Mar. 24th, 2017

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Biggest newt pile yet.



Sweet boys

Good boys

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And it suddenly occurred to me how friggin’ terrifying it must be to anyone actually working in the Institute.

Now, I hate the Institute. To the point where I seriously side-eye anyone who sides with them on a ‘good’ playthrough. Like- no. These guys are slaving murderers. Trying to redeem them is like being made Fuehrer so you can redeem the Nazi party. That boat has sailed, hit a radstorm, been set on fire and went down with all hands. I judge you.

But I was shooting up the main lobby with my level 80 something Sole Survivor (who wears a bullets and bones gasmask and the silver shroud outfit) Nate and his epic Synth boyfriend Nick Valentine, when I really started wondering what the hell the actual scientists who were cowering under their desks were thinking of this.

It must have been like goddamn Terminator with a guest appearance from the Shadow Man from Princess and the Frog. 

You have this smashed up, completely wrecked, how-is-this-thing-still-moving Gen2 synth who is just gunning down everything around it with zero problems, and occasionally shouting orders to this- thing in a hat and trenchcoat and skull gasmask that looks like a Voodoo god for the Atomic War generation.

And your soldiers keep coming, and they keep getting gunned down, wave after wave, over and over and nothing is even touching these two and they just keep tearing through your ranks until they start wearing thin, and you’re cowering under your desk, terrified and you don’t have a gun and these things are just killing machines that even the Coursers are no match for.

And finally, all the Institute’s defenses are just little piles of scrap and spare parts and oh god they’re coming in. And you don’t know if you should run or hide and they’ve seen you and you’re shouting every deactivation code you’ve ever heard of in the hopes that they might do something. But the Gen 2 doesn’t even flinch and just looks at you with hellish yellow eyes and that torn up mouth pulls up into something that might be a smile and ‘Heh, yeah, that hasn’t worked for a while, kid.’

And Gasmask just looks at you and makes this horrible noise like a sort of poisoned gas hiss and it’s got this gun, this enormous, black and silver gun with Apex written on the barrel and your voice stutters and chokes- ‘De-activate… unit-’

‘I wouldn’t finish that, kid.’ The synth gently pushes Gasmask’s barrel away. ‘You’ll just piss him off. Now, they’re clearing your lot out at the top level. How’s about you run for it and I’ll try to keep Baron Samedi here from shooting your legs out?’

You run. You might have taken the elevator, or you might just have levitated out of sheer panic. By the time you’re shoved through the transporter and out the other side, it occurs to you you should have picked up new pants along the way.
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-The smog is lighter today, you can see new skyscrapers in the distance. Were they there last week? Wasn’t that one on the Island? You don’t know.

-The old men look at out from the street corner. The game they are playing in ancient, cracked, the pieces anonymous. It could be chess, Go, anything. They are there every day. You’ve seen them all your life. They haven’t changed in 50 years.

-You leave your apartment and go down to the mall int he elevator. Your drop your kids off at the funroom. You scuttle quickly through the stripping sun to the comfort and four walls of the MTR. At least you won’t have to go outside at the other end. The sun is too bright today.

-A new restaurant opens. You don’t recognise the name. You don’t recognise the food. You go in anyway. The waitress smiles a little too brightly, showing her teeth. The anonymous soup is like nothing you’ve ever tasted. You look for it again next time you’re in the area. Something new is there in its place.

-You take the MTR two stops in three minutes. You get out. It’s a nice day. You walk home. Three days later, you’re still walking, you’re maybe within ten miles of the next stop.

September 2017

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