Jace packed the last batch of supplies into his backpack, stood up, and rolled his shoulders.
The duct tape was still wrapped around his right arm, but he peeled it open and checked.
The wound had already closed, leaving only a few pale pink marks.
He wrapped it back up.
“Let’s go.”
The man and the machine left the Red Rocket truck stop and followed the broken road east.
On both sides of the road were ornamental trees that had once been carefully planted.
Now they had long since grown wild into a messy stretch of woodland.
Dead branches and living ones tangled together, jutting unevenly toward the sky, while a thick layer of fallen leaves covered the ground, soft and spongy underfoot.
A wind blew in from the north, carrying a slight chill.
After walking for about ten minutes, Jace stopped and looked around.
“Codsworth.”
“Here.”
“How much farther to Concord?”
“According to the pre-War map,” Codsworth said, floating over and pointing ahead with one mechanical arm, “it should not be far.
About another ten minutes.”
Jace gave a slight nod and kept walking.
But inwardly, he was muttering to himself.
Judging by the distance in the game, Red Rocket should be very close to Concord.
Just a short walk.
They had already been walking for ten minutes, and he still had not seen a shadow of the town.
He glanced down at the Pip-Boy on his wrist.
The screen was lit, showing the time and radiation levels.
He casually opened the perk chart and looked it over.
Available perk points: 1
Available perks:
Strength, Perception, Intelligence, Agility
He scrolled down a few pages and paused.
No Endurance.
No Charisma.
And of course, no Luck.
In the game, Endurance determined how far you could run and how much damage you could take.
Charisma decided whether talking worked and whether you could haggle successfully.
But those options simply were not on the screen.
Jace stared at the line of text, several thoughts rising in his mind.
So…
this thing could only pour knowledge into him and teach perks?
It could not directly make someone stronger or more handsome?
He scrolled through it again.
They really were not there.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jace closed the interface and said casually, “It’s just…
this thing doesn’t seem as all-powerful as I imagined.”
He thought for a moment.
Gun modification?
Not useful for now.
His gun was enough at the moment, and once he reached Diamond City, he could pay someone to modify it.
Locksmith?
Even less useful.
If he ran into a locked door, he could just smash it open.
If the door would not break, he could smash the wall.
He scrolled down again, and his gaze stopped on Intelligence.
Hacker.
That was something money could not solve, and brute force could not smash open.
If he ran into a locked terminal and did not know how to crack it, then he simply could not crack it.
He tapped it.
The screen flickered.
He opened the perk list again and selected “Hacker” under Intelligence.
Perk acquired: Hacker (Rank 1)
Knowledge transfer complete
Tip: This perk requires hands-on practice for optimal results
Before Jace could react, something suddenly burst open in his mind.
It was not pain.
It was pressure.
As if something had been forcibly shoved into his brain, pushing aside his original thoughts and carving out a place for itself.
Terminal hacking instruction sets, logic for checking code vulnerabilities, quick hexadecimal conversion methods.
None of it felt “learned.” It had been branded directly into his mind, accompanied by waves of numbing dizziness.
Jace pressed a hand to his forehead and swayed slightly.
No wonder the user had to level up first and gain perk points.
Cramming information in like this was already hard to endure once.
“Jace?” Codsworth’s tone changed.
“…I’m fine.” Jace closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and looked down at his hands.
He knew how to hack terminals now.
It was not “knowing where to start.” He simply knew.
Those commands, algorithms, and vulnerabilities were already sitting steadily in his mind.
As long as he wanted to, he could call them up at any time and use them.
Jace stared at the line on the screen.
“Requires hands-on practice for optimal results.”
Then he understood.
This thing did not transfer knowledge.
It transferred memories, but memories that were not his own.
After the transfer, he needed time to adapt, to let his body grow used to those memories.
But when it came to “how to hack a terminal,” he already knew.
“…I’m a little dizzy.”
Codsworth stared into his eyes.
“They flashed again just now.
Brighter than before.”
Jace rubbed his temples.
“Let’s go.”
They continued forward.
A few minutes later, Jace stopped and took the shotgun from his back.
There was a dead tree by the roadside, with a rusted metal sign nailed to its trunk.
Who knew what it had been used for, or how many years ago.
It was about thirty meters away.
He raised the gun and braced it against his shoulder.
The Pip-Boy on his wrist lit up, and that faint crosshair appeared in his vision.
Then his body moved on its own.
It was not that he was “adjusting.” His muscles found the right position by themselves.
The angle against his shoulder, where his left hand held the forend, the point where the stock locked into his shoulder.
None of it required thought.
He did not even know whether the stance was correct, but his body told him: this was right.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A massive blast erupted, making his ears ring.
The recoil slammed into his shoulder, far heavier than he had expected.
His body rocked backward, and he almost lost his footing.
A dent appeared in the metal sign, but it did not punch through.
Jace rubbed his shoulder and grimaced.
“Your stance is correct,” Codsworth said, floating nearby.
“But you did not expect the recoil to be that strong, did you?”
Jace rubbed his shoulder and nodded.
Codsworth’s tone carried a hint of experience.
“A few more shots, and you will get used to it.”
Jace’s shoulder and back were slightly numb.
He gave the gun a few light taps, then put it away.
“Yeah.
I still need more practice.”
“We should keep moving.
We cannot stay on the road too long.
Raiders have people watching the roads.”
They continued forward.
At the end of the road, the outlines of several buildings appeared on the horizon.
They were not tall, but he could tell it was a town.
A few two-story buildings, a church with a pointed steeple, and a larger square building.
The Museum of Freedom.
Jace stopped and stared in that direction for a few seconds.
They had reached Concord.
Using the row of overgrown ornamental trees along the roadside for cover, Jace crept toward the edge of the town.
The fallen leaves underfoot were thick and soft, and they actually swallowed the sound of his steps.
He bent low, doing his best to keep himself hidden in the tree shadows.
Codsworth floated silently behind him.
Once they entered the town, the streets looked even more ruined than they had from a distance.
The windows of the houses on both sides were black.
No, not black.
Sealed shut.
Wooden boards had been nailed across the window frames in all directions.
Some were nailed on carelessly, while others were sealed tight, without even a crack left open.
The doors were the same.
Jace passed a two-story house and tried pushing the door.
It did not move at all.
The boards had been nailed shut from the inside.
He tried the next house.
Same result.
The whole town looked as if someone had deliberately sealed it off.
Doors and windows boarded up, walls covered in messy markings.
Some of them he recognized.
Raider marks, meaning, “Nothing here.
Don’t bother.”
He frowned and kept moving.
After crossing two streets, the outline of the Museum of Freedom drew closer.
On the walls to either side of the entrance hung a semicircular decorative banner.
Another one hung above the door, slightly wider than the two on the sides but the same in style.
Red, blue, and white faded into grayish pale tones, torn in several places along the edges, covered in dust and grime, drooping limply from rusted iron rods.
Three banners, all equally tattered, all equally faded.
Decorations from pre-War American history, now reduced to a blurred shadow.
The street in front of the entrance had only a few rusted-out cars parked crookedly along the roadside.
Most of the doors and windows on both sides were boarded up as well.
But after counting carefully, Jace noticed one door that was different.
It was ajar.
The gap was pitch-black, and he could not tell how deep it went.
Jace withdrew his gaze, lifted his head, and stared at the observation balcony on the third floor of the museum.
There were two Raiders.
One was sitting there, leaning against the railing with a liquor bottle in his hand.
The other had dragged over a chair and was lying back with both legs propped up.
It was hard to tell whether he was asleep or sunning himself.
Jace narrowed his eyes.
This body had excellent vision.
He could see the scar on the seated Raider’s face, along with the pile of empty bottles by his feet.
Good position.
Most of the houses were sealed off, and from the high ground in the center of town, the whole street was in clear view.
Just two people were enough to control this small town.
But they were drinking too casually.
They did not look like they were “occupying” a place at all.
They looked more like they were just passing time.
Jace shifted his gaze around again.
The entire town was as quiet as an empty grave.
No one else.
No patrols.
No sign of any “siege” at all.
The boarded-up doors and windows, along with the “nothing here” marks left by the Raiders, all showed that this place had been picked clean long ago.
Even the Raiders did not want to stay here for long.
They had only left two lookouts on the roof to drink and waste time.
He glanced down at the time displayed on the Pip-Boy on his wrist.
Preston had not arrived yet.
Those refugees had not fled here yet either.
“What are you looking for?” Codsworth floated close to his ear, its voice lowered.
Jace did not answer.
He stared at that door, then glanced up at the two Raiders on the roof.
Was there anyone inside the museum?
If there was, who?
If there was not, what were those two Raiders guarding?
He thought for a moment, took two steps back, and retreated into the shadow of the ruined house.
“Let’s circle around first.”
Jace took Codsworth with him and moved east along the edge of the town.
The road underfoot grew worse and worse, broken bricks and trash mixed together, crunching whenever he stepped on them.
He tried to keep his footsteps light, but he could not move as silently as he had on the fallen leaves.
After about five minutes, a three-story building came into view.
The workhouse.
The sign on the wall was still there.
The paint had all peeled away, but the shapes of the letters were still recognizable.
The front entrance was sealed shut, the wooden planks nailed down tight.
But there was a small alley along the side, and at the end of it was a little door, half-open.
Jace walked over and pushed it.
The door opened.
It was very dark inside, and a musty smell of dust and mold rushed into his face.
He raised his left hand, and the Pip-Boy’s light cut through the darkness.
It was a hallway.
Rooms lined both sides, their doors open, the interiors empty.
Yellowed papers and scraps of cloth were scattered across the floor, and a few rotten quilts, reduced to clumps of cotton, lay piled in the corners.
He walked forward, broken glass crunching under his feet.
At the end of the hallway was a staircase.
It was still standing, but several steps near the top had already broken away.
Jace carefully went around them and climbed up.
The second floor was almost entirely collapsed.
He kept going.
The third floor.
As soon as he stepped onto the last stair, Jace saw them.
Two male corpses.
They were inside an office, dead together with their hands around each other’s throats.
The man on the left had both hands locked around the throat of the man on the right, and the man on the right was doing the same to him.
Both had been reduced to bones, but their poses remained frozen, like a twisted sculpture.
Jace stopped and stared at the two corpses for a few seconds.
“…They took each other down,” he said quietly.
Codsworth floated over without saying anything.
Jace went around them, took a few steps forward, and saw the safe.
It stood against the wall, a little over waist-high, rusted beyond recognition.
The door was shut tight, the combination lock long since broken, leaving only a keyhole.
He looked back at the two corpses.
A ring of keys hung from the belt of the man on the left.
They were rusty, but they looked usable.
Jace crouched down and reached for them.
The bones had loosened long ago.
With the slightest touch, the keys fell and hit the ground with a clatter.
He picked them up, walked back to the safe, and tried them one by one.
The third key.
Click.
The safe opened.
Inside were several stacks of cash.
Pre-War U.S.
dollars, now nothing but wastepaper.
There was also a small jewelry box: a few rings, a necklace, and a pair of earrings.
Gold, silver, and stones that might have been diamonds or might have been glass.
Jace picked up the jewelry box and weighed it in his hand.
“Is this stuff worth anything now?”
Codsworth floated over and took a look.
“Gold and silver are worth something anywhere,” it said.
“Diamonds…
that depends on your luck.
Some people in the Wasteland buy things like this to make other items.
You might get a few caps for them, but do not expect to get rich.”
Jace closed the box and stuffed it into his backpack.
Then he stared at the two corpses in silence for a few seconds.
He stood up and headed back.
As he went downstairs, he kept thinking.
He thought about the two Raiders drinking on the observation balcony.
He thought about this town, quiet as a grave.
He thought about that door that could be entered, and this workhouse that had already been searched.
Back on the first floor, he stopped and leaned against the wall.
“Codsworth.”
“Yes.”
“Those two Raiders.
Do you think they’d be easy to deal with?”
He thought for a moment.
“I want to take them out.”
Codsworth looked at him.
“Why?”
Jace paused.
Why?
Because the Museum of Freedom was where the story began.
Because there should be Power Armor there, a fusion core, and a minigun.
Because those two Raiders were occupying the place, and he could not get in.
But what he said was another reason entirely.
“I saw a crashed Vertibird on the roof of the Museum of Freedom from the third floor of the workhouse.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” lit up.
“A military transport.
There may be good things aboard.
Weapons, ammunition, even Power Armor.
At the very least, there should still be a mounted minigun left on the aircraft.”
“Right.
But with those two Raiders there, I can’t get up there.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” turned.
“Then take them out.”
Jace leaned against the wall, staring at the outline of the museum in the distance.
The two Raiders were still on the balcony, one lying down and one sitting, another round of bottles already in their hands.
“A frontal rush won’t work.”
Codsworth floated beside him.
“Wait until night.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” shifted.
“At night?
Are you sure they will sleep?”
Jace did not answer directly.
He pointed toward the museum entrance.
“See that fire barrel?”
To the left of the entrance stood an iron barrel about waist-high.
Rust had eaten several holes through its body, and the inside was pitch-black, but some unburned firewood and oil-stained rags were still piled around the rim.
“The fuel is still there.
If any Raider is willing to stand guard at night, he’ll definitely come down to light it.
Not for warmth, but for light.
Once it’s dark, we take him down, use his clothes as a disguise, and get inside.”
Codsworth followed his gaze and went silent for a second.
“What if they do not light it?”
“Then no one is standing guard.
We sneak straight in.”
Codsworth’s “eyes” curved slightly, the expression it used when it agreed.
“Two possibilities, and a plan for each.
You have thought this through.”
Jace did not reply.
He looked up at the sky.
The sun had already shifted west, and a gray dimness was starting to spread across the horizon.
They still had to wait a few more hours.
“Let’s find somewhere to hide first.”
Jace pushed off from the wall, took a few steps back, and slipped into the shadow of an abandoned house.
He took off his backpack and opened it.
First, the ammunition.
10mm pistol rounds.
Factory-made military stock, shiny brass casings.
Thirty rounds from 111, plus the twelve he had found at Red Rocket, made forty-two in total.
He had used five over the past few days.
Three Mole Rats, plus two test shots.
Thirty-seven left.
Enough for several exchanges, if he was accurate.
He took out the homemade pipe pistols.
Three of them, crudely made but still usable.
About twenty-five matching .38 rounds, reloads, worse than factory rounds by a fair margin, but still better than nothing.
Shotgun shells.
Five.
The double-barrel fired two shots before reloading, so that was only enough for two and a half rounds.
Rifle rounds.
.308 caliber, ten rounds.
He had not tested the rifle yet, so he did not know how accurate it was.
He arranged the ammunition in order, then dug out the pile of things he had taken from the burrow.
Jace stared at the pile for a few seconds.
Frag mines, four.
Frag grenades, three, American pineapple-style, their surfaces speckled with rust.
At the very bottom was the nuke mine, its yellow-and-black casing printed with the radiation symbol.
Just looking at it made his scalp prickle.
He reached out, then pulled his hand back.
How was he supposed to handle this thing?
What if touching the wrong part set it off?
“I will do it.” Codsworth floated over.
Codsworth used a mechanical arm to pinch the edge of a frag mine and slowly lift it, setting each item down on the floor one by one while explaining.
“With mines, hold them from the side.
Do not touch the pressure trigger on top.
With grenades, hold the body and do not pull the pin.
The nuke mine’s trigger is on top as well, so hold it from the side, and do not drop it.”
Jace looked down at the pile.
Four mines, three grenades, one nuke mine.
Valuable, but deadly.
He wrapped each one in rags and packed them back into the backpack.
Once he was done, he stared at the backpack for a few seconds, then gently moved it into the corner, a little farther away from himself.
“…I’ll leave it there for now.
I’ll carry it when we move.”
Then came the medical supplies.
Stimpaks.
Seven.
He had brought them from 111 and had not used them yet.
RadAway.
Five.
Also unused.
Water.
A few bottles left, enough for two or three days.
He stared at the Stimpaks for a few seconds.
The wound on his right arm had already closed, so he did not need them.
But if something went wrong tonight, these would be what kept him alive.
He moved the Stimpaks to the outermost layer of the backpack, where he could reach them with one hand.
He looked around, and his gaze fell to the floor.
Broken mirror shards.
They had fallen from a mirror in a clothing store after it shattered, scattering across the floor.
He crouched down and sorted through them piece by piece.
Too small would not work.
He could not hold it.
Too large would be too easy to spot.
After searching through a few pieces, he picked one about the size of his thumb, with fairly even edges.
Jace lifted it and held it up to the light.
It could reflect a person’s outline.
“A mirror?” Codsworth asked.
Jace nodded.
“For tonight.
I’ll hide by the door and use this to check whether anyone is behind it.”
Codsworth was silent for a second.
“Have you done this before?”
Jace paused.
Before?
Back in school, yes.
Using a mirror to peek around a corner and check where the teacher was.
An old trick.
But he did not explain.
He simply tucked the mirror shard carefully into the side pocket of his backpack.
“That should do it,” he said, slinging the backpack back over his shoulders.
Then he sat down against the wall and stared at the Museum of Freedom in the distance.
The gray dimness on the horizon deepened bit by bit.
Wait.