Rules and Regulations

• Posted by ProbsCoolerThanYou January 24, 2017 - Filed in TSC: Fallout - #AMOSS:FO  #ProbsCoolerThanYou  - 1,470 views

  Rules and Regulations

  

       There was a sense of misplacement, a palpable lack of belonging, that struck as I left what then were considered the northern borders of the Brotherhood’s Capital Wasteland. The winds were wispier, they bit more when the came off the rocks and the hilltops. The color shifted gradually to a palette of greys. The rocks were sharper. Roadways became sparse, uneven, coarse, words that had once been applied to the green-tinted wastes of D.C. But no longer--the Brotherhood made sure of that. A benevolent dictatorship--there had never been many of those in centuries past. The benevolence came in the water shipments, the protection. The dictatorship in that no one was allowed to leave. That goddamned rule left its mark in the same place as the bullet I put, no, was forced to put, in the chest of the border clerk on the Big 50. It wasn’t my fault necessarily--I was amongst a crowd, and one of us would have done it. We were like a flock of pigeons following the last piece of bread on the earth. An airship high in the sky.

       Nevertheless, I felt that my oath was under a breaking pressure from the moment I fired that shot. It would not be the last time. Oaths have been hard things to keep for time immemorial.

  *

       I fancied myself many things, living my quiet life in the Capital. A historian, a duelist of modest renown, in some cases, an optimist. That would surely explain why I left the offices to follow that ghastly thing in the sky. It would bob up and down like a duck in a bathtub. The first time my oath came into conflict with my own aspirations. There was something about that ship.

       The time for a quiet life left with the airship. I suppose that was the reason I took off after it in the first place. I needed that life again, the complacency that came with it merely a bonus. My role as a Regulator was a mere formality then. Instead the hydraulic hopping of power-armored Brothers kept the rules and regulations in order. It was only natural to be replaced by something younger, more acutely aware and developed. That was what the boss told us on the day of our last contract.

       Those thoughts, and many more best left unsaid, flowed through my head on the long road. 50 turned to 295. Baltimore and Aberdeen were the hardest--artillery would rain down on the roads, directed by scouts we couldn’t see, fired from too far away to retaliate. The city itself was a husk, unworthy of much description save for the savory flavor of the dogs that we had to eat, those of us still left. It was around the campfire and amongst the wafting scent of flesh that we made our first introductions, real introductions, that is. Before we had merely grunted like super mutants in each other’s general direction, forgoing formalities for the chance to view the ship for a few seconds longer. But by Baltimore, the ship was long out of sight. We could only guess where it had gone.

  --Where was the certainty?--I asked to no one in particular that night at the south end of Baltimore. Nods of uncertainty were the only answers I got. Satisfying answers enough. Had it been right to leave in the first place? I couldn’t help but ask such questions when faced with the enormity of the sky above me. Each of the stars that could be discerned between thick stacks of smog was another question to ask. I would have asked myself why I asked so many questions, but the overwhelming answer would have done more harm than good.

       I caught myself breaking another tenant of my occupation, though this one was unwritten. The boss had said to us all before --retrospection and Regulators do not fit well together. You must know you made the right choice, and leave no uncertainty in your mind.-- So I decided there. The decision I made was a good one. End of story.

  *

       After Baltimore was a long stretch of road. Just that. No talking. No whispers, even. Instead the long and winding road took us up and down parabolically, always refusing to give even a glimpse of the ship in the distance. That was a dream fired from a pipe rifle.

  *

       After the road was Philly. That was less of a husk. More of an interest as well. Such history in the halls, in the manors. My optimism for those halls’ survival was dismissed vehemently by the other travellers. But they needed to check the city for any traces of the ship anyways. Pigeons. When they went towards the city center, avoiding the gangs, I struck off in my own direction in search of just one building, just one, a survivor.

       By the end of several hours, the time we had all agreed upon, none could be found...the town seemed content to label the rubble and irradiated steel husks a different sort of history. I returned to the highway. Not a soul in sight. Throughout the night there was only the same. At the end of two days, I could wait no longer, nor could the road. There was a sense of it needing my feet as much as I needed to make use of them. Hungry for the Old World.

       Without the company of my travelling company (or troupe, as the clowns had gotten themselves killed), retrospection was harder to avoid. But it was all I could do. Should I have searched the city for them? Did they find the ship? Too many questions. Why did I ask them? Retrospection and Regulators did not go together. But the right choice was impossible to discern, like the beginning of one road and the end of another one. The rules were safe at home, under the watchful eye of pneumatic suits and vertibirds, and the ever-ready reserve of Regulators. In retrospect, the action of leaving my hat on its hook was a promise I never could have fulfilled. What was there to return to but a life devoid of the one purpose I had given it? So many questions, but the road was long. Time enough to answer them all.