarck. She caught and looked it over in her palm. What she saw only increased her confusion and apprehension.

The chip was obviously gold, yet much of its luster had waned, leaving a dull yellow surface that still glinted in the light of her office. Some parts of the surface had a layer of red crust on it. She could see a woman wearing a hairpin in the shape of a flower depicted in a thinking pose, her chin supported by her hand. The words 'SM' was embroidered onto the coin to the side of the woman. The initials only raised questions in Bismarck's mind.

She turned back to the Siren to ask what was on her mind, but there was nothing left of it. Only the still-playing song of her phonograph and the swaying of the white curtains of the window due to the ceiling fan accompanied her.

"LORD BISMARCK!"

Hearing the sudden cry and the fastly approaching footsteps, she unsummoned her rigging and quickly withdrew back into her seat, tucking the coin within the folds of her dress. Her door burst open, and she was met with the sight of a disheveled Koln, who looked like she had run quite a distance.

"Is something wrong, Holn?" She asked, a smile on her face like the past events had never happened.

Köln held up a communicator in response.

"It's from Friedrich! She told me to hand the call to you. Something about an abnormality in one of our Mirror seas!"

Bismarck's smile dropped, replaced by a frown. She felt something stir in her gut.

"...I see. I'll take the call."

She sighed inwardly, feeling even more tired. If the anomaly really existed… she would have to arrange a scouting mission, followed by a fleet if the anomaly was a threat to their nation.

She could already feel the amount of paperwork on her paper double.

She was reminded of the coin sitting in her dress when she moved to take the Communicator, and reminded herself to tell Friedrich about it. They would need to investigate everything about this 'anomaly'.

However….

…What did it mean by 'radioactive'?

Chapter Text

Year : 2282

October 27

Strange shit happening to me once again. After 3 days of non-stop scavenging in the big MT I tried fixing the Transportalponder! After somehow fucking it up trying to get to Novac. Now that I think about it, I could've just walked to the big MT and asked them to fix it… Fuck, whatever. What's done is done. Anyway, I must have screwed up the calculations by doing them at 3 in the fucking morning, because the whole thing just overloaded and exploded on me. It could be something else though, I'll have to check later. Anyway, I woke up in a… sea, I think? I honestly feel like I'm forgetting something… about waking up in a lab? I can't remember anything else, it just gives me a headache at one point.

Wouldn't be the first time I forgot shit.

Anyway, I'm following good ol' doc Mitchell's advice and writing these logs in case I forget anything else.

I woke up in what I'm assuming to be a sea, from the salt water and the depth. After almost drowning, I managed to get to the surface and a few minutes after a Pip-boy scare, found something I'm still having a hard time believing:

It can't find a single RobCo satellite.

I don’t know where the fuck am I, but its not looking good for me. No Robco satellites basically mean I’m stranded in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere with zero method of communication.

Good thing was I had enough food to last for a couple of weeks and being in the sea, I could probably fish, unless everything got killed by the radiation. The lack of anything while I was swimming bothered me.

I managed to find some city ruins and am currently writing this from what I’m going to use as my stronghold. It’s like 6 in the morning right now. I’m probably going to go explore and see if I can find anything useful.

Year : 2282

October 28

Day two of being stranded in who-knows-where.

As for Yesterday’s scavenging results:

Both good news and bad news.

Good news is that I managed to find some canned food, although most of it was expired, but who cares, food is food. Water shouldn’t be a problem since I can use the seawater after taking care of the salt. As for clues to where I was, I found some books and papers in some of the buildings.

Bad news is the fact that I couldn't read shit on any of them. I have some experience with Latin and Chinese, but I have no idea what this is. My closest guess would be German, since it looks like the language carved on most of the bullets in the wasteland.

More bad news is that the sea I’m in is weird.

Like, it's always misty, and from the temperature and overall atmosphere, you’d expect there to be some sort of storm brewing or some huge waves… but it's just calm.

Too calm.

I couldn’t find a single fish or a speck of marine life no matter how hard I looked. Am I not in the sea? I tried going down to check the depth, but it's very deep in places further from the ruins, meaning there’s no way it's not a sea… Hmmm, it’s almost as if it’s artificial…

Well, the problem that comes with that is the fact that I’ve lost a very valuable source of food. Guess I’ll have to scavenge even more.

Well, I’m going to head out now. I need to find some more things about this place I’m in.

The mist has me sometimes clutching at my throat on reflex though. Damn Sierra Madre.

Year : 2282

October 28

Day 3. Didn’t do jackshit today. Felt too tired, so ended up listening to Big Iron on repeat and sleeping. I did make another discovery though.

The cans were all made in 1940.

I’m still having a hard time believing this, because if it really is true, it means I’m eating 300 year old food that is probably way beyond expired despite the taste.

I haven’t got food poisoning yet though, and it still tastes better than Cram so I guess it’s fine?

I’m pretty sure the great war was in 2077. If that’s the case how the hell did shit from the 1940s end up here? Or even survive 300 years? 

I’m only getting more questions by the day…

Year : 2282

October 29

Day 4. Slept the whole day and woke up at midnight, which is when I’m currently writing this. My habit of sleeping for many days in a row seems to be coming back… I have to be more active.

On another note, I looked at the pieces I have left of the Transportalponder! and figured out what caused the overload.

Short Circuit.

I missed a part where two un-insulated wires crossed. 

This is what I get for trying to repair after not sleeping for days, isn’t it?

I managed to Jury-rig it back into shape, but it doesn’t work. I have no idea how it operates and what Dr.Klein did to this, so guess I’m stuck here.

Goodie.

Not like it isn’t the first time I’ve been stuck in places I don’t want to be…

Anyway, I’m hitting the sack. 

Year : 2282

October 30

Day 5. Got off my ass today and actually scavenged a little bit more. I’d say I’m set food and water wise, unless I somehow end up injuring myself. Stimpaks make me way too hungry. Also found more papers and books, but they are still in German. Anyway, It’s only noon right now, so I’m going to try one more time and see what I can find.

Edit:

Holy fuck.

I don’t know what the fuck I just saw.

I was looting a pretty high building, then out of the corner of my eye I saw something move when I was near a window. I looked through it and guess what:

I saw three girls fucking walking on water.

Not swimming or floating, but fucking walking.

Am I high?

I've seen many weird things in the Mojave, but never someone managing to walk on water. Only thing that would get you is death by either radiation or Lakelurk back home.

Appearance wise, I can’t really remember their faces, but I’m pretty sure one had light brown hair, while the second had gray and the third brown. The light brown haired girl said something to the brown haired girl about a “Z2” but I couldn’t catch anything beyond that. 

Each of them had some sort of contraption attached to them. Closest thing I can compare it to is the K9000 because the light brown girl’s had a maw out of which I could see some turrets sticking out. Each of them also had missiles(torpedoes maybe? I have no idea what the difference is) around their hips. I exited the building and tried getting a closer look, but eventually decided against it. Last time I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, I ended up fighting in a tribal war.

I’m now having doubts whether or not I’m actually on earth… Eh, radiation does weird shit, so I guess it's fine. For all I know this could be a German wasteland thing. Damn do I want to take a look at those contraptions though. Those turrets and missiles looked awesome. Imagine the amount of parts I could get from them.

I’m probably going to stop scavenging for a while, since it seemed like the girls were looking for something or someone, and I am in no situation to pick fights on a whim.

Anyway, it’s night here, so I’m going to sleep.

Year : 2282

October 31 

Day 6. I ended up repairing my guns all day from scrap I found from my excursions. Didn’t feel like doing anything else. Also made my stronghold look more like a habitable place. I’ve now got a make-shift bed and a table to go with the chair, along with a fridge that doesn’t work. Started a scrap pile in one corner of the room too.

Fuck yeah.

I ended up eating a lot of food later. And I gotta say, this canned food tastes amazing even if it's expired. If only we had stuff like this in the wasteland instead of processed cardboard.

Year 2282

November 1

Officially 1 week now. I’m basically just focusing on exploring and finding stuff right now. I’ve now got a good map of this place on my Pip-boy and am learning German using what I can find on the side. Haven't seen any more girls walking on water for a while, although I am more cautious when traveling, so that might be it.

Not much else to say. I think I got transported cross continent to Germany, which means getting back is going to be one hell of a job or almost impossible.

I definitely will get back home though. I’m not a courier for nothing.

Fuck, I really want to shoot something.

Ich gehe jetzt schlafen.

Chapter Text

                                                                                                                            Chapter - 3

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

 U-47 pivoted her head, the seawater parting to make way for the motion. Her communicator’s display flickered with activity as static filled her ears. Wincing under her bandanna which was held firmly around her mouth, she grabbed the knob on it and turned, the volume decreasing to a steady hum.

Click

"...U-4….Shi.. interference….. There. U-47, Do you copy?"

A tap on a button, and Fraulein Hipper’s high-pitched voice followed through the vibrating communicator. After adjusting the knob once more, she turned her vision forwards. Her rigging lights trailed into the darkness of the sea.

“ Positiv. ”

The robotic shark’s maw snapped at the sudden disturbance, but she patted it to calm it down.

“ Ja, how is the mission going? Are you there yet? We gave you the coordinates, but it's still tough to reach… Not that I’m worried, of course! You’re one of our finest submarines!”

‘Never change, Hipper.’

“I’m fine, but I can’t see anything underwater.” Popping her head above the waves, she checked for any signs of her destination– No ruined buildings in sight yet. Only mist all around her and the thundering of waves-

‘Oh, that's a big one.’

Breathing in a cold gasp of air that chilled her throat, she dived back underwater, ducking just in time for the huge wave to come crashing above her. Hipper’s voice was absorbed by the turbulent sea roaring above, and she dived even deeper till she could hear it again.

“...If you need, U-556 is on standby-”

“The destroyer fleet was unharmed, right? There should be no problems unless I run into the… anomaly.”

The line went silent for a few seconds.

“...I suppose you’re right. Still, maintain caution. We can’t sustain any losses. I would send more submarines with yo-”

“I’m fine, Danke .” She cut in. 

‘I admire Lord Bismarck just as much as the others, but U-556’s endless chatter is the last thing I need right now.’

She could hear Hipper muttering something inaudible before the line went silent, leaving her with only herself and her rigging in the darkness. 

Deep in the ocean, far from any sort of land. A KANSEN’s specialty, but no one would be comfortable to go into a mirror sea of all places. Only the ping of her occasional sonar echoed through the waters, returning nothing. Not a shred of marine life anywhere to be seen.

–A waste of resources, the Sirens had called it, to add anything other than water and a few ruins here and there.

‘Not like those things are capable of appreciating what makes a sea well, a sea.’

Looking at her communicator’s display, she read the text displayed for the hundredth time to alleviate some of her boredom. 

-Patrol the ruins for any sign of the anomaly and report back. 

When she initially accepted the mission, she was warned that conditions would be bad, but she definitely didn’t expect… this.

She could hardly see, and sometimes stray currents would brush against her, strong enough to stray her from her path and make her redirect so that she would stay on course.

‘...My idea of peace and quiet is reading a book or watching the waves, not getting pushed around by currents every minute…’

Checking her map, she found that she was nearing the site of the anomaly and sighed internally in relief – she couldn't wait to be back home.

“...Sense anything yet?”

Her rigging swiveled its head from right to left in response, looking for any sign of their destination. The lights highlighted nothing but a few bubbles from its mouth that floated upwards slowly.

All she received in return was a growl and a shake of its head.

Reserving herself at the negative response, she prepared for a few more minutes of wading through the water.

.

…

….

They had been following the directions they received for a few more minutes now but had yet to arrive. By this time, she had gotten used to the silence and started enjoying it, humming a tune to herself along the way.

“ Grrrr…”

She looked down at her map at the interruption.

Their marker- a red dot on the map- was quickly approaching the area of the anomaly. Her rigging’s eyes flashed repeatedly - as its sonar scanned the surrounding water, the pings fading away into the darkness.

–and it bounced back this time, ringing in her ears. Data loaded on the map, green pixels stretching to form a network of lines and shapes.

She focused on the nearest one to them, just to their right.

“Let’s go to that one.”

Her rigging obeyed, changing direction with a swish of its tail. They slowed as the map showed them getting closer and closer. It didn’t take long before the shape appeared before them, highlighted by the bright lights. 

A patch of bricks appeared in front of them. Swimming up to it, the patch expanded into an entire wall, eventually extending downward into the abyss, beyond where her lights reached.

The wall was in a horrible state. Cracked and broken off in some places, what was supposed to be vivid red faded into a dull gray—matching the darkness that surrounded it. What had probably been windows had eroded into holes, big and small, that lined the wall.

In her opinion, it should’ve already collapsed, but this was a mirror sea, so anything went.

She scanned the wall until she found a hole big enough for both of them to swim through without problems. Twisting the handles, her rigging steered towards it and slipped through.

The water around her became a murky gray as the lights illuminated streams of particles around her. The thrashing of the waves subsided as walls enclosed them. Her rigging turned upwards, gaining speed. The water gradually gained a lighter and lighter shade, and a blurry view of what was at the top formed. 

And then they broke the surface.

Blinking repeatedly to get rid of some stray particles that ebbed at her eyeballs, her pupils focused into view. 

‘...Ugh, can’t see properly.’

After waiting a few more seconds for her eyes to adjust, the room finally became clear.

The same weared-out grey bricks surrounded her on all sides. The room's floor had collapsed, its jagged wooden remains outlying the perimeter, attached to the, frankly, safety hazard of a wall.

Drip

Drip 

Drip

The beam of light illuminated a doorway in the middle of one side of the room, through which it disappeared on the far end. On the other side, a staircase that she could have used to get upstairs had it not been broken in the middle.

She stared at the doorway briefly, listening for any noises. A shiver crawled down her spine, and she looked away, grimacing.

‘Should I just turn back and report? It's way too risky to explore places filled with water. But we haven't had any results even after a week. The top brass are getting impatient…’

The destroyers had been scouting the seas for some time and found nothing except sounds of someone's footsteps or sounds of swimming. 

The rumors Z2 had started of it being a ghost of a sailor who drowned at sea quickly blew out of proportion, to the point Lord Bismarck had to expressly state she wouldn't be sending any of the extremely eager bigger ships on scouting. As Lord Bismarck put it, the anomaly also prevented them from running any experiments on the Mirror Sea by disrupting the calculations. She ordered results within the next week.

‘... Verdammt, I should have brought U-556 after all…’

Creeping slowly to the doorway, she looked into it.. It led into a dark hallway, seemingly continuing onward without end. She stared right down it with a hoarse and steady breath, half expecting something to jump out of the shadows. Something in her gut churned at the sight.

She would gladly choose exploring a shipwreck or something over this…

‘Then again, KANSEN weren’t built for land, were they?’

Interrupted with an impatient shuffling of her rigging, she looked between the broken staircase and the hallway.

‘Well, at least the hallway is waterlogged. I can just sink if my radar beeps.’

‘For now.’

Gripping the handles of her partner, they drove through the doorway. Dirty water flows around her legs. 

She suppressed a shudder at the feeling. ‘I’m not diving under this muddy water. Gonna need a shower back home, too.’

The sub trained her ears to listen for any noises beyond the sloshing sounds from her rigging's swimming.

The grey walls passed by in a blur, until a doorway broke the continuity. Guided by the walls on either side of her and her mechanical companion’s light, she slipped past the entrance into the room.

Once again, she was greeted by nothing but a floorless room. A musty stench wafted throughout it, causing her to grimace. She lifted her bandanna higher over her nose to avoid the horrid stench. 

To the side of the room lay a wall-mounted shelf, half-submerged by the water. It was rotting, with mold covering almost the entirety. Some parts were chipped off. Most of its surface was white, mixed in with tidbits of brown.

The humidity irritated her nose, and she sneezed, raising her bandanna further.

‘...Why do humans like exploring abandoned buildings? I’d rather do anything else than this.’

Her rigging was uncomfortable with the tight space and putrid smell, and she shifted around uneasily.

After checking her radar to make sure nothing was following them— definitely not a ghost—they went underwater again, this time opting to skip most of the other doorways and check out the end of the hallway. 

Soon enough, the beam of their light came into full view, highlighting it in a yellow-white hue.

A sight of decay spread out in front of them—the wooden floor beneath her was beyond rotten, overtaken by white splotches and a dark brown hue. Missing planks allowed one to peer through the floor into the depths of the sea. A thin veil of water covered the surface. A huge hole was in the middle of the flooring. It looked like the wood had collapsed upon itself, splinters sticking upward against the direction of the collapse.

The path led up to a wooden stair, which led somewhere upward, its integrity questionable.

She hopped off her rigging onto the floor, water dripping off them, and immediately regretted her decision.

Being barefoot, her feet sunk into the rotten floor, a wet squelch and a crack coming from it. 

‘ ....Ewwww. Nope, nope, NOPE!’

She immediately jumped back on her companion, revealing her footprints embedded onto it. A putrid stench hit her, and her feet felt slimy.

Gott , she felt like gagging for a second. 

‘Okay, no barefoot walking at any cost. Got it.’

She looked at the staircase, which reflected the light. A faded brown color terminated just above the water line, showing how high the water peaked.

Below it, the wood was coated in a black fungus that appeared in bands through it. Chunks of it were also removed. 

‘....Yeah, no way I’m walking through that barefoot.

Sensing her discomfort, her rigging rose out of the water, floating above the floor. She thanked their engineering inwardly, feeling glad she didn't have to walk on any of… that.

She gripped the handles of her rigging and lowered her head, the ceiling above brushing her head. Reaching the bottom of the staircase just after the hole, her rigging tilted upwards, its bottom scraping against the treads of the stairs. She placed a hand on the railing to steady herself.

CRUNCH

‘….?!’

With a crack from her neck, her head swung to the bottom of the staircase, hand immediately flying to the deck gun mounted on her rigging. It twitched and looked back. 

Their lights illuminated the bottom of the staircase, to the side of which the noise had come. 

U-47’s heart hammered in her chest and her gaze lingered at the floor below, deck gun pointed towards it.

…

Seconds passed by without any movement, and she finally allowed herself to draw a breath she had been holding.

‘What was that?’

She reversed her rigging slowly so as not to hit her head. Reaching the bottom, she turned her lights on in the hallway.

The dim light threw deep shadows down the hallway, the intense center of the beam leaving a bright streak along one side. 

Each doorway on the side was clearly visible up to a point where the sheer length of the dilapidated hallway overpowered the beam and cast the far end into darkness.

Turning the light from side to side, she found nothing of note. At first glance, everything looked the same as it did when she passed through- the smell of rotting wood, paint flaking off the walls and the somewhat eerie sound of dripping water. 

A distorted reflection of the ceiling was cast in the waters of the waterlogged hallway.

Her eyes darted about for a second longer. She was sure she heard something, and the twitching from her rigging confirmed it. It let out a growl, almost startling her, which echoed down the hallways, receiving no response.

‘Calm down… Calm down… You’re an Ironblood KANSEN; you can deal with this.’ She thought, trying to slow down the clambering in her chest.

“...We should probably go check it out.” She didn’t want to, remembering a few horror novels she had read, but... not like she had a choice.

U-47 was an Ironblood KANSEN and had her pride, for what it was worth. Receiving a grunt in affirmation, they landed back on the water and approached where the sound came from, not before dimming her lights.

Wading past a few doorways as quietly as possible, they glanced around. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Nothing came up, even after they moved around a bit.

Eventually, something caught her eye- it was a doorframe, one she passed by before. In far worse of a state than the others too. But what caught her attention was the crack that ran through it. She was almost sure she hadn't seen it before.

Placing her hand over it, she traced over its rough edges. 

The crack could have been caused by expansion– or contraction; it was undoubtedly almost cold enough to allow it, but…

It was too much of a coincidence to occur right behind her.

Her rigging sniffed at the air, and its eyes flashed orange. It swiveled from side to side, until its head rested right in front of the door frame.

It growled.

‘….Not a good sign…’

Eyes moved to the room- it was too dark to see- and she was not about to put her lights on full blast and announce their position- but something was glinting, just out of reach.

She unconsciously sucked in a breath, and they motioned into the doorway.

Popping their heads above the water, another dilapidated room greeted them. Like most other rooms on the level, it still had no floor. A metal washbasin was fixed at the end of the room, its drainage pipe leading nowhere except into the seawater.

All in all, there was nowhere to hide. Except…

She looked downward at the abyss below.

The abyss stared back.

“Try using the sonar scanning underwater.”

Descending a few meters, yellow mechanical eyes flashed again with a ping that echoed into the depths. 

Still nothing.

‘….Verdammt.’ She swore internally.

And then they rose, water parting to air. 

The duo swam out of the room, stopping at the cracked doorway. While she was relieved they had found nothing, a tinge of frustration betrayed it. The sooner they found something, the sooner she would be at port, enjoying her peace and quiet.

She placed a finger on the fractured door frame and dragged it down, feeling the jagged edges rub against her skin- or hull.

“...Let’s continue upstairs.” The Submarine finally let out after tracing it another couple of times. There was no point in dwelling on it—they needed to return before nightfall.

They quickly waded through the water faster than before and flew up the stairs. In her haste, her forehead bumped against the ceiling.

This time, they found themselves in another room—much more hospitable than the ones below. The smell was less imposing and putrid, and the damage to the surroundings was comparatively decreased.

A faded coat of white paint covered a brick wall, which was chipped off in many places. The room had four windows through which she could see the gray sea outside. She turned off her lights, and what little sunlight came cast a somewhat monochrome view.

The  U-boat hopped off her rigging, her bare feet landing on the dusty wooden floor. It held her weight this time, unlike the rotten one from before.

She felt something rise from the back of her throat again just by thinking about it.

‘….I’m definitely skipping dinner tonight..’

Shaking her head, she focused back on what was in front of her. At the end of the room stood a lone door, sealed shut. It was nothing special, an ordinary door made out of what looked like oak—it was too dusty and aged to be sure. 

Crunch

Crunch 

She strode over to it, the various pieces of debris scattered on the floor cracking under her feet. Her rigging trailed quietly. 

Bending down, she looked down the keyhole. On the other side, she could make out a few things, mainly another rather dark hallway, this time a pretty short one- the end was visible. 

The sides of the hallway were lined with a few doors, some closed and some open.

At the end of the corridor, however, a door lay face-down on the floor, a faint, dim light shining out from the room it was supposed to cover. 

She squinted her eyes and tried to make out more, yet it became a blur-

The KANSEN turned to her rigging, eyes narrowed.

“There’s a busted door on the other side. We might have found something.” It grunted in response before shuffling to take a look and then moving back to allow her entry.

Grabbing the knob, she twisted- it screeched violently. Pulling, she found that it wouldn't budge.

After a couple more minutes of twisting and pulling, she gave up trying to open it normally. She gripped the doorknob tightly, the brass straining under her grip, and pulled with more strength.

The door practically screamed, screeching and wailing the whole way she pulled. Its hinges struggled to remain fixed, its screws almost coming off. The deadbolt burst through the door frame with a snap- rusted beyond recognition.

She flung it to the side, a dust cloud following it, settling in the air. 

A clear view of the hallway revealed itself before her. Three weathered doors lined the walls- paint peeling and doorknobs tarnished. The air carried a tolerable scent, for at least a hallway with a rotting basement underneath.

She would rather be breathing the fresh air back at port, though.

Dim light spilled from a few uncovered windows, casting long shadows onto the faded wooden floor. The windows themselves, coated in grime and dust, were barely transparent. 

The room in question rested at the end of the hallway, on the left side. 

The only thing left of the door was half of its hinges, the other half lying on the ground along with the very clearly broken-in-half door. Splinters surrounded it, probably from the door frame. Whatever that broke-through had no idea what subtlety was.

 A soft ray of light emitted from the room, illuminating the broken remains of the door and frame.

She stared at it for a few moments. The ray of light definitely wasn’t from sunlight; it was different, an orange luminescence resembling a campfire. But they were on a wooden floor... Who would light a fire on it? 

Tearing away her eyes from the sight, she saw that her rigging was in front of the doorframe in question now, looking into it, and growled.

She blinked.

Quickly, the KANSEN moved, passing by the other doors. Wood cracked under her soles, but she felt nothing. 

The room quickly came into view, and she found all her doubts that the search had failed dispelled. At the same time, a sort of unease settled in her gut. Despite the room initially resembling the others with the same aged features, the signs of habitation glared through the assumptions, the first one being the literal flickering campfire in the middle of the room. 

Crackle 

Her eyes widened at the fire, incredulous. The safety hazard flickered back. A pot of… something was set up over the fire.

She was starting to doubt the Anomalies' sanity. While the fire seemed to be propped up using some stones, they were still quite literally playing with fire with that setup. Not only that, they even left it alone, burning brightly.

Shooing away a dust cloud that formed with her movement, she ignored the campfire and moved on to the rest of the room. With a passing glance, she found her eyes widening.

Whoever lived here had either a knack for living in abandoned places or was a hardcore survivalist because they managed to turn what was possibly a wreckage of a room into a liveable space…even if it was a nasty one. She doubted she could even spend a night in the place; just thinking of the rotten basement that lay below made her gut churn.

‘….Some kind of anomaly this is.’

Makeshift furniture lay scattered throughout the room. Near the campfire, a crude but functional table was fitted, accompanied by a rickety chair whose one leg was replaced by a wooden block.

In one corner of the room, she saw pieces of clothes bundled into a makeshift pillow, under what looked like a duster, which she assumed was the bedsheet. In another, she saw… a fridge?

Her stare became more questioning as she looked at the tall white box in the corner, which was apparently somehow even powered on, a humming reverberating from it.

Shaking her head, she moved on to the pile of what looked like scrap metal in the room. She had no idea what use the anomaly had for it. The submarine walked over to the pile and crouched. Picking up a rather jagged piece of metal, she turned it around in her hand.

Nothing much about it- just a rusty old fragment.

Dropping it, she took another look at the pile, sorting through the pieces. A glint caught her eye after she removed a rather large chunk. Curious, she focused on that part. What looked like the top of a metal pipe was unearthed in front of her. She took hold of it and pulled her finger under it to get a grip.

It dislodged immediately, courtesy of a KANSEN’s strength, and she found herself looking at a shotgun of all things. It was a pump action and had a drum magazine. Well maintained, too. Her distorted reflection was visible on the barrel. She had no idea about anything beyond it, unfamiliar with small arms. Perhaps those back at the port could take a look at it?

The submarine rolled it around in her hands, looking it over. Despite having no use for guns, she did admit that it looked cool.

She traced its barrel with her finger before propping it against her shoulder and aiming at a dark marking on the wall. 

‘….I guess this is how you use it?’

Aiming down the sight, she pulled back the forend and released it. A satisfying schtick ! Resounded through the room. 

She squeezed the trigger but stopped herself before the bullet could fly, reminding herself what she was here for. Placing it to the side, her hands went back to sorting through the rest of the heap, trying to find anything worthwhile.

The KANSEN uncovered more scrap, a broken radio, a weird-looking battery pack, and a few Ironblood books.

All in all, nothing useful.

A sigh formed in her mind. Her legs moved to stand up, floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

She turned to the rest of the room.

Perhaps she should look at the table next? There seemed to be some stuff on there.

CRUNCH

‘...Shit!’

Midstep, she halted. Her head whipped around to where the sound came from. 

Her rigging was snacking on something, its metallic jaws open and closing tightly around whatever it was eating.

“...Oh, it's just you.”

Breathing in steadily, she felt an odd embarrassment rise up at how startled she was. Shuffling towards her rigging, she observed what it was eating—a barrel was sticking out of its mouth, which oddly looked like the gun she had picked up moments before.

…And she promptly froze up as she realized it was eating that same gun. The only evidence she has found to be helpful so far.

“Wait, no..!”

Grabbing the ends of the barrel before it all disappeared in its maw, she pulled, bringing it out halfway. However, what came out was hardly a gun. It was a mishmash of wood and metal, coated in oil.

She withdrew her hands in disgust, which was all it took for the rigging to consume it fully, leaving nothing behind.

It had the audacity to growl at her for the interruption, snapping its jaws one last time. She glared at it in response, fists clenched.

Yellow eyes looked into hers, unflinching.

The contest continued briefly, but the shipgirl was the first to break eye contact. Sighing, she released her fists. She had better things to do than get angry over a lost cause.

‘...Wait till we get home. I’ll deal with you.’

It didn’t spend a glance at her warning, wading over to the metal-filled box. The submarine promptly moved to the table. Ignoring the crunching noises behind her, she inspected the various objects scattered on the wooden surface.

Various books were scattered over the table, some written in Ironblood while others in.. English? 

Ignoring the Ironblood books, she reached for one open on the table. The schematics of… something was drawn on it, coupled with descriptions and labels.

She flipped to the cover page, using her finger as a bookmark to return to the earlier page.

Nikola Tesla and You

The name was immediately recognizable. After all, every Ironblood KANSEN had some degree of proficiency in engineering. So, who wouldn't recognize the creator of AC himself? 

Yet…

“I don’t remember him releasing a book like this…”

Flipping back to the page where she had found the book, she began to read through the schematics.

“Thanks to the invention of energy cells, an internal capacitor can be charged with sufficient wattage to emit a high-power laser, capable of melting through steel in seconds…. ”

As the submarine kept reading, she felt something unpleasant stir in her gut. If this wasn’t fictional drivel, judging by how it was written in English…

….The Eagle Union and Royal Navy were figuring out how to make lasers.

The implications of this were a mess, to say the least. A ploy by the sirens, the anomaly…. 

or something far worse.

"Lord Bismarck needs to know," she drew out, her voice tight with dread. 

Book clutched like a lifeline, she whipped around to relay the news to her rigging, ready to tear back to port.

However, her foot collided with something solid and hard , causing her to step back. 

A wall? no, a wall hadn’t been there before. 

Her head turned upwards in confusion and was met with something cold pressing against her temple.

A tall figure, taller than even Lord Bismarck, loomed over her. It wore a gas mask, which reflected the flickering firelight into two glowing green lenses, peering out from the mask. A black-gray tube attached to the side of it winded around to the back.

‘...What…’

She dared not move, her limbs locked up in surprise and shock. It towered over her, not even moving an inch. The light from the fire danced on a crude inscription etched across the helmet—

‘Forgive me, mama.’

A lump formed in her throat, which she quietly swallowed. She didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

How had it bypassed her sonar? As if in answer, a warm, fetid gust of air puffed through the mask, brushing over her probably terrified face. A click followed, and she realized that a gun of all things, was currently pressed against her temple.

A tiny part of her terror and shock was replaced with confusion. Didn’t it know that small arms did not affect KANSEN?

“I’m guessin' whoever this ‘Lord Bismarck’ is forgot to teach you manners, eh? Ever heard of not touching others' stuff?”

It- His voice was…. unquestionably synthetic. An impossibly heavy accent was layered on it. Sounded like one of those Eagle Union ships… was Nevada her name?

‘Were we compromised by the Eagle Unio-’

BANG

Her world spun in a deafening boom as she felt herself get flung through the air. The force of the impact slammed her against something solid, jerking her head in the opposite direction. But the world kept spinning.  A confused mumble escaped from her throat as she was yanked backwards, the air a roaring torrent in her ears.

Thud

And then she stopped.

Everything lurched to a sickening halt as her head snapped forwards. A dull pain radiated from the back of her skull. Her vision, momentarily stolen by the crash, swam back into focus in agonizing waves. Blurry shapes danced before her, swaying precariously along with her head.

Before the U-boat could entirely focus, a blue flash tore through the room, practically searing her eyes. One of her hands snapped to cover them, and she grit her teeth in pain. A wave of heat followed, and it subsided in seconds.

The same synthetic voice from before muttered something out of earshot.

“...EMPs sure are han…”

—Her eyes snapped open. She was staring at the wooden ceiling above… a faded brown. Some dust particles were floating down towards her.

Her ears were ringing…

…Her rigging! Where was her rigging?

She pushed herself off the ground with too much strength, the floor under her palms cracking. Resting her back against the wall she had just crashed into, the submarine looked ahead, scanning for any signs of her mechanical companion.

—Which lay a few feet away, on the ground, erratically twitching. 

She immediately began lifting herself upward at the sight. Without her rigging, she was practically useless. Her torpedoes wouldn't fire properly on land, and Submarines weren’t trained in other types of combat, given that they were required to stay hidden underneath the surface. If this was a siren experiment, she doubted her deck gun would do much damage.

‘Scheiße, I need to unsummon my rigging and resummon i-’

CLANG

A brown boot slammed on the maw of the metallic reptile, receiving a weak snap of its jaws in return. Her hand slipped in surprise before she could unsummon it, and she slid backwards, her head hitting against the wall once more, eyes trailing upward to the rest of the figure.

He was covered head to toe in some kind of armor,  littered with dents and scratches all over its surface. Whatever was left of its black paint job had faded, parts of its metallic surface glinting from the fire. A duster was draped across his shoulders, trailing against the floor.

His right hand was clutching something, but she couldn't quite make out what it was.

She blinked and felt a shift in the air, a subtle pressure that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

Her gaze flicked upward and met…

…The armored figure standing right over her.

He leaned towards her, with green lenses emerging inches from her face. She could see her terrified reflection in them, tinted green and distorted. Her body stilled, and her hands and jaw locked up. 

An idle thought of what lay behind the lens passed through her mind.

“...Huh, usually that'd be enough to knock someone out…” He muttered, his voice sounding even more synthetic, yet more terrifying than before. Bringing a gloved hand to rub under the bottom of his mask, he half-shrugged. “Oh well, I have more options anyway.” 

‘….What?’

Her eyes locked on his hand, which wandered into his duster and brought out a corked vial. It held a colorless liquid, tinted orange by the light of the fire.

“Who-” The U-boat began, sneakily clenching her fists behind her. With a distraction, she could land a hit and get to her rig-

“Who do you think?” he cut in, his tone not changing, yet still sounding terrifying.

The Submarine paused, all the strength she had placed into her forearm forgotten.

.

..

…

'…Oh..'

Her eyes widened as she began to connect the dots. She opened her mouth, but most of her words died right on her tongue before they could form.

“Yo…. You’re the ano-”

She could feel the grin emerging on the figure's face beneath the mask. “Ring a ding ding, kiddo. Here’s your prize.”

With a flick of his wrist, he popped open the cork with his thumb and poured the contents of the vial onto the cloth before slamming it onto her face.

“Wai- Mmmmphhh…! ”

She sucked in a breath through the cloth on reflex as dark spots started to appear from the corners of her vision. Her fingernails scratched across the floor, and she felt her consciousness begin to slip away.

'….I… have to… get.. ba..!'

One of her legs lashed out as she tried to free herself, but she simply heard the man shift in response. The submarine raised one of her hands to grasp at the cloth, but it fell limp halfway through.

As her vision entirely faded, she thought about what would happen back at the port if she went MIA.

As darkness claimed her, a single thought flickered in the void: U-556 and U-81.  They'd be worried, wouldn't they? They would probably disobey orders and try to find her.

Yeah…. That sounded like them.

'I’m sure.. They’ll… be fine… without… me..'

Chapter Text

                                                                                                                Chapter - 4

“BOOOM!”

“....Wha?!”

“Haha, I got you again!”

Her eyes flew open, as did her hands towards her torpedoes which weren’t there. A pink, curved strand of hair greeted her. Beyond it, rows upon rows of metal boxes and wooden crates filled the room, labeled with explosive warnings. A single bulb hung from the concrete ceiling on its wires, the only thing illuminating the room. 

…Right, she was in the storage building.

At the end of the room, a metal door that she was sure she’d shut lay half open. 

Weird.

A grumble came below her, followed by a finger jabbed accusingly between her eyes.

“...Down here, you dummkopf!”

The black-haired submarine’s eyes trailed downwards to the owner of said finger, a pink-haired girl who only came up to the level of her chest.

…

“....Ah, it's you.” She plainly stated and turned back to the book in her lap. Seemed like she had fallen asleep after only seven pages. Pity, Koln had recommended it with quite a bit of enthusiasm too.

“Heeey, don’t just ignore me!”

A sigh escaped her lips as she snapped the book shut. Fixing a pointed stare towards her new unwanted companion, she decided to humor her this time instead of outright leaving like usual.

“What do you want, U-81?” 

The pinkette immediately brightened in response, a hopeful glint U-47 did not like one bit emerging in her eyes.

“Can you bring me on your mis-”

“No.” She interrupted and jumped off the box she was sitting on. As her feet planted on the ground, she turned to leave.

“Why not?!” U-81 whined from behind her. She didn’t break stride, walking towards the open door. There were perhaps a few more hours before she had to depart, and she wanted to sleep more.

Hopefully, U-81 won't find her hiding place again…

Who was she kidding? She obviously would.

“I…I asked Eugen!”

Now that made her stop, she turned to her fellow submarine and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“And?”

The small U-boat faltered at that but quickly tried to regain her footing.

“Umm… and what?”

U-47 breathed out a sigh, shoulders sagging, and asked again, her voice even more flat this time.

Oh, how she wished she could rest without being interrupted every hour…!

She had been sent on patrol missions continuously without rest. What was left of her patience wearing thin. 

“What did she say?” The sub finally let out, unfurling her fist which she unconsciously clenched.

U-81 stiffened in response and brought her hands behind her back, shifting uneasily on her toes before replying.

“W-well, she said that I could go!”

Her orange eyes darted around the room, looking at anything but her. Raising her eyebrows even more in response, the lone wolf stared right into the eyes of her shorter compatriot.

“Yeah, sure.” She remarked, her voice practically dripping with skepticism. When she had gotten the mission, she’d specifically requested to go alone and got an affirmative. Moreover, Eugen knew she was more than enough for the patrol from the training exercises they usually conducted.

At this point, the poor U-boat opposite her was grasping at straws. Frantically, she tried to find some way to save the sinking ship she had boarded, which was becoming a sputtering mess.

A bit of guilt welled up within her at the sight, but she stamped it down before it could grow.

‘I’ll make it up to her later…’

At last, seemingly realizing that her charade failed, her shoulders slumped, and she grumbled under her breath. Quickly wiping the disappointment that began to show on her face, she looked up at the taller Sub.

“Eugen… told me to ask you.”

U-47 continued to stare at U-81. There was no reason for her to keep on lying, and that certainly sounded like Eugen, although she was glad the heavy cruiser didn't screw her over like she usually did to her sister, Hipper.

The poor thing. Couldn’t catch a break without getting insulted in front of everyone in an exercise.

 “Mhm.” She replied simply and turned to leave, ignoring the various protests behind her. 

“-could at least tell me whyyyy?!”

Pausing at the door frame, she fixed a blank stare at the now pouting expression of U-81. Her puffed-up cheeks were adorable, but she didn’t voice it.

Sighing, she responded.

“...You already know how I am, U-81. As for why..”

“...I guess I just wanted to be alone.”

And with that, she shut the door behind her. The guilt krept back, stabbing at heart.

‘Was I too harsh…?’

Pausing, she leaned against the metal door  for a few seconds, straining her ears.

“I’ll get her  next time for sure…!”

The spike lessened at that, and she allowed herself a small smile.

‘Please never change, U-81.’

With that, she continued on.

The chilly night breeze from Wilhelmshaven brushed through U-47’s hair, bringing a salty smell to her nose as she strode down the port. The cobblestone pathway beneath her bare feet shone under the moonlight, courtesy of a recent rain shower. She watched her footsteps carefully, clutching the book tightly in her hands so she wouldn’t slip and ruin it.

She idly thought that she should’ve worn boots before setting out. Being barefoot would have caused…. problems with dirt and the like. The cold didn’t really bother her much; being an Ironblood KANSEN, most of them were used to it.

Her breath came out in a frosty puff, carried away towards the icy water of the Baltic Sea. Turning her head towards the bay, it stretched on and on with an inky blue, reflecting the full moon and stars above. At the utmost edge of the port, a lone lighthouse stood, providing the last beacon of radiance that extended until it faded away into the horizon, blending in with the night sky.

Ignoring the slight cold nipping at her bare toes, she continued, watching the sealine as she went. The U-boat wanted to find a place to get some alone time and read her Book, preferably without the interruption of the pink-haired menace. At this point, the short submarine practically knew the base like the back of her hand, so she decided to try outside this time.

Finally approaching the end of the walkway, the path ahead blocked by a fence, she took hold of it and swung herself over, landing on the wet grass. It brushed against her soles, but she kept walking. 

A large rock soon appeared in sight, perfect for hiding from view. She felt a smile curve itself onto her face as she approached it. 

It would be perfect for hiding. No one would come outside to find her in the middle of the night, especially away from the docks. She would finally get some alone time before she had to set off to Narvik, their new base in the North, in a few days.

Reaching the rock, she placed a palm on it and ran her hand over its wet yet rough surface. Looking up, she found that it was almost double her size.

Even more perfect.

She walked to the edge of the rock and rounded it, her book clenched even more tightly in her hands.

“Hmmm?”

Midway, she paused.

Icy blue eyes stared at the Submarine questioningly, glistening in the moonlight as if they were glowing faintly– almost like the frigid sea itself. White hair, which traced both sides of her fair-skinned face, swayed gently in the breeze. Two earrings shaped like a cross hung at the ears, also white.

U-47 took a step back.

Then another.

On pure impulse, her eyes darted back and forth, frantically searching for an escape route. One of her hands grabbed the edge of the rock on reflex; it turned red with strain.

“Ummm, Lord Tirpitz-!” She bit out, her voice cracking midway. The KANSEN cursed internally at that. Of course, she had to clam up in front of none other than Lord Bismarck’s sister herself.

Said battleship's eyebrows rose a tad, before her eyes gained a glint of understanding. In a move that confused U-47, she grabbed her hat that was lying on the grass beside her- almost like the one Lord Bismarck wore, except with a white color scheme- and rose, coming at about a head above the Submarine’s height.

“No-” She cut off the words that formed on her tongue, “I understand. I’ll take my leave.”

Fixing her hat on her head perfectly and giving it a slight twist from side to side, she strode past the submarine.When the white edges of her hat finally rounded the corner, U-47 blinked once, then two, before she slumped against the rock and sighed in relief. 

She was already bad enough interacting with others; she was not ready to face the sister ship of the Ironblood’s best. Sliding against it onto the cool grass, she clenched her book even tighter. Resting her back against it, she looked up at the stars above.

Millions of them glittered above, dotting the dark canvas, possibly even more if it weren’t for the Moon and the light pollution from Wilhelmshaven. Right in the center of her view, shining much brighter than the others, sat the Polarstern. U-96 talked about it helping sailors to find the north many times.

‘So… that's where I’m going to be in a  few days, huh…’

It was…. Comforting, she supposed, to know that no matter how lost you got in the vast sea, that you could always find your way North thanks to the star.

“You’re… U-47, right?” The same soft yet chilly voice asked from behind.

–And the submarine jumped, sucking in a hard breath.

Her head snapping to look behind her, she found Lord Tirpitz standing where she was a second ago. With her sitting down, she looked even more imposing, as did the searching gaze of her blue eyes.

Swallowing a lump that formed in her throat, she met the gaze, and letting out a short puff through her nose, reminded herself of how she acted in Lord Bismarck’s presence.

‘Keep it professional…’

In times like these, she wished she had half the mouth U-556 had.

“Yes, that was the name given to me, Lord Tirpitz.” She replied, steeling herself and adopting a professional tone. “May I ask why?”

From what she could remember, Lord Tirpitz had just manifested a few weeks ago, and her rigging had not yet been completed. This was her first time seeing her in person, however. The only person she heard even mention the battleship was Eugen.

Perhaps they wanted to keep her a secret from the Azur lane? KANSEN without rigging were vulnerable after all.

“Do you enjoy being alone?”

The question stirred from her thoughts, and for a moment, she confusedly stared at the white-haired battleship.

‘...What?’

Of all the questions, she expected this would've been the last. She expected something about her deployment to the North, why she didn’t move with the other submarines, perhaps even about her sister.

….Did she like being alone?

Of course she did.  It was relaxing. There were no ships to sink or sirens to locate, just her and her thoughts. However, it extended to sorties, too. She mostly deployed alone, unlike in packs with the other submarines. When she did deploy with other submarines, she went ahead of the others.

While she didn’t consider herself the least bit social, sometimes she wondered if it had anything to do with herself.  Whenever she tried to group with her fellow KANSEN, she felt like something wasn't right. It constantly tugged at her mind until she left on her violation. In contrast, being alone felt… familiar. Like something wrong finally clicked.

She had dreams of it too. Cruising alone in the seas, sometimes in the North, among Icebergs. Sometimes in places she never recognised nor been to. Constantly alone, accompanied only by the turbulent roaring of the waves around her.

Yet, they never led anywhere., She would always wake up before anything happened. Even then,  she still appreciated the peace and quiet. The whole base could be so noisy. She was looking forward to the mission in the North on that account.

“...Yes, I do, Lord Tirpitz.” She replied finally.

Lord Tirpitz stared at her for some time, searching for something. U-47 felt more nervous by the second and clenched her hands tightly, resisting the urge to look away.

Blue eyes shifted to her hands, and the battleship pursed her lips.

“...I see. Danke.” She finally said, tipping her hat. With that, she turned around and left, her white hair disappearing behind the rock, hopefully for the last time.

U-47 did not turn her head for a few moments, waiting to see if something would pop out again. When nothing did, she let out a sigh of relief, which came out in a frosty puff carried by the wind.

‘No more social interaction for me please..’

She suddenly remembered U-81, which she very rudely walked out on in half an hour. The pouting face on the pinkette ran through her mind repeatedly, and she sighed.

‘I… should probably apologize to her…’   She thought, staring right at the Polarstern.

…

‘Scratch that, I should definitely apologize later.’

Brushing off the rest of her thoughts, she finally unfolded the book in her hands and leaned back to read.

“Ugh….” 

U-47 groaned, stirring awake.

‘Worst sleep ever.’

 Her back felt oddly sore, and her bed felt harder, almost like she was sleeping on the….

…Floor?

Confusion arising, she opened her eyes. A brown, tarnished wooden ceiling greeted her. It looked nothing like her room's ceiling.

“....What…”

“Oh, look at that. You're finally awake.”

Upon hearing a male voice, she snapped to attention quickly and sat up, the floor under her straining and cracking. Her eyes darted across the room, which she immediately recognised. A campfire over which a pot was placed 

burned brightly, on the opposite side of which an armored figure with a gas mask stared at her-

‘Wait.’

As her eyes landed on the figure before her, memories rushed back into her head. Walking through what she thought was an abandoned building, getting knocked out by the anomaly… who was sitting opposite her.

A realization washed over her, stirring an unease in her gut for perhaps the fourth time… today?

‘I’ve been captured, haven't I?’

What time even was it?

Growl

Immediately recognizing the sound, her eyes shifted towards her left. Her rigging floated a short distance away. With a humming reverberating from it, her partner approached and rested on her knees, looking at her in concern.

“I’m fine.” She mumbled, part of it to herself as she ran her hand over its smooth metallic surface. Satisfied, it lay down on the floor. Unsummoning it was out of the question, especially in this situation.

Her attention turned towards the anomaly staring right at her through the green lenses in the mask. 

He had armor, which was already unusual enough, and used small arms instead of calibers effective against KANSEN. Her first thought was that he was human, but there was no way a human could easily get past her radar and sneak up on someone while being that tall and armored.

….Unless he had a jammer of some sort.

Biting her lip, she scanned the room. The only exit was behind the figure opposite of her, and she wasn’t confident enough to charge an unknown enemy.

‘Wait, maybe I could break down this wall and jump?’

Her eyes landed yet again on the person in front of her.

‘.....What is he? Could this be a siren experiment? He sure does talk like one with the robotic voice. Did they betray us? If then, why am I still unha-’

Snap

‘...!’

Looking up at the sound, she saw the figure raise a hand, the same suspiciously fake voice that jumped her coming out from his gas mask.

“Look, I know what you’re feeling, kid, but what we have right now is a misunderstanding… well, sort of.”

“...”

She stared at him, her eyes taking on an unamused glint. He shot her -even if it did nothing- and was now saying that it was a misunderstanding?

‘Misunderstanding, mein Arsch! What if I was a human?! I wouldn't even be standing here!’

There was then the glaring issue of small arms being ineffective to her. Either he had to be an idiot enough not to know what a KANSEN was…. or he had some other motive.

Green lenses returned her stare for a few moments before they broke away with a sigh.

“... Argh, Fine, let me do all the talking. Kids these days…”

He took out the shotgun that he used to shoot her- a double-barreled one with both of its ends sawed off- and cracked open the chamber to take out two rounds, both with plastic shells, and held it out to her. She could see bags of some kind inside both of them.

Her eyebrows rose in confusion, which only grew by the second.

“...What..”

Taking out one of the bullets, he held it up to her.

“Beanbag rounds. Simple yet effective when you want someone knocked out. Just a little kick in the head.” He said, chuckling at some inside joke.

“Not sure why you were still conscious, though, normally it’d take someone ou-”

That would explain why he was so nonchalant about shooting someone. Although..

“What kind of gun makes someone fly through a wall?” She questioned; there was no way a regular gun could do it… unless the Azur Lane found a way.

Putting the rounds back in chambers and loading it, he gave the shotgun a spin in his hand, looking rather proud of himself.

“One that makes people [Stay back]. A bunch of tinkering and know-how can get you a long way.”

“.....Right.” 

After that interaction, both of them became quiet. U-47 stared at the fire, trying not to focus on the masked man beyond it.

…What was she even supposed to say? She was captured, and now here she was, sitting opposite of her captor himself. She wasn’t trigger-happy enough to immediately start fighting back, nor was she social to talk her mouth off.

Wait, the laser pistol! She realized. This was her chance to ask about that.

Before she could say a word, a delicious aroma hit her nose, making her mouth water. Her head snapped to the pot bubbling over the fire, the distinctive smell of vegetables and meat filling her nose.

‘Is that stew?’

She remembered she hadn’t had anything other than breakfast today. The ‘breakfast’ in question being some Sauerkraut and bread.

“That's going to take a little more time to cook.” The anomaly’s voice rumbled. Feeling her face heat up at the remark, she looked away.

With that, they settled back into silence, awkwardly staring at the fire.

‘If this guy is trying to use me as a hostage, he’s doing a very shit job at it.’ She grumbled. ‘S hould I go smashing through the wall after all?’  

The U-boat glanced at her rigging, whose eyes flashed right at her. Steading her breathing, she clenched her fis-

“...How about we make a deal, kid?”

‘...What.’

“Just y’know, like a simple one. Nothing too fan-”

“No.”

Whatever words were about to come out of his mouth cut off as he stared at her, before muttering.

“Damn Charisma… Kiss my ass, Vault-tec.”

“...”

‘Wait, this could be my chance to gain info. If it all goes up in flames, I’ll just go through with the wall plan after all. He doesn’t look that strong… especially if he’s using normal guns.’

 "What kind of deal?" she asked cautiously. Her hand instinctively twitched towards her rigging, resting silently beside her on the floor.  

How it was this docile in the current situation was beyond her.

“Play a game with me to pass the time, and I’ll give you some of that.” He said, pointing to the pot on fire.

The undeniable smell of meat hit her again, enticing her. She stared at the pot in thought.

Was she going to accept a deal from the anomaly she was supposed to track down?

No, no, she wasn't-

“I can see the hesitation on your face, and it's just cards, kid. Nothing special. I’m just bored.” Pulling out a stack of cards, he laid it before her.

‘Oh.’

She was familiar with playing cards—she had played once with the other submarines—and was beaten by only U-96. Her poker face was more than enough to trick most of them, leaving them grumbling on the ground.

“It’s called Caravan. I’ll teach you the rules; they aren’t hard.”

Looking between the pot and him multiple times, she felt frustrated at her indecision.

Why was she even considering it?!

The smell hit her again, and she remembered. Back in the port, all they normally ate was potatoes during winter. Thankfully, it had passed, so it got better with other shipments coming in, but she was starting to develop a disdain for potatoes, and so was the rest of the base.

Checking the clock on her communicator, she saw that only three hours had passed—barely a day, then. She had time… surely. The game could even be used to gather information.

The food would just be a bonus.

“Sure.”

She felt the atmosphere shift a bit, and when the masked man spoke, she could see a splitting grin form on his face. 

“That’s what I’m talking about. Now….”  He said, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. 

Watching the cards jumble effortlessly in the Anomalies' hands was the reason she suddenly regretted her decision.

“The idea is that you’ve got these Caravans…”

…What did she get herself into?

“Hmmm… seems like you’ve hit a 24 on that caravan, it would be such a shame..” The Courier began, drawing a King from his deck and playing it on his opponent's caravan, shooting the 7 into a 14 and totalling it to 31,” If it somehow got ruined.” He finished with a grin under his gas mask.

Caravan truly was the greatest game of all time. 

The amount of caps his ‘Statistically impossibly lucky ass’ as quoted by Arcade stol- won was in the quadruple digits. He could faintly hear Ringo’s drunken ass crying to Trudy about losing all his savings to that ‘Damn Courier’.

‘Don’t fuck with the mailman, indeed.’

Brushing off his thoughts, the mailman looked at his opponents -a kid wearing clothes that straight up looked like they belonged on a hooker in Vegas- caravans, which consisted of an 18, a 25 and finally a 31, the last one being the courtesy of him. He let out a chuckle through his mask, sounding like a wheeze. His throat pulsed in pain for a brief second.

‘Fuck’ , He thought. His hands already started to sweat and shiver, the effects of withdrawal setting in. 

He really needed some Jet. And a drink.

“Verdammt…”

The Courier looked up in surprise at the foreign language. Opposite him, the kid was searching through her deck for a card to play.

‘That’s… German, isn’t it?’

…

He had his doubts, but now they were all but confirmed. Somehow, by whatever fuckery the Big MT managed to shove into their insane creations, he got transported across continents.

Sucking in a slow breath through the filters of his gas mask and letting it out, he clenched and unclenched his gloved fingers.

‘...Just another bag of bullshit to deal with.’ He reminded himself. He’d also walked most of the west coast as a Courier and parts of the Midwest. It was his job, after all, and he lasted much longer than others with the same profession.

Germany would be no different—just another wasteland.

‘More people for you to butcher. How nice.’ A voice in the back of his head sneered.

“Are you gonna play, or…?”

His gaze flicked to his opponent’s impatient face. She had drawn her card and got her final caravan to a 26, just short of being overweight.

‘Right. Game now, thoughts later.’

Drawing another card, he let a smile etch itself on his face as his [Luck] shined through once again. 

‘A three, just what I need.’ He grunted through his mask in faux-disappointment as the kid noticeably brightened, thinking he had just drawn bad.

‘Heh, sorry, kid. Not today.’

Her cheer was immediately wiped off her face as he set down the 3 he’d gotten onto the last of his caravans, passing the 21 mark and ending up with a 23, 25 and a 26. He watched the kid look back and forth from her caravans and his, finally coming to the conclusion so many others did before her.

“Well, I think the stew should be done by now.” He said, standing up and walking over to the boiling pot. Lifting the lid, the scent of Vegetables and meat hit his nose, undeterred by the filters of his gas mask.

Even if Cook-Cook was a cannibalistic waste of human space, his recipes—the ones without human meat—were top-class. Looking over to the kid, she was staring at the pot, eyes watching it like a hawk. He pulled out a ladle and some pots and prepared to serve the food.

“So, late time to ask, but what’s your name?”

The kid looked up, still chewing, her bandanna, which she used to cover her mouth with, strewn to the side. She stared at him for a while longer before swallowing.

“....Are you human?” 

A flicker of surprise crossed the Courier’s face underneath his mask at the deflection. Did she pick up on his implants? 

Growl

His lens shifted to the rumbling that came from the kids' side. Her mechanical companion was looking at his scrap metal pile, its orange eyes glowing brighter than before. Behind it, its tail swished back and forth, scraping against the stone floor. The Courier remembered the robot munching on one of his spare shotguns.

‘..That was a good one.. fucks sake.’ He grumbled.

“Sorry, that's my stuff, and it's off-limits.” 

It glared back in defiance, inching closer towards his hoard. Raising an eyebrow beneath his mask, he stared, daring it to try.

“Stand down.” The kid commanded, and it still, before letting out a mechanical equivalent of a grumble and moved to the corner, almost… sulking?

‘Well I’ll be damned. Sentient-fucking-robots with incredible paint jobs are a thing in Germany. If ED-E were here…’

Shaking off his thoughts, he focused on the questions at hand.

Was he human? Did he even qualify as one? What was left of his body was probably fried and twisted by radiation, mangled with more scars than bones, underneath which was a caricature of metal fused with flesh, put together with as much grace as a poorly sewn doll. What a lovely sight, to see your arm break in half and be greeted by the adamantium-shining metal instead of white.

“Yeah, I’m human. What about it?” He lied as easily as he breathed.

*SPEECH CHECK FAILED

‘Goddammit .’

The kid believed it as much as Novac believed No-bark-Noonan’s crackpot theories, her face scrunching up.

‘ ...You know what? Fuck it. I was never good at negotiating while fighting Jet withdrawal anyways.’

“...Alright, kid.” He started, and she tensed at that, her fist clenching. “We’re both beyond confused right now, and I’m sure both of us want to be out of each other's hairs, so, let's just do a question session and be on with it.”

She searched him with her eyes for a few seconds and bit out an agreement, her German accent underlying her voice.

“Ja, alright.”

“You asked a question before, so I’ll ask this time. What's your name?”

U-47 hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a fraction of a second, a barely perceptible jaw tightening. She seemed to weigh her words, a subtle tension in her posture. After a moment, she spoke, her voice flat and even. "My name is... Elsa.”

The Courier's brow furrowed slightly. He noticed the minute shift in her demeanor, accompanied by an almost imperceptible flinch as she spoke. There was a subtle undercurrent of something in her voice, a hint of... guilt? Or perhaps just unease. He couldn't quite place it, but it was there.

“Elsa,” He repeated, bringing a gloved hand to rub under his mask. “Sounds German, fits the place… I guess.” 

“Anyway, my name's Six, Courier Six.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Six? Courier Six? That’s not a name, it's a job." Her voice held a note of incredulity.

“Look, stuff happened, and it's what I’ve got. It’s just a name, anyway. Now, can you please tell me where I am? It's been bugging me for weeks.

She shifted in her seat at that, the floorboards creaking softly beneath her. A long, drawn-out silence stretched between them, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

“...”

The Courier raised an eyebrow, his green lenses glinting in the firelight. “...?”

“...Classified.”

‘...Wha-’

“Classified?” The Courier raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with disbelief. “What’s there to be classified after the bombs dro- ergh, whatever. Can you at least tell which continent I’m on? The country?”

The girl simply averted her eyes in response, the silence speaking for itself. His voice took on a frustrated tone.

“Alright, I get it; it's classified. I’m not some spy or somethin’; I only want to know where I am. Is this some forgotten Vault-Tec experiment? If it is, I’m going to be pissed.” This time, confusion spread on the girl's face because the Courier didn’t understand.

“What’s Vault-Tec?”

“...Oh for- Vault Tec, the biggest name in the world before it, well, blew up, the ones who built the Vaults in case the world goes boom? Which it did. The guys who made half the technology in the wasteland?”

Her face only increased in disbelief, and her brows furrowed. She scanned around the room, lips pursed, looking for something before a defeated look entered her face.

“..I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

‘Don’t get mad, don’t get mad, think of Rexxie, yeah, think of kicking Caesar in the nuts...’

Running a gloved hand down his gas mask, he grumbled.

“Alright, forget the Vaults. Can you at least tell me the date? Surely that isn’t classified?”

Her gaze shifted from the Courier to the fire, then back again. "It is June 9th, 1941."

“...”

The Courier stared at her in disbelief. "1941? Nineteen... what? Are you serious? You're telling me it's nineteen... forty-one?”

She looked genuinely confused at that, as if she didn’t just get the date wrong by 300 years, and he felt a sudden urge to jam a bunch of things into his body, light a cigarette, and shoot something.

“...Kid, I might not be the brightest bulb to exist, but you’re off by three hundred years. It's 2281, not 1941.” 

“No, its no-”

“Yes, it is. I’ve been living in 2281 for longer than you’ve been alive! What, did the bombs erase all the calendars in Germany or what?”

Her eyebrows rose higher with each word until the look in her eyes shifted, and it was a look he’d gotten hundreds of times.

“Look, ain’t that the Courier?”

“Shit, it is, better run, someone told me after he got shot in the head by some big star from Vegas, he was never the same.”

“Ma brother told me about how he survived a landmine, you know. Just walked right through it like it was goddamn grass, took some Jet then started talking about glowing ghouls and rockets. Crazy, I tell you.”

“I saw him near some graves at Nelson. Kept muttering about whispers and ghosts, I’m surprised the followers haven’t dragged him off for drug abuse or something.”

“...That’s like most people in this wasteland, man.”

“Oh, right. Let's just go before he notices us; I saw some Geckos up north; should fetch us some caps.”

His teeth ground with every sentence, each echoing in his ear.

‘Fucking hell.’

Clamping one hand over his shivering other,.The Courier stood up abruptly, the sudden movement causing the robot in the corner, which he forgot about, to snap to attention. Its mechanical jaws parted slightly as it moved to position itself between him and her, eyes glowing in challenge. He ignored it, his green lenses fixed on the far wall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I’m going out,” he said, his voice low and tight, the words clipped and sharp. “I need… something. Something to clear my head.” He didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and striding towards the broken doorway, his armored boots echoing in the ruined room. “I’ll be back.”

He strode out of the room, and the rest passed by a blur, memories playing through his head like a film. Stumbling through hallways, his hand trailed along the crumbling walls, until he reached a relatively intact section. He slumped against it, the cold seeping into his armor.

With trembling hands, the Courier reached up and unfastened the clasps of his gas mask, the hiss of escaping air a sudden, faintly echoing throughout quiet ruin. He pulled the mask away, and his hair, which he hadn’t cut in weeks, came loose, dangling and irritating his ears. 

His throat, raw and burning from the short conversation, ached, and he retched violently until it became a cough. Grimacing, he pulled out a vial of Jet, and inserted it into an inhaler.

Pressing it to his mouth, he took a puff of it, his breath and shivering returning to normal in slow steady inhales. His anger faded away into the comfort of a high, and he slumped against the wall.

‘...Ah, why did withdrawal have to set in now? 

at least I could’ve salvaged whatever was left of the conversation.’

Arcade told him day and night to get help from the followers for his Jet addiction, but how could he? Everytime he tried, those damn nightmares came back, and whatever free time he had evaporated once he became the ruler of New Vegas. 

Right now though, he really wished he took the doctor's advice, because he was forced to ration the Jet he had on him, at least until he could get a proper chemistry set up going. His mood switched for the worse ever since, and Fixer would just give him a temporary uplift before making it even worse at the end.

‘Note to self:Set up a lab no matter what. I need to make sure I don't burn whatever bridges I can make. Thanks to withdrawal.’

Pulling his trusty Vault 13 canteen from his belt, the mailman took a long, burning swig. The harsh liquor did little to soothe the rawness, but it numbed the edges of his frayed nerves. 

“What 1941… I must be crazy, huh?” He breathed out with a dry laugh, removing the canteen from his lips, the alcohol burning its way down his throat. His mind wandered to the cans filled with food he had found some days before, with the date labelled ‘1941’. A feeling of unease arose in his gut.

He was suddenly reminded of a conversation he had in the Big MT a few weeks prior.

“Say Dr.Klein?”

“WHAT, LOBOTOMITE? COULD IT BE, YOU HAVE FINALLY RECOGNISED OUR GENIU-”

“It’s about the transportalponder.”

“AH YES, ONE OF OUR MOST PRESTIGIOUS CREATIONS. WHAT ABOUT IT?”

“You know how it teleports you to the Big MT, right? Is… time travel possible?”

“...I CAN’T SAY FOR CERTAIN, BUT THERE IS A POSSIBILITY. HOWEVER, IT WOULD REQUIRE MULTIPLE CONDITIONS TO OCCUR AT THE SAME TIME, SO MUCH SO THAT IT’S PRACTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE.”

“...I see..”

‘There’s no way… right? Getting teleported across continents is one thing, but, time travel? Surely not..’

He remembered the Sierra Madre and its horrors, the ghosts of people forever left to rot under a bright red cloud, the ghastly inventions of the Big MT,  and the canyons of Zion untainted by the horrors that beset most of the wasteland. Each a story set for him, a trail by Ulysses, leading to the confrontation amongst the raging storms and the smell of ozone.

He took out the can in question, and there it was, engraved into the faded metal.

Made in 1941, best before 8 months of use

The uneasy feeling in his gut expanded to dread, and the canteen in his other hand felt even heavier.

‘....Fuck me, it’d be right up my alley, wouldn’t it? Is this even the same Earth? I don’t think 1941 had sentient robots..’

A mirthless chuckle bubbled its way up his throat, and that became quiet laughter.

CRUNCH

The laughter stopped, and he looked at the can in his hand, which was crushed. The only readable part was 1941, almost taunting.

“...”

He threw it away, watching it fly into the darkness. Taking another swig, he ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at how unkempt it was.

He could see the disapproving glare of his sniper companion, even in the dark.

‘Man, Boone would be real disappointed in me if he saw me right now, wouldn't he? Ah, fuck it, there’s no point in grieving about it. If there’s a way in, surely there's a way out. I went through this show and dance four times, what's one more?’

Slipping the canteen back onto his belt and the Jet into his coat, he snapped his mask back into place, the darkness replaced by the monotone grayness of night vision. 

‘Time to face the music. I gotta get some answers out of that kid no matter what.’

He returned to his camp, which passed in a blur as he thought of what to say. As he approached the busted down door, he noticed the campfire's orange light replaced by a much brighter, grayish light.

‘What the-’

As he walked in front of the doorframe, his body stilled, and he felt his jaw drop underneath his gas mask. There was no sign of the Kid, or the robot. The campfire was blown out, and the pot on it untouched. However, what shocked him the most was the glaring lack of an entire wall, replaced by a view of the gray, churning, seas a footfall below. 

Choppy waves crashed against the ruins, sending sprays of salt water into the room, droplets splashing against his visor. The crackling of the campfire was replaced by the rumbling of the seas, expanding into the mist. 

“.....What in the goddamn.”

The sudden, thunderous crash of collapsing brick and mortar still echoed in U-47's ears as she propelled herself through the depths of the sea

After… the Courier had left, she broke the wall with a single hit and dived into the sea, her rigging following. A trace of guilt shot through her; she was given food, and he didn’t seem malicious, but more insane.

‘Then again, he did shoot me.’ She remembered, disregarding the sentiment. U-47 looked at her transceiver and waited for a reply on her call back to HQ.

‘He said it was 2281… Time travel? Vaults? Bombs? What?’ 

The sub had heard of insanity in humans, but this was the first time she’d seen it. 

‘If what he’s saying is true.. then he is from the future.. ‘ Her thoughts trailed off.

‘Surely not.’

Brushing it all off, she focused on what she had to do. Report to Lord Bismarck. She couldn’t wait to get back home and forget about all this. The thought of returning to her book caused her to relax, her grip on her rigging easing.

It was then she realised she completely forgot to ask about the Laser pistol.

‘Oh, no. How am I going to report no-’

BEEP. BEEP. 

She hesitated over the answer button, internally panicking. Of course she forgot the one thing she had to ask, why couldn't she actually focus on a conversation for on-

‘Ah, I’ll just not bring it up. Not like Eugen can read minds…’

‘...Probably.’

Calming herself down, she answered the call with a Click.

“U-47?! WHERE IN LORD BISMARCK'S NAME WERE YOU?!” Fraulein Hipper’s voice shrieked in her ears, causing her to wince.

…On second thought, maybe she could wait.