"Something doesn't add up," Boone said quietly. The intercoms remained silent, but who knows when someone might be listening.

"Why is that?" Franklin asked.

"The voice on the speaker called us smooth skins. That's a slur Ghouls came up with to describe regular folk. Given that and the fact the only people I know up this way have been Ghouls, there shouldn't be anyone other than them here."

"So why doesn't it add up?"

"Why are there so many dead ferals then? Usually, ferals leave sane Ghouls alone. There might be times that don't work but still, this is a lot of bodies."

Franklin examined the few ghouls in the lobby of the REPCON facility. The cause of death for some of them seemed to be split between some form of burns, likely caused by some form of energy-based weaponry. The other causes of death seemed to be blunt force trauma, and a lot of it. One dead Ghoul had its head smashed into a wall.

"There is something else here. I am gonna switch out my lab coat for a deerstalker and deduce that something else is lurking in this building. Circumstantial evidence points to more of these Supermutants. Keep an eye out for their invisibility projections fields. It will distort light around their body's frames the most so you can see their outlines more easily. Take this flashlight," Franklin said.

As the two of them made their way through the building, they encountered a number of bodies of Supermutants, Ghouls, and Ghouls dressed in robes. These robed Ghouls all carried some form of energy weapon. Some were plasma-based, others were laser-based with a variety of firing methods. Semi-automatic pistols, a few tommy gun-style submachine guns, and even one pistol that seemed to have a form of energy replenishing system. That gun interested Franklin the most.

"Hmmm?"

"What's up?" Boone asked.

"I didn't know pre-war scientists developed a weapon that effectively had infinite ammo. Perhaps more accurately, it should be said they developed unlimited energy."

"Oh, those. Neat trick, yeah, but the output is terrible. Unlimited shots don't mean much when they have short-range and low damage. Couldn't cook gecko meat with those things, let alone kill someone quickly."

"Really? That is a shame. Well, I am keeping it anyway. The charging system on this thing is wasted in a gun," Franklin said and pocketed the weapon.

After killing a dozen Ghouls and spotting two more Nightkin corpses, the duo made it to the hangar room. It consisted of manufacturing machinery, testing equipment, scaffolding leading upstairs to a survey room, and a rocket hanging from the ceiling.

"Okay, I have noticed the fifties theme with all of the prewar tech and designs, but why the fuck do the rockets look like toys? They use rocket fuel, right? How the hell are they storing enough to make that thing get into orbit?" Franklin complained. The rocket above his head looked like a football with small wings. It was painted red and white. It wouldn't be a mistake to think it was something a child had designed.

"I am not sure. I never cared about all that prewar tech. It was just, you know, there. Most of it didn't work, or it worked wrong. Some kids tried exploring an old factory one time. The Protectrons shot them. Then, a bunch of adults got some guns and killed all the robots in the building. Scavengers came by later and picked the place apart," Boone said.

"That sounds– rough. My childhood might as well be paradise compared to that."

"I figured. You grow up in a vault, doctor?"

"Comparativly. My childhood was pretty easy. I didn't really want for much. It wasn't till my mid-twenties that I devoted myself to the scientific field. My specialty is in micro-robotics and biology. That was about forty years ago," Franklin said.

Boone stared at the man who could be considered his foil. The doctor still looked like he was in his mid-twenties, while Boone was in his mid-twenties and looked over forty. "Some things are fucking fair."

"I will confess to a decent amount of criminal activity," Franklin said somewhat shamefully. Nanorobotic research was expensive and often proprietary. He was proud of some of the things he did, but that lifestyle led to some messy situations and a few too many frenemies.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The two of them continued the conversation up the scaffolding to the observation deck. A speaker on the other side alerted them they had arrived at their destination. It quickly opened to reveal a balding man in his thirties. He was wearing a torn lab coat, and despite all previous indications, he was, in fact, not a ghoul.

"About time smooth skins. Now hurry up and go see Jason so I don't have to look at your ugly faces anymore," the Ghoul(?) said.

Franklin turned back and whispered to Boone, "Now, I am not trying to be racist, but don't all Ghouls suffer from a severe case of leprosy? Why does this guy have all his skin?"

"He shouldn't. I don't think he is a Ghoul at all," Boone whispered back.

"Then why is he acting like one? Is he just a jackass?"

"Probably."

The Ghoul(?) yelled out, "Stop wasting time. Go see Jason already. Damned smooth skins." He then walked through a door further into the building.

The rooms beyond were filled with terminals, lab equipment, chalkboards, and servers. This place seemed to be the RND part of the REPCON facility. Franklin saw formulas for rocket fuel mixtures, equations for launch and orbit trajectory, sticky notes about meetings, and much more. He also saw a couple dozen Ghouls all wielding energy-based weaponry.

They directed the doctor and Boone to their leader, a Ghoul named Jason Bright, a rather ironic name given the man's glowing skin. As in a green radioactively glowing skin. He was a Ghoul wearing a shredded tan suit with patches of glowing skin that made Franklin's Geiger counter twitchy.

"Hello, wanderers. Are you here to help us with The Great Journey?" Bright asked.

"Not that I know of? What is the great journey? Who are you all?" Franklin asked in return.

"I am Jason Bright, and this is my flock. I am the prophet of The Great Journey, a mission given to me by the creator so that I can lead my flock to a place free of suffering, bigotry, and fear. This place has the tools we need to complete The Great Journey, but the Demons prevent us from completing our noble mission."

"Demons?"

"Invisible monsters in the basement. They block the way forward and have killed many of my flock. One of them screamed at us from the intercom. We have been safe up here, but anyone who approaches the basement is butchered by the Demons. Could you help us? Help us complete The Great Journey so that we might make it to our home."

Franklin turned to Boone and pulled him back a little. He whispered, "Doesn't seem like that bad of an idea. Deal with the Demons. When they complete their journey, Novac can come back and scavenge. Win-win."

"Ugh. Alright fine. You know these Demons sound awfully familiar," Boone said.

"Oh, they are definitely Nightkin. We might end up helping them, too," Franklin admitted.

"Uughh."

________

"Alright, wait here. I will scout ahead and find these Nightkin, maybe their leader, and see if I can work out some kind of deal," Franklin said.

"You sure? I don't doubt your abilities. Fuck I still don't know how you took a bullet to the head unharmed, but these are Supermutants we are talking about. I have seen them break bones with their pinkies, chew bullets, and much worse. People who fuck with Supermutants don't usually live long," Boone said.

"It's okay. I handled that one out by the farm fine, didn't I?" Franklin said.

"I guess. Just don't get your head caved in," Boone said and stepped back into the hangar.

It was nice that Boone cared.

The basement of the REPCON facility was a series of Interconnection hallways, pipes, wires, and metal that all worked together to manage the facility and surrounding buildings in some convoluted way. To Franklin's eyes, it seemed to be an incomprehensible mess. He wasn't sure how they maintained such a facility pre-war, but he suspected that this place was a ticking time bomb of pressure.

Given that some of these tubes contained rocket fuel, the doctor suspected that if this place exploded when it was at full capacity, it might have looked like a nuclear explosion. This would have probably scared some government shitless and started the apocalypse early.

The Nightkin were not hard to find, even if they were using their stealthboys. The metal flooring and walls made it easy to hear the echoing of their breaths and footsteps. Franklin suspected there to be at least a dozen of them lurking around these halls, and he took careful steps to make sure they didn't see him. Those careful steps were making himself nothing but a swarm of nanite dust that blew through every hall and room.

The leader of the Nightkin wasn't hard to find. He was a big purple-skinned man weighing about half a ton. He wore leather armor with red cloth wrapped around his shoulders like a scarf. He has a similar mouth strap Franklin had seen a lot of Supermutants wear. He was alone in an office room, standing behind a desk. There was no one else in the room, but he was speaking to someone.

"I don't like it antler. The air tastes metallic. Like blood. Someone is eating meat, and they aren't SHARING!" The Nightkin master said.

Schizophrenia seemed to be in fashion with the Nightkin. Boone told him that it was common among Nightkin because of their use of stealthboys. Something about the cloaking tech affected the minds of people who use them chronically. Typical results for devices created by an uncaring military-industrial complex. Franklin spent a lot of effort exposing corrupt bureaucrats and corporate executives who skirted the law and abused their power.

Since he didn't want to exacerbate the Nightkin's mental disease, he gathered his swarm and formed his body in front of him.

"AHHH human! I will crush you! Huh? What do you mean wait, Antler? Fiiiiine, I will ask. What are you doing here, human? How did you appear like that? Do you have the stealthboys?" The Nightkin asked.

"I have some questions of my own, but those can wait, I guess. Let me start from the top. I am here to ask you to leave. I appeared like I did because of my technology. No, I don't have any stealthboys. Now, it's my turn. Who are you, why are you here, and could you stop attacking the Ghouls?" Franklin said.

"Hear that Antler; he can disappear and reappear without a stealthboy. I will demand the technology. Fine, I will be polite. I am Davidson and we are here looking for more stealthboys. Without them, my brethren will go crazy. They aren't as right in the head as I am. They need the stealthboys to be sane. They will only listen to me and Antler, so much and will attack the Ghouls despite my wishes. That is why Antler told them to stay upstairs. They can wait till we find stealthboys. Or better yet, you give us the technology to disappear like you did."

"I can't easily give you my tech, but I do have an idea. It will require a lot of trust, though," Franklin said.

"Trust? Antler said it must be earned. I say, why should we trust you at all? You work for the Ghouls. Suspicious," Davidson said.

"I know I am asking for a lot, but I promise it will be worth it. I think I can cure your schizophrenia."