» Fri May 27, 2011 9:35 pm I yawned, and forced myself up. How long had I slept? Rubbing my eyes a moment I reached for my glasses; only to hit something cold and solid. The clunking had stopped.
Purely out of reflex, I found a plasma pistol in my hand almost instantly; pointing it at the object.
"Good. Morning. Sir." Came the slow metallic reply, "It. Is. Currently. 10:30 am. Weather: temperate. And. Cloudy. Radiation. Levels. Nominal. Would. You. Care. For. Some. Music?" The protectron tuned into the Enclave Radio. The upbeat traditional American music was relaxing.
I gave a sigh, taking a moment to let my heart rate settle; tapping the side of the pistol against my head in a vain attempt to wake up faster. Letting some of the post-shock haze filter out of my head, I repeated searching for my glasses. Grabbing them off the side table I put them on and headed to the kitchen.
Let me back up a moment; I've been fortunate enough to have stumbled across an old bunker. Its apparent design was for saving a few officials after the bombs hit. Apparently it had worked; as I found no corpses inside. Who ever had lived here had either never made it to the shelter; or left.
Two and a half years I have spent here. Fixing this, patching that, rewiring some damn other thing. All in all I was rather proud of myself. Air filtration was running smoothly, with 98% efficiency. Water purification was? well it was broken I never did figure out that infernal contraption. Power was plentiful; I was able to tie into the grid from the nearby National Guard depot. Systems, water filtration aside, were running in near mint condition.
Cleanliness was another issue however. I banged my feet against small piles of scrap metal and assorted firearms as I made my way down the halls. In the years of my scavenging I had successfully restored previously mentioned protectron; who I affectionately dubbed Wilson, and a fully functional Mr. Handy; his job of course being carrying a recovered enclave supply crate that I used to gather my salvage in. I was close to restoring a second Protectron; but hesitated to complete him. Wilson knocked over enough as it was without two of those terrors running around.
I arrived in my kitchen and opened the fridge? empty? Searching the supply crates around the room; also empty. Twenty minutes of searching yielded a reward; half a can of Pork'n Beans! Again for the sake of perspective; I had in my little facility more munitions and ammunition that the Brotherhood of Steel's citadel, and possibly even more then the outcasts? but I was never allowed into their facility to be sure. I've personally never handled anything with more kick back then a plasma rifle, I'll keep to my precious silenced 10mm pistol, and my plasma pistol. They've served me well for these past long years.
After eating what little I had left; it was back to work. I knew later I would have to go hunting, or risk starving. Perhaps I'd find a nice plump mole rat? or even a bloat fly would make a reasonable meal? last week I had the most horrible luck. Nothing but Radscorpions outside my door! But I regress, today I was occupied attempting to repair my three, yes, three; partially functioning sentry bots! I use them as body guards when ever traders or wastelanders wander to my doorstep. A little secret though? they don't' actually work. I've gotten the visual sensors back online; and the voice module on one; so they appear menacing! But short of that they may as well be statues.
It was about oh, noon, when I was working on the motor systems for sentrybot 1; when I heard gunfire outside. .308 round, unmistakable. My hand flew to my pistol out of instinct? and I waited. A short time and another shot; moving away? No, it was nearly against my door. A few ricochets; returning fire? I'd have to investigate?
