Fallout:Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion

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No one knew exactly how many of those wretches had died the day they decided to attack us. The river, once a simple stream of water, was now blocked by a mass of corpses, both human and canine. The sheer number of bodies had attracted hundreds of irradiated animals, drawn by the stench of death. While we awaited reinforcements, we sharpened our aim with rifles, taking shots at the mutant beasts feasting on the dead. Lanius, ever ruthless, only concerned himself with burning the bodies of the fallen legionaries, leaving the rest of the dead as a warning. The stench of death clung to the air, and the vehicles stalled in the river served as barriers, preventing the water from washing away the bodies.

The scene wasn't just a victory; it was a message to anyone daring to defy the Legion. The bodies, rotting under the sun, would stand as a grim reminder to the tribals, a testament that even in death, the Legion left its mark.

The remaining cohorts finally arrived at the camp, bringing trophies of their own victories. Severed heads of irradiated beasts and chains of captured slaves—once raiders who had dared to challenge the Legion's lands—were proudly displayed by the triumphant legionaries. Yet, no matter how impressive those trophies were, they paled in comparison to the monument we had left on the battlefield: a towering wall of corpses, the result of the massacre we had inflicted.

As we waited for the rest of the cohorts to assemble, I took the opportunity to make several trips back and forth between my settlement and the camp, using the Vertibird to transport ammunition and new machine guns. We had run dangerously low on bullets after nearly an hour of continuous fire. Some of the machine guns had overheated to the point of melting, rendering them useless, but my assault rifles had proven their worth in combat. Lanius, impressed by their performance, had already placed additional orders after the battle, revising the tribute my tribe was to deliver this year.

I recall the moment Lanius's eyes widened with astonishment when I explained that, with just ten percent of my harvest this year, I could feed the Legion for months. In that instant, I knew I had earned his respect, not just as a competent centurion, but as someone crucial to the Legion's future. Lanius, a man who valued merit above all else, now saw me as an indispensable asset, even if my military prowess wasn't the most outstanding. This trust was solidified when he placed me in command of several centurions' cohorts, putting me in charge of fifteen hundred legionaries—once again, Lanius handed me new recruits.

However, gaining the loyalty of these centurions and legionaries would be the next challenge. Fortunately, it wouldn't be difficult. All of them wanted to be in my good graces, whether it was to buy food, weapons at special discounts, or even armor. They knew that, with me, they could get what they needed at prices only a friend or ally would receive. I held the power, and they were well aware. Now, the game was to solidify those loyalties and ensure each one understood that, under my leadership, they would gain far more than just battles—they would gain benefits that no other leader could offer.

By the time the full force of the Legion was gathered, including the recruits who were the last to arrive, our numbers had swelled to twenty thousand. The same number we had faced against the Hangdogs, who were now preparing for a defensive war after their attack had failed so disastrously.

Crossing the river at another point, we advanced into the enemy camp, which they had hastily abandoned after their failed attempt to breach our defenses. At first glance, all we found were scattered remnants of engine parts and bits of metal, most of them worthless. Nothing of real value for the Legion or for me, as these scraps couldn't be repurposed for weapons or ammunition.

With the Vertibird, we conducted frequent aerial surveys of the region. From the sky, everything appeared calm, except for a few small villages scattered across the land, attempting to defend themselves against the Legion. However, their efforts were in vain against the overwhelming numbers commanded by Lanius. The resistance was weak and poorly organized, and though some managed to build barricades and dig in, nothing could stop the advance of our forces.

However, the real threat wasn't the humans. In these lands, the most constant danger came from the wild dogs—massive, aggressive beasts much larger and more muscular than any normal dog. These creatures were a scourge. Their bite was powerful enough to shatter bones or even rip entire limbs off. They often attacked in packs, making them a challenge even for the best-trained legionaries. Their thick skin and strong muscles allowed them to survive multiple gunshots before going down.

I remember one instance where a group of dogs ambushed one of our patrols. Despite being well-armed, the legionaries were quickly overwhelmed. It wasn't until one of my men, equipped with power armor and a flamethrower, intervened that the ambush was repelled. The beasts retreated, but not without leaving a trail of blood and mutilated bodies in their wake.

Finally, we reached Colorado Springs, a densely populated city that belonged to one of the tribes the Hangdogs had conquered in their wars to control Denver and its surrounding areas. The resistance was fierce, but once my men in power armor entered, the siege was broken within minutes. With dozens of automatic rifles and four flame-thrower-equipped armors, all resistance was either destroyed or incinerated.

But our true destination lay ahead—Cheyenne Mountain, the location of Vault 0.

"So now you seek permission to inspect that Vault..." Lanius's voice was deep, almost like distant thunder, heavy with authority. "And how can I be sure you haven't already been there? Those power armors with flamethrowers you've deployed… they're not part of the known Brotherhood arsenal. You could've acquired them from the very Vault you speak of."

His gaze pierced through me, as if he was trying to read every thought in my head. I knew that any hesitation or lie would be fatal.

"I know, Legate, I am bold... but not bold enough to defy orders and enter enemy territory without authorization," I replied, keeping my tone respectful yet firm. "Those armors—I designed them myself."

Lanius was silent for a moment, weighing my words. Finally, he spoke again, his voice carrying that brutal wisdom that defined him.

"So, if we decide to enter that Vault… we'll find it sealed, correct?" His tone was more a statement than a question, demanding a clear response.

"It's possible, Legate," I said bluntly. "I can't guarantee no one else has opened it before us or that it's still sealed. But if we're lucky, that Vault could contain weapons that might change the course of our campaigns."

Lanius nodded slowly, processing the information. "Luck is a fickle resource, Centurion. I don't trust it. But in these times, every resource, no matter how uncertain, is worth considering. Mars watches our actions, and only those who act with both boldness and wisdom earn his favor."

The legate turned back to the map, his eyes tracing the routes that would lead us to the Vault with precision. His presence in the room was nearly crushing, an unstoppable force in itself. Then, his voice rumbled once more, low but with undeniable authority.

"Very well… go."

"Thank you, Legate. I will bring news soon."

The next morning, we boarded the Vertibird, ready for the mission. Seven of my legionaries accompanied us, all in their power armor, prepared for anything. We flew toward what we assumed was the Vault, deep within the mountains.

When we landed in the area, the air was filled with a faint hum of radiation. I shook the Geiger counter I had with me and checked it.

"The radiation is a bit higher than normal… though not dangerous… you see those bottles of water? It's a brew I made using natural plants to help combat the radiation," I said, ensuring everyone was aware—though in truth, it was diluted Rad-X, courtesy of the Brotherhood.

We disembarked from the Vertibird, and I made sure everyone drank the water. Then, there it was: a metal structure embedded in the mountain. But what stood out the most was the door—completely open, as if someone had been here before.

We approached the entrance of the Vault, and the first thing that caught my attention was the door—or rather, the absence of it. Something had ripped it off completely, and judging by the massive crater nearby, it wasn't just any explosion.

I crouched down and examined the shattered metal. "This wasn't the work of conventional explosives." I stood up, pointing to the enormous scar in the ground. "Someone used a tactical nuclear bomb to blow this door open. There's no other way to explain the damage. This door is between three and five meters thick. There's no way any tribe, even with all their arsenal, could've made a dent in it."

Drusus, observing the destruction, grunted. "Who would use such a weapon just to get into this place? What's in here that's worth that much?"

"That's what we're here to find out," I replied, my mind still processing the scale of the effort someone had made to open this Vault. "If someone used such a devastating weapon, it means whatever's inside is either extremely valuable… or extremely dangerous."

We turned on the lights of our power armor and proceeded deeper, stepping over the wreckage that had once been the Vault's door.

"Centurion, I've found a terminal," I heard Cato's voice crackle through the communicator, breaking the oppressive silence.

I quickly approached and checked the terminal screen. "Vault Purpose: survival after a nuclear war," I read aloud. Nothing new. Frustrated, I stood up as we continued our search.

Further along, the scene shifted dramatically. Clear signs of a fierce battle lay before us. Destroyed robots littered the ground, some with plasma burns. The vault walls bore scars of the fight: plasma scorch marks and holes caused by energy weapons. Among the wreckage, we found corpses—super mutants in power armor, ghouls, and bodies wearing Brotherhood of Steel power armor, but of a model I had never seen.

Cato nudged one of the power armor suits with his foot. "The Brotherhood again... What the hell were they doing here?"

I frowned, examining the armor. Even after years, the power indicator was still faintly active. I crouched down, inspecting the panel. "This doesn't make sense... These power suits shouldn't have energy after all this time."

"By the looks of the bodies… Humans, ghouls, and super mutants fought together here," I muttered, as the gravity of the situation sank in. "This wasn't a simple skirmish. It was an alliance, and what they fought… were the robots."

"An alliance between humans and mutants?" Drusus asked, his tone incredulous. "That's not normal."

"No, it's not," I replied. "Whatever they were fighting here, it was bad enough to unite enemies. This wasn't just survival; it was a desperate stand."

Not far from the destroyed robots, we found a still-functional elevator. Without hesitation, we descended deeper into the complex. As we moved, we carefully cleared each room. The signs of battle were everywhere: walls torn apart by plasma, destroyed robots, and decaying bodies scattered in the cold, dark corridors.

Our most significant discovery was a cryogenic chamber. Inside were several human bodies, still clad in Vault-Tec suits, mummified despite the cold. Something had gone catastrophically wrong. A nearby terminal confirmed our suspicions: the cryogenic systems had suffered a fatal malfunction, and the dead we found were part of the technical team tasked with repairing what they called "The Calculator."

As we explored further, we found terminals filled with advanced technology data, blueprints, reports on special alloys, and details about automated production. However, there was no direct information about The Calculator. Some parts of the vault were collapsed, blocking our way.

After finishing our sweep of the second level, we descended once more. On this level, we found a blocked door. It took all of us working together to move it, revealing a hallway filled with intact, though deactivated, robots. At the end of the hall, the control room stood, and inside, we found something more—a severely damaged power armor suit missing an arm, along with three holotapes labeled "The General," "My Decision," and "Final Log."

I approached one of the terminals and inserted the first holotape.

"For the love of..." I muttered, shocked and disgusted by what appeared on the screen.

A Brotherhood of Steel general had been captured by The Calculator, an AI composed of fused consciousnesses, originally designed to govern after the apocalypse. However, due to a lack of maintenance, it had become corrupted. Instead of rebuilding society, The Calculator had concluded that total genocide was the only solution for all life.

The general's fate was horrific. He had been lobotomized, his brain extracted and placed inside a robot to utilize his strategic knowledge. The screen showed an image of the general before the operation, and then a grotesque sight—his brain floating in a jar, trapped inside a machine.

"What a horrible way to die," I murmured, horrified by the transformation.

I switched to the next holotape, titled "My Decision." I was eager to understand what had happened here and how it might affect us.

The second holotape played a security camera recording. We saw one of the spiked power armor suits we had encountered earlier. It was visibly damaged, with burns and dents. The knight wearing it was limping, one arm amputated, yet he moved with brutal determination, gripping a plasma rifle in his remaining arm.

The knight approached a series of containers housing several brains floating in liquid. His remaining finger pointed at them, accusingly, before he fired plasma bursts, destroying each one. The brains exploded instantly, sending fragments of metal and fluid flying.

Suddenly, the cameras refocused on the same power armor as the injured warrior turned and fired at the main control console. The plasma hit hard, destroying the terminal, and the recording cut out.

The room fell silent. I looked at my men, who were processing what they had just seen.

"Looks like that was his final act," I murmured. "To destroy The Calculator, or at least try to..."

I inserted the final holotape, watching as the screen flickered and the system recognized it. A man's voice, tired and heavy, began to play through the speakers. Each word carried the weight of impossible decisions.

"The Calculator is destroyed… for better or worse. Every moment it took me to make this decision was another innocent life those machines could have taken. Maybe these records will never be seen by another living soul. And if someone does find them, I don't know if they'll understand what I had to do. I certainly didn't know half of what I know now when I was recruited from my tribe…"

There was a pause, followed by ragged breathing. It was clear the speaker was on the edge, physically and mentally.

"Please… what we did… what I did… it was for the future of everyone. Even for those who gave me the reason to fight, though they're no longer here. There has to be hope somewhere… They know me only as The Warrior, and I am a proud paladin of the Midwest Brotherhood of Steel."

The recording ended with the image of the paladin, standing firm in a military salute. It spoke of sacrifice, struggle, and the unbearable burden he had carried to the end.

We turned, and the damaged power armor nearby suddenly took on new significance—it belonged to The Warrior. This vault had become his tomb.

With the tension thick in the air, I led my team down the desolate hallways, using the lights of our power armor to cut through the darkness. The cold metallic reflection from the floor illuminated more Brotherhood corpses scattered around, all victims of a fierce battle. Their torn, scorched armor told the tale of a resistance that wasn't enough.

Among the human corpses, countless destroyed robots lay in pieces—limbs scattered, torsos cracked open, with circuits and wires dangling. The bipedal war machines of The Calculator, designed for combat, lay in ruins. Their rusted metal and disabled weapons testified to the immense power they had faced. Many of the robots had been destroyed by explosions or precision attacks, likely The Warrior's work.

As we neared the facility's core, the damage grew more severe. Brotherhood members lay close together, as if they had fought side by side to the last breath. Finally, we reached the control room and found what we had been searching for.

I approached the main terminal, connecting a storage device I had brought for this occasion. "Cato, make sure no one disturbs us," I said, quickly typing on the console.

The terminal's lights flickered weakly, displaying collapsed systems and fragmented data. The old machines of The Calculator still held valuable information, though time and chaos had taken their toll. I navigated through the files, uncovering reports, blueprints, and details on automated production of weapons and robots, many still intact.

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