People consider their thoughts to be one of the most private things they have. What it actually is, is a bunch of nerves speaking to each other through chemical reactions. Meat, that thinks.
To Fredrick, the brain was an open book. He spent most of his life studying the whys and hows of human thought and consensus to create the full-body conversion process. So, mapping Darrel's mind and reading his memories was a piece of cake.
Unfortunately for Darrel, the process required him to be awake. Franklin could trigger short-term memory loss and make him forget the experience, but the trauma of the event will be buried in his subconscious, possibly as arachnophobia.
Once the brain mapping was done, Franklin scrapped the room. He will need the materials to help with his heist.
This chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel was an isolationist faction that stayed in their bunker. They routinely sent out scouts and knights for supplies, but they had little territory besides this bunker and a few outposts. They used to occupy the Helios One Solar Farm north of Novac, but the NCR drove them out in 2276 five years.
The bunker itself used to be a United States Air Force command and control center for VIPs to come to during times of war. It was equipped with something called the DERVISH camouflage system. DERVISH was designed to protect against radar detection and missile targeting by pumping out small particulates into the air above the bunker into the Hidden Valley. This system was failing, though as the Brotherhood has been using it constantly to mask their patrol routes. Franklin might have had a hard time even finding the bunker in the first place if it wasn’t for the Brotherhood's carelessness.
This information and more was stored on their computer network. A network that the doctor has already pilfered and infested with backdoors, spyware, and explicit images of their founder, Elder Maxson.
The next thing Franklin was going to steal was their guns. Most of them, at least. That was why he needed to map Darrel's brain. He was an assistant to Knight Torres, the quartermaster. Torres was in charge of the Brotherhood’s weapons, ammo, power armor, and their maintenance.
Torres would have all the information about these items, but she was too high of a target to brain map. Darrel had a similar level of knowledge and a lot less securtiy. The unfortunate initiate would wake up in a few hours with no knowledge of this event and most of his belongings missing, but Franklin’s drone and new nanites would be hidden by then. This will undoubtedly put the Brotherhood on high alert. They might even find his drone.
But they will never find the nanites. Not until it's too late.
______
“GOOOOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!!!”
“What the fuck is that?” Cass asked grogally, having just been woken up by the sound of ED-E playing some recording from his speakers.
“What you currently have, IN YOUR MOUTH, is art!” ED-E replied to Cass’s growing confusion.
“Whatever. We made it yet?”
Affirmative Beeps.
Camp Golf, formerly known as the House Resort and Golf Course, is now home to the NCR Rangers. Home to the NCRs best and brightest dropouts. Where all those who fell through the cracks and got kicked out of their old positions have settled as their last hope.
Luckily, the Rangers, an elite military organization of scouts and snipers, more than made up for the deficits. They started their organization forty years ago as an independent law enforcement group whose goal was to erase slavery anywhere they could find it. The exact people who would want to deal with a slave-trading bitch like Jeanne May Crawford.
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Muffled enraged cursing.
“Quiet down, shithead. We are almost at your new home.”
More muffled screaming.
As the van pulled around the main entrance to the resort, the NCR troopers were returning to their tents after a morning run. Some stopped and stared at the vehicle, fantasizing about the luxuries of an automobile, like air conditioning. One trooper even voiced his dreams out loud.
“Man, patrolling the Mojave–,” he tried to say before another trooper smacked him in the head.
Cass stepped out of the van and dragged Jeanne out of the back. A nearby Ranger responded.
“Umm, excuse me, Miss. What's going on here?”
“We got ourselves an honest-to-God good Samaritan right here. See this little old lady is such the neighborly sort that she went and baked sweet rolls for the Legion. Seeing as how she is best buds with them now I thought you boys in beige would like to speak with her about what deserts the Legion would like the best.”
The Rangers looked at each other, trying to decide who amongst them was responsible for stuff like this. “Let me go get Chief Hanlon.”
“Go ahead. We got time.”
Muffled cursing.
The situation continued to be tense until a Ranger came back with Chief Hanlon.
Hanlon is the leader of the Mojave-stationed NCR Rangers. A grizzled old man who had seen some of the best and worst the NCR had to offer. He was also the mastermind behind the NCR’s victory at the first battle of Hoover Dam. He faked a retreat across Hoover Dam and drew in the Legion to Boulder City, where he used dynamite to destroy the city and the Legion with it. With the Legion bloody from the attack, he retook the dam and pushed the Legion back to the other side.
Caesar had his general of the time tarred, burned, and thrown down the Grand Canyon for his failure.
Though Hanlon may not be in charge of combat operations today, he is just as fearsome.
“What can I do for you, missy? My Rangers said you kidnapped some old woman,” Hanlon said with a wide smile
“You can help by taking this snake off my hands. She sold one of her neighbors. Got a bill of sale here to prove it,” Cass said, handing over the document.
Hanlon took a look at the bill before his face fell grim, then even grimmer when he got to the part about Boone's child.
“Get this woman out of my site. Put her in a cell. No visitors until an interrogation is put together. No, I will do it myself,” Hanlon said ordering his soldiers around. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Miss Cassidy.”
Cass raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t tell you my name.”
“Didn’t have to. Fiery hair, freckles, bright red cheeks, and you smell of a dozen different distilleries. That means you must be Rose of Sharon Cassidy, owner and operator of Cassidy Caravans, or what's left of it from what I have heard. Sorry to hear about that, by the way. We try to do what we can to help out the caravans but resources have us stretched thin right now.”
“Not your fault. You didn’t kill them. Don’t worry about it; I have a plan for what to do about that. Thanks for taking this woman off our hands.”
“Of course. If we find out anything or need any information from her about this, where can I find you?”
“I will be going around to Vegas with this weird doctor type. Franklin Limus.”
_______
“Doc! Control your bleeding heart and help me shoot these ghouls!” Boone yelled out.
“I just feel bad for them. We don’t know the cause of what is making them feral,” Franklin said back.
“THEY ARE TRYING BITE MY FACE OFF!” Boone yelled.
“Fine,” Franklin said and aimed his rifle. The doctor could have sent out shells to handle the horde of feral Ghouls he and Boone encountered on their way to REPCON, but he didn’t want to overload Boone’s brain with the existence of nanites.
He hadn’t even explained it to Cass. She knew something was up with him but had no clue about his true identity. Why she went along with all of this he had no idea.
POP
A Ghoul's head exploded into a bloody mess of viscera and grey matter. Franklin took a few more shots to finish off the other Ghouls harassing Boone.
They continued on up the road into the mountains, shooting the feral Ghouls that came at them. A large collection of them at an old checkpoint for the REPCON facility. It seemed some people had used it to store stuff or even live here recently, as there were chairs and shelves filled with random junk.
This scene continued all the way up to REPCON’s entrance. A lot of Ghouls had moved into REPCON, but ferals didn’t carry vacuum cleaner parts or bleach.
Franklin and Boone had to shoot their way through two dozen ghouls before they could make it inside the facility.
“I think I am becoming desensitized to killing Ghouls,” Franklin said.
“That’s normal. Not to be rude doc, but you act like you just walked into the wasteland yesterday,” Boone said.
“It has been about two weeks or so, yeah. Spent most of my life before that in a lab working on my experiments, so I definitely didn’t get out much,” Franklin said.
“That makes sense, I guess. Well, the thing you need to know about Ghouls is that they are immune to radiation, can survive most injuries, and sometimes go feral. They are also ugly as fuck,” Boone said.
Bzzzt, “You aren’t much of a looker yourself, smooth skin.” a wall speaker said.
“Who said that?” Franklin asked.
“A Ghoul jackass. You and your racist friend need to be careful. The whole building is filled with my less than sain brethren. Make your way to the loading dock and up the stairs. We have boarded off the top floors and that is the only way up here. Hurry up, smooth skins.”