So, we're back at it again. Kind of. This isn't Talia, though it does incorporate the same Elder Scrolls world she comes from, just...earlier. Like, before she was born, earlier, and with completely different characters.

I was told at one point that the best cure for writer's block is to write something else, so I tried my hand at a Fallout crossover. Usually I don't try my hands at anything sci-fi related, since my ventures into Aspect taught me how much I suck at writing firefights with guns. Still, I'm releasing this as something of a pilot, just to see if there's any interest for it.

I am in these months reminded of the start of 2020, when the #NewGuy was trending, and we all thought "oh, what a wholesome year we're starting when this is the first meme of the year to go viral."
Heh. Viral.
Yeah, instead it seemed to be the year the gods would punish mankind for making the Cats movie...

Oh, and this story is marked 'M', because with my record, someone's going to get dismembered. And laid. Maybe at the same time, this is Fallout.


Chapter 1.

Any Landing You Can Walk Away From...


It was decidedly a couch.

The surface was of some strange material, cracked and flaking with paint, and not at all like linen as he was used to. There was metal in it too, he could feel that, curled iron beneath the cushions, brittle with rust and decay.

The question was not at all whether or not it truly were a couch, such as it was. It had never been the question, never the center of his confusion which was, in this very moment, surpassing his capacity for even the most base of slurs. Before him, rather than the College of Whisper's laboratory, was a desolate and wild cityscape. That it was a city was easily identifiable, tall buildings of brick and wood clustering about, like strewn by a barely caring hand. Grasses, in some places seeming as tall as himself, grew everywhere not paved by tiles or what seemed a kind of black dirt, broken and cracked by time.

And rather than his colleague, Mari de Droumont, there was not a soul to be seen. Not even the distant sounds of banter, or the cries of children beneath his study's window. There was only silence, but for a warm wind caressing his skin.

How had it come to this, that he now sat here, alone and unknowing of his surroundings?

"Is that you, Martin?" It was Mari de Droumont, breaking the silence of his work as well the darkness. When she entered the room, bringing with her the lights of the well-lit corridor, he could have flinched from the sudden contrast; "It is well past midnight, you know? Are you incapable of adhering to College rules? And in such darkness?"

"I know." He'd told her, barely deigning her with a look before resuming his work. If he stopped now...no, he could forget about it all if he stopped now. The song was long past, gone as he'd ground up the last of the precious leaves. Nirnroot was expensive, beyond what any student could have afforded without strain. Mucking it up, he knew, would mean not just wasted time, but enough septims thrown out the window that he'd not have another chance for the year.

The Breton scoffed, no doubt shaking her head at his methodological - and time-consuming - work. He heard the door shut again, and soon after the muffled hums of candlelight spells extinguishing. He was tired, nearing the limits of what he knew he could take. Spending all day cooped up around the vapors and steaming pots and whatnot, it would work any man to the bone, exhaust him.

"Almost done..." He spoke to himself, more so than anything or anyone else. For, really, there was no one else. Most people, he knew, enjoyed company when working, no matter the distractions it might cause. Personally, he liked the quiet, the solitude. It wasn't loneliness, per se, as much as it was self-imposed isolation. People were noisy, or could be at least. It wasn't that he didn't like people, at all, but they posed...yes, distractions.

And he nearly was, in truth. It wasn't until he fired up the last vial, and introduced a spark to the runes within the stand, initiating combustion of the gasses produced by the boiling concoction, that something had...gone wrong.

The vapors had started...sparking, if his eyes hadn't betrayed him in those final moments. The air itself had shifted, thick with a smell as if he'd lit a magicka potion on fire. Even the ground had shifted, shaking and wobbling as if he'd stood on a plank at sea, rather than the solid stone of the College's dedicated laboratories. Mari could not have gone far, but even as he tried to shout, to call for help whatever she might have been capable of, not a sound passed. The air felt as if sucked from his lungs, like the dreams where even the fiercest shout would not even be a whisper.

Then it had all just...faded.

And he'd felt as if falling.

And now, here, he'd found himself dropped in a couch, like a child's discarded toy. Was he here, truly? Where even was here, anyway? It seemed no place he could recognize, not even by reputation. Though he could recognize the buildings for what they were, the architecture was entirely foreign, and the landscape seemed like none he knew of. Was this Hammerfell, maybe? He'd never been there, but knew it to be arid, in many places outright deserts. But then, he knew what Redguard architecture looked like, and this was not it.

Was he dreaming, then? It was strange to ask, because he'd never before dreamt with such clarity and range of sensations as now. He could feel the leathery material of the couch beneath him, and smell the unfamiliar scents wafting on the warm wind. Decay mixed in with it all, but at the same time there was plant life, flowers. Could his dreams give him all this? Could he even boast an imagination capable of such? Either this is a dream, an extraordinary one...Or I don't really want to consider where else I might be.

He'd known from the outset that playing around with Nirnroot was a venture into the frontiers of established magic. That his reasons for doing so were, relatively speaking, simple, had little bearing on the risks involved. Trying to work out an alchemagical tool for locating rare ingredients was a noble endevour, people had told him, though fewer had believed it possible. Those who'd outright doubted him had repeatedly hammered on about the dangers, and bemoaned his ceaseless curiosity. All things considered...

Had they been right? He hadn't yet moved from his seat, strange and slightly uncomfortable though it was, still too stunned to process much beyond his own thoughts. His skin felt like he'd been stung by some bug, an itch that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. A light pitch waned from his ears, and slowly, gradually, some semblance of sound returned.

There were new sounds, now, sounds he couldn't immediately identify. He couldn't hear a single bird, but the faint buzzing of insects was a welcome familiarity. In the distance, something that sounded like the barks of a dog echoed, along with the rustling of leaves in what really, to him, seemed a world devoid of the people who had wrought the city before him. If this was no plane of Oblivion, perhaps he'd come across something else? A phenomenon akin to when the Dwemeri people vanished from Nirn? Though even then, judging by the ruins, it would seem a rather more violent disappearance than the Dwemer...

Foreign to him though the place was, he was not blind to the signs of conflict that scarred the ruins. Even from here he could see what must have been the impacts from an artillery piece, large craters in the streets and houses. Redguard cannons could have done that, or a powerful enough battlemage. As his eyes wandered, Martin became aware of an oddity. Even amongst all the rest scattered about him, the stark whiteness stood out in the heaps of metallic scrap. It was just a couple dozen meters away. He had no need to move to realize that it was, in fact, a human skull.

The College of Whispers had those aplenty, of course. During his apprenticeship with Madame de Crue, he'd been introduced to the ways of healing fractures in the human skull, and the risks of resetting or restoring any bones that might have protruded into the brain itself. Even then, he felt with some certainty that this was no donation.

The stranger thing was, though, that it seemed to have been placed almost ritualistically, resting atop a broomstick, with arms of long, curled metal and pink gloves for hands. That, and some sort of spectacles of black glass on its face, dangling for lack of supporting nose. It seemed...happy to see him, almost. Am I in the realm of Sheogorath?

Another sound then made itself known to him, though he realized slowly it had been going on for quite a few minutes by now. Repeated snaps, like the sound his own fingers could make, came from down below his little lookout. It was obviously not someone snapping their fingers, but the irregular intervals made it blatantly obvious that the sound was not of natural origin. Someone or something was moving about down there, amongst the overgrown buildings.

Slowly, he stood from the outlandish sofa, and started making his way down the hill.


Piper would, if anyone bothered asking her, like to say she was a damn good reporter. Such claims, of course, included the guts to venture out beyond the protective walls of Diamond City, out into the Commonwealth and all it held in store.

For someone with guts. Which she had.

Said guts, however, were currently in a not-so-small risk of being dangled from a Super Mutant's meatbag, courtesy of the great, green menace behind her, currently thundering down the street, swinging some sort of rebar in the same way that Nat threw her dolls around. Only, she could take being hit by a doll.

Piper somehow doubted she could take being hit by the rebar. And so, she ran. Of course, she'd been here before, neck-deep in trouble and with nothing and nobody but her own wit and guts to get her the heck back out of said trouble. Damn good thing too, or she'd have probably tried pleading with the big bastard. Lord knows she'd heard of people who'd tried that. Seen them too, sometimes, dangling from large hooks in the Super Mutant holdouts.

So, she'd picked out the smarter option, which meant running the soles off her heels. She'd learned long ago that Super Mutants weren't as slow as they seemed, oh no. Those brutes could pick up speed like nobody's business. No way no how to outrun them in a straight line. She was slowing it down a little, hopefully, expending precious bullets one by one, trying to hit...well, something important. So far there wasn't much success in it, even though she was damn sure she'd hit him in the head at least once.

Running and gunning might be glamorous in the old magazines, but she'd be damned if it wasn't hard to pull off outside those colored pages.

Each time she wanted to actually hit him, rather than just shooting blindly - and she really didn't have the ammo for that kind of noise - she had to stop, turn, aim and squeeze. A 9mm wasn't much of a kicker, but tired as she was, worn down and dehydrated, not to mention her heart may or may not be going fast enough that the damn thing could have outrun the Super Mutant on its own, keeping a steady aim was a tricky thing. One eye shut, she drew a bead on the charging brute. The ground shook with each step. Oh, wait, that's just my heart...

"Right between...the eyes, how's that?"

A hollow click was her answer. Not from the Mutant, though that'd have been worthy of its own headline, but from her gun. She wasted a moment, time she knew she really didn't have, staring at the gun like it had personally, deliberately, picked now of all times to run out of sweet, sweet lead.

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

She gave her gun one last disgusted look before throwing it at the Super. For what it was worth, at least the new kind of projectile seemed to give him pause, for all the time it took the empty gun to hit, bounce and clatter to a stop on the broken asphalt. She'd already started running again before that, of course, the worn leather of her heels beating a frantic tap-tap-tap against the road.

The Super was not far behind her, having realized the empty gun wasn't really all that dangerous. If anything, he seemed angrier than before. Did Supers even have stages of anger? Seemed like they were in perpetual states of "me kill you!" all day.

"Me! Kill! You!"

Like that, really. Piper pumped her legs best she could, turning and dodging between alleyways, ruined houses and cracked streets, vaulting over crumbling walls and rusted cars. What she wouldn't have given for one of those to still work, and take her far, far away from here. Of course, the Wasteland was an uncaring bitch, and instead of giving her a working car - never mind the fact that she wouldn't even know how to start it - it robbed her of buildings to slip around, and ended up switching out the ruined cityscape for the plains of the Commonwealth.

Out here, nothing but knee-high grasses and the occasional, twisted tree filled the landscape. No houses, no barriers, no nothing. Life had a pretty messed up sense of irony, really, considering it was somewhere out here that lightning had struck, literally from a blue sky. That alone had been enough to pique her curiosity, and now might just be what killed the cat.

"STOP! RUNNING! DIE!"

As suggestions went, that was a bad one, and Piper felt no particular compulsions to obey it. The tapping of her soles against broken concrete vanished, and only the muffled stomping of her boots through the dirt, and the rustling of dry grass. Idly, she considered calling for help, but threw the idea aside almost as quickly. No one would risk their hides against a Super unless they had some really big guns, and if they did...well, the green bastard wasn't exactly being discreet.

Anyone willing to help her, they'd have stepped in by now. Calling for help would just be a waste of breath, and she needed that breath to keep running. Mom had once talked about animals from other parts of the world, that her mom had told her about. Name was long gone, but they'd escape faster predators by zig-zagging when running.

She did the same.

Of course, this was pretty much going from the frying pan and straight into some radioactive sludge. Strangely, she didn't feel nearly as afraid now as she'd been in the streets, even though she knew, really, that out here in the open the big bastard had would have an easier time catching up with her.

True to form, he sounded a lot closer now than before. She could even hear the monster's labored breathing, each sounding more like an enraged Brahmin's than anything that resembled a human. Her own wasn't much better, ragged and heaving, her clothes starting to soak with sweat in the hot summer sun. The Wasteland's weather was a pain in the ass, even at the best of times.

Especially at the best of times, since that's when it got hot as all kinds of Hell. And she was not dressed for the heat...or running for her life, really. But she could blame the first one on herself. The latter? Not so much her clothes and more the Mutant having caught her out in the open.

"GOT! YOU!"

It did again, when she made to change directions. The pain wasn't immediate, but she could definitely feel it when the rebar smashed against her side. She felt herself flying before the pain set in, but when it did...

Piper screamed.

She screamed a lot.

When she landed, it was in a crumbled, disoriented and agonizing heap. Her left arm felt like it'd been torn right off, set on fire and then slapped back on. She couldn't move it, at all. Her mouth was full of dirt, tears stung her eyes and washed the world away in a hazy blur, and her arm was as good as shattered.

She couldn't breathe, or move. Whatever juice had been driving her legs, it was gone and spent now. She couldn't even get back on her feet.

She became aware of the Super Mutant again, slowly, almost like it didn't even matter. But then it did, and it was towering over her, blotting out the sun with its massive, mutated bulk. It smiled down at her, the kind of smile a sadistic kid would give a bug before squashing it. In this case, more like before eating the bug. Oh...so...this is it, then?

People always said that life would flash before your eyes when death approached. She'd wondered if it was true, because she'd been in the deep end enough times that it should have happened at least once at this point. Now...now was definitely the time for something like that.

The flash came, as expected, but there wasn't any vivid memories replaying, or anything, really. Maybe it got interrupted by her vomiting from the pain? She wasn't really sure, but...the Super had stopped smiling.

Actually, forcing some focus back into her eyes, the Super seemed to have entirely lost interest in her. Its eyes were somewhere else, ahead, out of her field of vision. There was noise too, muffled and indistinct. Then there was something sticking out of the Mutant's chest. That's...ice? But it's summer...

The Mutant dropped its weapon, and simply...stood there. Was she hallucinating? It was a shard of ice the size of an arm sticking out of its chest, right? Another appeared then, as if she'd asked for it, snapping back the brute's head with the sheer force of impact. A spear of ice, in the hot Commonwealth sun... Oh yeah, I'm hallucinating. Probably a good thing too, or I'd feel it ripping my arms off...

Then the beast dropped, hitting the ground like a boulder. The sun was back, glaring into her eyes with the force of a nuclear flash. The Super was gone from her vision now, though it didn't really matter much. She was still all kinds of messed up, couldn't move her legs, could barely breathe and her arm felt like... Oh god, oh god it hurts!


Martin was...not entirely aware of his own actions.

When he'd seen the woman fleeing what almost looked like a deformed Orc, he'd started running towards them, rather than away, as any sane man would have done. Should have done. He hadn't even consciously made the choice to attack the savage until he had, and then he'd been committed. He'd seen the beast strike its victim, and sent her flying, screaming, until she struck the ground again like a sack of bones.

In all honesty, he'd thought her dead until she started throwing up.

He didn't know why the brute was attacking her, or who she was, and still had no idea where he was. But he'd been raised to understand right and wrong, even if he'd never before had to actually put himself in the spot to enforce it. Now, he had. He'd killed someone, even if it was a brutish savage. He'd deliberately and willfully struck it down to save a woman he didn't even know. He trembled with the realization, even as he shook the frost coating from his hands. He'd never... he'd never killed before, not even a chicken or a skink. Anything he'd dissected, it had already been dead then...

"...please, help...anyone?"

The woman's voice reached him, not much more than a hoarse plea. It tore him from his doubts, and set his legs in motion before he'd consciously decided to move. He came upon her to a sight of what was clearly broken bones. It was visible through the tattered shreds of her red coat, and blood was starting to soak through, darkening the colors.

She didn't seem to see him, even when he came close enough to smell the vomit she'd spilled. He'd seen that before, at least, and in a twisted sort of way, the sight of a maimed person at his feet was a welcome familiarity. If this was a dream...no, he'd never had one that had all these things, all these sensations. The acrid smell of puke was entirely too real.

He considered trying to speak with her, but realized he'd no notion of what to say, or ask. Was she unharmed? No, definitely not. Was she wounded, and if so, what were her wounds? Again, the answer was obvious. Madame de Crue had impressed upon him the importance of keeping the patient conscious, but... how? Poking her seemed cruel and unusual, and entirely out of the question anyway.

"Ma'am?" Why was he here, at all? Why couldn't he just have done like Mari told him, and stopped working after midnight? The woman seemed to realize she wasn't alone, even as the body of the great, green beast still twitched. He'd struck it in the brain, the thing was dead. Hopefully; "Ma'am, are you...awake? Conscious? Can you hear or see me?"

"...thanks" At least no blood spilled out. He still put an ear to her chest, forcing entirely aside his own objections at that kind of breach of personal space. His own too; "...ow."

"Lungs sound fine, no li- liquids." by the gods, why was his first real case a woman, of all things? Couldn't it have been a man, at least? His face was entirely too close to hers when he raised it up from her chest, dirty raven hair splayed out around it; "Your arm's broken."

"Yeah..." cracked lips almost seemed to smile. Her right hand, the one where the arm wasn't clearly shattered, shook as it tried grasping for him. Adrenaline was wearing off; "Not... not doing all that well, is it?"

"Anything else that's broken?" It'd be better if she wasn't aware of just how much a mess her arm looked. The stress might send her into shock. Though... in all honesty, she looked like she was already more or less there.

"Dunno...I- gah" she gasped with pain when he touched her arm. Martin frowned, wrapping his fingers in the soft glow of golden restoration. She didn't seem to notice, or care. Maybe the shock was still too heavily present in her mind to bother with the work of a healer. Non-mages rarely cared how his spells worked, as long as they did; "Can't really...feel much else... You, what..."

"Lie still." he forced sternness into his voice, afraid it'd crack from anxiety otherwise. This was his first actual patient, he'd be damned if he misstepped or misspoke. As the golden glow started spreading across her arm, and from there to her shoulder, she seemed to regain some clarity; "You'll be alright..."

"I feel...really wei-" her words halted mid sentence, as if she'd forgotten what she'd say. Martin glanced up, and saw her eyes widening. She was watching him, or rather, she was watching his hands. She didn't move beyond that, and he continued working, carefully reassembling the shattered humerus, as well the radius which had snapped over the middle.

"Six breaks in total..." He'd never dealt with that many on one limb before, but at least there wasn't any risk of puncturing organs here. He poured restorative energies into each break as he joined the bones, waiting for the body to do its thing before he moved on. The woman, meanwhile, hadn't stopped staring, the same, unnerving amazement in her eyes; "I will be done in a moment."

"...what...is that?"

"What?" Martin blinked and glanced up, meeting her eyes now. It did his anxiety no good. Coughing, he reverted his own back to her arm, escaping in his work; "What is what?"

"Your...hands, they're..." she blinked, several times as if to dispel sleep; "Am I hallucinating?"

"Your eyes seem normal, no dilation of the pupils..." They were beautiful eyes, too. Deep and brown. And exactly the reason he wasn't overly keen on a female patient. Female colleagues, he could deal with, easily. Women outside of the College, however... risky, in more ways than one; "I can examine you for concussion, when I've healed your arm."

"Healed my arm..." she repeated the words to herself, as if it was a different language. Martin still had no notion of where he was, but at least people here spoke Common. For a moment, he'd dreaded foreign words spilling out; "It...does feel better already."

"You still seem..." he wasn't sure how to properly word it, afraid of causing offense; "Am I unsettling you?"

"Just..." once more, her eyes went to his hands. He was almost done with the radius now; "Just tell me if I'm off my rocker, but...your hands, they're not really glowing, are they?"

"They are." he nodded, gingerly rejoining the fractures; "Otherwise, I'd have my papers revoked."

"They're not." she argued, even as she still stared at them. He wasn't following; "Hands don't glow, you know. It's...wait, papers?"

"My Journeyman's Healing certificate." Martin said, allowing himself just a shred of pride. He'd worked hard for them, too. Curiosity now took him, diminishing his anxiety; "You've never had to see a healer before?"

"A... what?" she shook her head, then seemed to regret the decision, groaning and dropped her head back on the ground. When she turned away, her eyes fell on the great green beast; "You...killed it?"

"Would you rather I'd not?" He did not look up now, focusing on a fracture he'd not discovered before. That put the total up to seven; "I'm not entirely wont with combat magicks, I'm afraid. A better mage could have killed him before he struck you, but... I wasn't sure..."

"About... what?"

"My aim." Martin muttered, wiping his brow on his sleeve. To go from Cyrodiilic autumn to this... he was glad he'd not worn heavier clothes; "Done."

"What?" turning her head back, watching him again, she blinked at his words; "Done with what?"

"Your arm." he fell back on his rear, taking a breath. His hands trembled still, and he put them behind him for support rather than let it show; "It will be sore for a few days, I think, but I've rejoined the bones and healed the breaks."

For a full minute, she didn't speak. Not one word, though her expression spoke for itself as she raised the healed arm. Though she was quiet, her mouth moved plenty, forming silent words in what looked like disbelieving awe. Martin shifted where he sat, unused to such amazement at his work, and unsure of how to respond to it.

In turn, he found it hard not to watch her.

"Would you...mind if I knew your name?" his toes curled as he asked, the old anxiety welling back up. He'd been here before, always with the same outcomes, sooner or later; "I'm Martin."

"Pi...Piper, but...phew, okay." She rubbed at her face, healed arm still at rest; "Martin. What the hell did you just...do, I mean...people around here don't just usually have glowing hands or...throw icicles at Super Mutants, so...what? What's going on? I mean, thank you. Lord knows I'd have been dangling from a hook by now if not for you..."

"You've never seen a Healer before?"

"Never heard of one before." Piper said, eyes intent on him. He'd have squirmed under her gaze, if not for how mild it was compared to Madame de Crue, even on her best days; "That...glowy thing you just did, that's a Healer thing? You're not one of those Atom nuts, right? I mean, even if you are, you saved my life, no judgement..."

"Restoration magic?" he asked, wrapping golden light 'round his fingers. She starred in abject amazement, like a child; "...why do I get the feeling you've not heard of magic before, either?"

"Well, usually the magic I know of is a guy switching cards, not...that." she punctuated the last word by gesturing at his hand. Something like a light appeared behind her eyes; "Where'd you say you're from?"

He hadn't, had he?

"The College of Whispers, in Cyrodiil." if she recognized the name, she showed no sign of it; "But...this isn't Cyrodiil. Are we in Hammerfell? Akavir?"

"Boston, America." Piper laughed, a short, girlish sound; "Wow. I mean...wow, I can't even... You've gotta be the first European here in...ever, really."

"First... what?"

"European, you're..." she frowned, sitting straighter as she rummaged around the pockets of her frayed coat; "You're not from Europe? Russia?"

"I've never heard of those places." Martin said, wishing he was back home, and yet at the same time, curious about this new place. If this was Akavir, he could make groundbreaking discoveries, earn himself a place in the books; "Or of America or Boston. I'm...not from around here."

"No kidding." Piper mused, finally having dug out what she seemed to have sought; "Ah, shit..."

An alien contraption emerged from her coat, a box of steel and leather. Its center was a circle of dark glass. It was cracked, shards of glass falling to the ground as she tipped the item over. He had no idea what it was.

"Figured as much. Camera got busted in the fall, lense is all cracked." she sighed; "I wanted to take a picture, figured I might as well get something out of this trip."

"What is that?" Martin watched the box with rapt curiosity. Truly, he'd never seen its like before; "A container of some sort?"

"You're not pulling my leg, are you?" Piper looked at him, as if to discern his honesty; "Never seen a camera before? Not exactly a new invention."

"What does it do?"

"It, ah... it takes pictures." she pointed to the cracked glass, and then to a smaller piece of it on the other side; "Look through here, press the button and snap, whatever you pointed the camera at, you've got a still image of it, colors and all."

"I thought you'd not seen magic before?" he asked. Meanwhile, the sun seemed to have faded away, and darker clouds were moving in; "That's...green?"

"Oh boy..." Piper had seen it too, though her expression was too worried for his liking; "We'd better get to shelter, there's a Radstorm coming in."

He'd no time to argue before she grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him along. Back into the ruined city. Piper offered no explanation either, only hauling him by the hand as the skies grew darker, a poisonous green coloring the clouds. Somewhere in the distance, a low growl, like striking metal with a god's hammer, echoed. His skin crawled with a sensation of deep wrongness, even as the warm winds started making his face itch, and the dust that blew around them seemed to glow. And throughout it all, her pace only quickened.

"What is that?" He was unwont to running, and now when forced to do so, speaking came ragged; "What phenomenon...is that?!"

"Radstorm!" Piper's voice had lost all joviality, repeating the word as if it would mean more to him now; "Real bad if you want to keep it at two arms!"

He took that explanation for what it was, and picked up the pace. Though he still did not understand the nature of this realm, whether it be material or Oblivion, he understood "real bad". Piper suddenly took a sharp turn, darting down a ruined street where rust and decay had eaten all things metal.

Ahead, seemingly her target, was what seemed like a gate set into the ground. A concrete ramp descended until they were below the street level, and Piper shouldered open the metal gate. It gave way, shrieking on rusten hinges until a gap had opened wide enough for them to enter.

Barely had he set foot within before she slapped the doors shut again, leaving them now in total, absolutely suffocating darkness, whilst the noise of clanging metal echoed away, into the unknown.


Something I should probably mention, is that I am going with Boston in its actual size, rather than the smaller version we play through in Fallout 4, and I will attempt to add some realism to the setting without encroaching upon what Besthesda gave us.