Procedure 1: The Survivors Stories

Two men sat on shitty bar stools, in a shitty bar, drinking shitty alcohol, and telling shitty stories.

“Seriously? Genetic fusion with guinea pigs? Why do you know all of this, Survivor?” A skeptical voice asked.

“I’ve traveled a lot through this wasteland, Joe. I’ve probably been around the world at least once. I’ve gone into a lot of different Vaults, and I’ve even had the pleasure of being able to enter one of the thousand Bunkers before. Nice place, they are. The rest of it is just what I’ve been able to piece together from everything I’ve heard. It’s just hearsay. But I’ve been to thousands of actual Vaults anyway, and I’m planning on returning to the wasteland to find another soon. Those were just a couple of the stories I have.” Survivor said.

He took a shot of shitty vodka, slid the shot glass away, and picked up the bottle. He took a swig.

“Why do you even risk going out there, anyway? What’s so special about those damn Vaults?” Joe asked.

“....Joe, why do you think they’re called Vaults, and not bunkers, like the first thousand?” Survivor asked, putting the bottle back down and frowning.

“How the hell would I know? All I know is, the bunkers are for survivors, and the Vaults are for testing some seriously fucked up shit.” Joe said, taking the chance to snatch the bottle of vodka.

“Well, you aren’t exactly wrong. But that doesn’t make you right, either. They’re called Vaults because they hold something valuable. The only reason I’m able to live here is because I’ve made this stupid city what it is today. I did that with the information I got after exploring the Vaults. They contain things you couldn’t begin to imagine. Do you know what a particle accelerator is?” Survivor asked, staring at his empty hand. He grumbled and ordered another drink.

“No. ‘Course not. That science shit’s your kinda stuff.” Joe said, waving his hand dismissively.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Well, one of the really cool things it can do is, in a very simple explanation, turn one element into another kind. Like turn lead into gold.” Survivor said.

Joe choked on his drink.

“Kack! Holy fuck, wait, hold up a second! Does that mean we can turn anything into anything else we want? We can make infinite fucking food with that shit, right? Why haven’t we done that yet?!” Joe exclaimed.

“A normal particle accelerator can’t make large amounts like that. It does it to minute amounts of particles, after all.” Survivor said, shaking his head.

“Well, god damnit… Of course it does...Nothing’s ever that fuckin easy.” Joe replied, sighing.

“Joe, I’m not finished with my explanation. You asked why I go to Vaults, right? Well, apparently, according to this file I got from another Vault I explored, the Vault I’m going to be heading to has something that can help. They were working on molecular desconstructi-No, wait. It was deconstruction and reconstruction of any object at the subatomic level, on a massive scale. So, what you were imagining, with that transformation thing? I might be able to find some information on that where I’m headed.” Survivor said.

“Well, shit. No wonder everyone respects you so much. Even those rabid wasteland fuckers do. The savages.” Joe said, whistling in amazement.

“It’s still dangerous out there. There’s still monsters out there to worry about. Or worse…” Survivor sighed.

“So, why are you going, anyway, if it really is that dangerous? You have more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life, don’t you?” Joe asked.

“I’m a survivor. I want a better quality of life in the wasteland, if I have to live here. Plus, I just find it fun to learn and explore. Anyway, I’m going to go see Helmsman. I’m running a little low on lower caliber ammo, and my gear needs some looking at.” Survivor said, getting up and walking out.

Joe sat there for a second.

“Hey, wait!! You left me with the bar tab, you bastard!!!” Joe yelled.

“Survivor drinks here for free, remember.” The barkeeper said.

“Huh? Oh, right. Lucky bastard.” Joe said

“Maybe you should do something with your life, other than complain.” The barkeeper said.

“Who’s the one protecting the city again, Milk?” Joe said, flashing a grin.

“The guards.” Milk answered.

“I’m a guard! I help with keeping order! How am I not doing something with my life?!” Joe asked.

Milk shrugged.