Chapter Text
It started with a strange broadcast.
“What if there was a place with all the zip of Nuka Cola? Wouldn’t that be the cheer-cheer-cherriest place in the whole world?”
The decision to go alone was automatic. Maxx needed the time to think. The familiar cola jingle had sent a wave of nostalgia through her. It was enough to overrule good common sense.
Checking at the coordinates in the pip boy, it seemed the trip from the Red Rocket to the transit station would take about three days. Whether or not she’d actually make it all the way to the park proper would depend on what she found at the depot.
“Only take what you absolutely need.” Her long-dead father’s words were still crisp in her mind.
Her pack was covered in dirt, grime, and dust. Flecks of dried blood looked like paint overspray, and she could almost make herself believe it was. She sighed with a quiet harrumph, wrenching the bag open.
Why am I even doing this? What would even be left out there?
She knew the truth of it. It was time for a break. Time to let her mind unravel itself. Time to stop taking care of everyone else. Keeping her cards close had always been easy. No one would realize she was leaving-leaving.
The pack bulged with the bare essentials. It was still early morning when she slid the worn leather jacket on, tugging forcefully at the zipper. The trunk at the foot of her bed groaned open, and she stared at the armor for a long while in the quiet darkness.
She’d kept it sparse, opting for lighter, more flexible pieces. It might have been sacrilegious, but it was the reason she’d kept Kellogg’s armor. There was something unsettling about the similarities between them. Sometimes Maxine wondered if she was becoming the same kind of monster…
She clicked chest clasps for the pauldron into place. The belt buckles jingled as she tightened the harness on her leg. Time in the wasteland had made her anticipate the weight of the revolver at her hip. The utility pockets strapped to her belt had to be checked before fastening the wide leather strip around her waist. In the event that she’d have to leave the pack behind, the small amount of gear tucked inside the pouches was her insurance. With one fluid motion she swept the olive hood from the bottom of the trunk. Tugging it over her head, she swept the stray hairs behind her ears.
The guns came last. There was something comforting about the heft of the revolver. A sense of safety in the rifle on her back. Maxx preferred putting distance between herself and the target. Her hand to hand was limited to defense- she used her smaller size and agility to avoid the blows until she found an opening to run. It was a good plan until she couldn’t get away.
A gloved hand met with the deep grooves in her neck, hidden under the hood. Phantom pains made her face contort, and she shooed the memories away with the wave of a hand. Deathclaws were faster than they looked.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the rolling hills in the distance. It was time to go. The heavy soles of her boots were lead on her feet, but she pressed onward. The Red Rocket grew smaller and smaller in the distance until she could no longer make out the bright red of the letters.
“Where the river’s made of quantum, and the mountain tops are fizz. With fun and games and rides for all the moms and pops and kids.”
Maxx had been right- the trip took exactly three uneventful days. The oversized soda-shaped structures loomed over the broken ground casting long shadows in the late afternoon light. She’d given the actual station a wide berth, sticking to the very outskirts of the grounds.
There was a knot in her gut as she watched the tiny figures marching around in their green armor.
Gunners.
Maxx swore under her breath, keeping her body low. The rifle slid easily from her shoulder and she knelt down, steadying the length of the barrel on a fallen tree. The scope brought the tiny figures into focus, the barrel of the gun slowly sliding back and forth. She counted the visible targets, and assumed several more.
A beam of red sent the panic through her body and out her limbs.
Oh good, they brought along an Assaultron.
By the look of things, the robot was geared up for a fight. This put her at a disadvantage-the automaton would have to be the first target. It would most likely take several shots to bring it down, giving the Gunners time to make their way to her. She pulled the barrel off of the dead log, taking a moment to formulate a plan.
The bolt clicked and she counted the bullets, her left hand deftly navigating the pouch at her waist. The bullets were heavy in her hand as she slid them into the chamber, silently counting. Carefully, she propped the rifle up and slid the pack from her shoulders. With a good shove, it disappeared under the tree trunk and out of sight.
Can always come back for it later.
Her heartbeat quickened as she lifted the rifle back into position. A deep breath in, a deep breath out as she steadied the barrel against the timber.
Take the shot.
Her hands wavered, the rest of her body tensing up. Panic was rising from her guts into her throat. It was beginning to drown her.
Take the shot.
Take. The. Shot.
Take the shot!
Cold sweat beaded her forehead. Blood pounded in her ears, the dull roar filling her head. A frenetic energy buzzed through her. Fight or flight. The gun shook in her hands, vibrating against the aged wood.
Breathe. You’ve got to breathe.
With a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw she shoved the scope to her eye. The barrel tracked its target. A quick intake of breath and a gentle squeeze of the trigger…
All at once the natural sounds flooded her ears as tensed muscles went slack. The bullet had connected solidly. Blue violet sparks sprang from the assaultron’s neck leaving streaks against the growing dim.
She pulled and flipped the bolt, slamming the solid wood back into her shoulder. She squinted through the scope, ignoring the shouts and sounds of gunfire in the distance. The rifle was gliding, tracking the movement of the damaged robot.
One more…
Eye and trigger moved in unison as she squeezed, watching the bullet ricochet off of the chest armor. The assaultron’s fists were spinning, the red light growing brighter in the distance.
Shit!
The bolt clicked faster, the gun wavering with frantic energy.
C’mon god damnit…
Her tongue between her teeth, Maxx squeezed the trigger a third time. The next shot found its target, the ghost of the red explosion hovering in her vision. She blinked hard and swung the barrel around to acquire the next target.
Seven shots, Xavier. Make ‘em count.
Fighting from a distance meant more decisions had to be made faster. Where would the next attack come from? Had her location been revealed? What was the biggest threat on the field? Run or stay
The seven shots went quickly. Several found their intended targets. The rest, like so many other things, had been lost to the Waste.
Two Gunners remained. The speed of her oncoming attackers left no time to reload. Instead, Maxx let the rifle strap slide from her shoulder and made a dash across the grass. Her back slammed into the rough bark and she grimaced, one hand on the revolver, the other clutching a grenade at her belt.
How close?
Slowly she peered around the right side of the tree. A bullet zinged past, splintering the wood just below her chin.
Real goddamned close!
There were two of them picking their way through the tall grass and debris. They were closing in, both outweighing her by a significant margin. She could hear them grunting and swearing. Maxx knelt, peering around the opposite side. They were less than twenty feet from her.
No grenades then.
Her face twisted in annoyance. After dropping her left hand from the grenade, she used it to push herself up. Maxx tore the revolver from the holster with her right hand, sighting and shooting in an instant.
The head of the closest gunner exploded into a wet red mess. The look of horror on his partner’s face burned itself into her eyes as the .44 caliber bullet tore through his chest. He was like a ragdoll flung by an insolent child. A cloud of dust mushroomed around the gunner’s limp form, illuminated by the last rays of sunlight.
Maxx stood over the body, mesmerized by the tiny tributaries of blood as they streamed out from the star shaped hole and down his side.
The fluttering wings and angry crow call shook her from her stasis. She snapped back to reality, eyes scanning the darkness for movement. A chill wind blew across the landscape sending goosebumps down her arms. There were no unnatural sounds in the distance. No movement. Everything had gone quiet.
***
She slung the pack and rifle onto her back, stepping lightly and staying low before crossing the threshold of the ancient parking lot. There were no signs of life as she crept around the oversized pop bottles. Nuka Cola’s signature white script coated nearly everything in and around the station. Billboards, busses, signage- even the trash cans were overflowing with Nuka-branded garbage.
“Perfectly preserved.” She chuckled to herself reaching for the doors to the tram station. She swung the door open silently, hand on the butt of her revolver. Her grip tightened at the sight of a man, his clothes filthy and tattered.
“Jesus. Shit. They’re gonna die. Those bastards have my family. You… you gotta help me. Please.”
“Well it turns out there’s a place with all the zip of Nuka Cola. Come on down to Nuka World and see if for yourself!”
Maxx was doing it for the caps. That’s what she’d told the man with the sob story as he lay bleeding out in the tram station. But it was more than that. A morbid curiosity had taken up refuge in her brain, and the vault dweller couldn’t let it go.
He’d given her the password to turn the power back on. She’d given him a quick last glance, swinging herself into the otherwise empty car. There was a feeling of dread sinking through her innards, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.
“You’re here for a reason. You’ve got to be.”
There had been such faith in his voice. Maxine couldn’t pretend that Harvey- that was his name- hadn’t reminded her that she too used to have hope
“Please stand clear of the doors. Por favor mantengase alejado de las puertas.”
The sudden sound from the loudspeaker made her jump. With a hiss, the monorail doors closed, and the tram slid out of the station and into the night.
The ride was surprisingly smooth. Grass dotted the deadened landscape. Rocky hills rose on either side of the park property giving way to mostly flat and grassy terrain. She could see the track winding its way out ahead. To the left: ruined highway overpasses and empty land. To the right: The colorfully engineered architecture of Nuka World.
The prerecorded voice over the loudspeaker was spouting safety warnings. Maxx laughed aloud. The overly cheerful announcer continued, naming landmarks, sharing useless trivia, and talking up park amenities.
A tree in the distance glowed orange with cages and candles, and the feeling of dread poured back into her chest. She pictured Harvey’s broken face and breathed sigh of annoyance- more at herself than him.
Just as the chipper voice had begun to address the fabulous amenities of Nuka Town, U.S.A. it was cut off by angry static. A gruff, masculine voice had replaced the announcer’s saccharine lilt.
“So, Harvey bagged another sucker to help his “family.” Can’t believe that gag still works.”
An audible growl escaped her, fists balling in rage. The leather gloves groaned in protest.
“I only got a minute so you better listen and listen good. The name’s Gage. Porter Gage. And the truth is, you’ve been set up. This ain’t no rescue mission, it’s a death trap.”
Her sunburned cheeks turned deeper crimson as she ground her teeth.
“But if you somehow make it through, I have an interesting offer for you. In the meantime, have fun and put on a good show. I’ll be watching.”
“I won’t give up on them… It’s gotta be a sign, right? So please, I’m begging you. They’re running out of time.”
Too bad Harvey was full of shit.