Community:Fanfiction/Fallout: Nuka-World

Fallout: Nuka-World is a Fanfiction written by KitMaelstrom, taking place in 2310, in Nuka-World.

Chapter One
Damn. Its hard to recall all of it, all of the shit that I've been through. I've been shot, burned, bitten by wild animals, trampled by Power Armour, and, I believe in one case, been kicked by my own horse.

Yep. You heard that correctly. A horse. Those still exist. Or at least they do in Nuka-World. I'm not so sure about the rest of the world, but here, horses are as mundane as dirt. Great herds of wild broncos roam the plains, where the raiders and bandits once committed horrible acts. But now they're gone, and in their place, we have horses. Horses and a few other wild animals.

Yeah, for an abandoned theme park, we have a LOT of wild animals. I heard once that it was from a cloning machine gone wild, or... I'm fucking rambling, aren't I?

So, if you don't mind, I'd like to start over.

I live in Nuka-World, a place west of the Commonwealth. Member state of the UCG, home to around 23,000 people, and one of the richest places in the whole damn wasteland. A place of grand walls leading into subdivided parks, all of which are home to people, though some are more...Populous than others. A place of wonder, opportunity, and Nuka-Cola. A hell of a lot of it.

So, what exactly could you do here? Simply put: Anything. You could corral animals, you could find Nuka-Cola shipments and sell them to one of the numerous bars operating around the area, you could salvage tickets for the Nuka-Cade, cash in those tickets, and then sell the prizes that you were given for inflated prices, you could even set up a tourist trap where you hawked some pre-war magnet souvenirs. So, with everything that I have mentioned, all the things that you could do to make a living, I think that most people outside of the park would find interacting with a Nuka-Worlder quite strange, especially when they mentioned how FEW of those things were actually doable.

All of the Nuka-Cola shipments, at least those that people were aware of, had been tapped, their supply of cola feeding into one of the regional bars. All of the great Brahmiluff herds, the ones worth owning anyway, had been corralled, with their members ending up the property of cattle barons. The Nuka-Cade was still an option, but even if you spent your life in there, it still took a while, and a lot of caps, to win anything worth it. As for the magnets, they were cheap, easy to find in any area of the park... and almost everywhere sold them. Why would you stand out from the rest of the crowd, especially if you were just doing what everyone else was? So, yeah. All of the grand money-makers had been dried up, or the big businesspeople had a monopoly on them.

For the average person, you couldn't do much in the way of a living, or at least in the way of becoming an independent business owner. For the average person, the options were pretty much as follows:
 * 1) Work for a Nuka-Cola supplier in finding old shipments, refrigerating them, and shipping them off.
 * 2) Work for a Brahmiluff baron, and breed and feed cattle for them.
 * 3) Work for one of the local bars, shops or tourist traps. Hell, Cappy's Cafe is always hiring, right?
 * 4) Work for the weapons manufacturers and build rifles, extract Nuka-Cola Quantum to pour into bullets, and create new versions of those weapons that might, MIGHT be a success.
 * 5) Work for yourself, and spend your days out in the wastes, scouting every location that you can find, looking for some score, some big haul, something that all of the entrepreneurs of previous years missed.

By the time that my story begins, I was doing number five on that list. It wasn't big, it wasn't a supreme money maker, but at least I was working for myself. I didn't find much, but it was enough to make a living. Barely. Every once in a while I would find something a little expensive, something enough to keep me going for a couple of weeks, enough time for me to find something else. It was slow, and I had next to nothing in the way of savings, but hell, I was alive, right?

But inevitably, you can't find any new sources of income, right? So one day, I strode into Dry Rock, hoping to ask something of the local bartender. Hey, he may be a robot, but he's still a barkeep, right? Yeah, this is where my story really begins. So, without further ado, welcome to this recounting of the crazy events that followed.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention something crucially important. My name's Alex, but you can call me Al. It's nice to meet you.

Chapter Two
I had always liked the sound of crunching gravel. There was just something about it, something almost relaxing.The feeling wasn't bad either, especially while wearing boots. In that regard, I was lucky as I strode into Dry Rock Gulch. There were copious amounts of the stuff all over the place. I had no idea why, but I was grateful for at least this minor enjoyment.

That was probably, however, the only area in which I was actually benefited. Between the baking sun, the dust constantly blowing in my face, and the...Pungent odour of Brahmiluff, Dry Rock was overall not one of my favourite places. It was crowded, noisy, and blisteringly hot the majority of the time. But, as much as I disliked the area, I had to be here. I needed information, something which could help me raise myself out of the metaphorical hole that I had been stuck in for the past half-decade. And where better to get that information than a bar?

Cappy's Cafe was too crowded, too mainstream. They were still cleaning out Fizztop. And as far as I was aware, the novelty of watching a movie while a brightly coloured robot served you a poorly mixed drink meant that the Starlight had a near-constant line in front of it. So, that just left Ol' Doc Phosphate's.

Alright, maybe there were two things that I liked about Dry Rock Gulch. I tried to remember that as a Brahmiluff driver sent his herd barreling down the road, sending a spray of dust and cowshit in my face. Yikes. All the more reason to wash my mouth out with Nuka-Cola, eh?

Wait.

Where was the place that I could do that again?

Sighing, I began to glance around, taking in as much as possible of the town. Thanks to being the most populous area of the park, Dry Rock was always expanding, always adding new structures or modifying old ones. With all of the expansions that the place had undergone in the last 10 years alone, it was well on the way to becoming either a metropolis or a shantytown. Possibly both. Throw in the fact that I was rarely here for reasons that I have already mentioned, and it felt like I came back to a different settlement every time that I stopped by. Which, when one was desiring to find a specific location purely off of memory, was not a particularly helpful phenomenon.

With nothing else to do, I continued to survey Dry Rock, hoping to find Phosphate's. While you could easily tell the scrap metal, wood, and concrete buildings of the new inhabitants apart from the original architecture, these structures were crammed as close as possible together, obscuring or even obstructing the view of the older buildings. Hopefully, you can see why I struggled to locate the saloon for the amount of time that I did, before my eyes finally caught a glint of near-faded reflective lettering painted on an old wooden arch. Bingo.

Having found my destination, I resumed walking, hoping to get out of the baking heat that the sun before I developed heat stroke. I was already sweating beneath my duster, the tough fabric keeping the moisture close to my body in a highly uncomfortable way. But, the Doc's place was in sight, and I...

Damnit.

Why, just why, did they put two houses in front of there?!

''Well done, buddy. You couldn't have noticed that earlier?'', my brain chided me. And I wasn't wrong. I had been so absorbed in trying to find the bar off of its features alone that I failed to notice its immediate surroundings. Classic Al. Always so focused on one thing that I fail to notice the much larger picture. It has always been a flaw of mine, and not one that I like to talk about, but unfortunately, I had to live with it, as did the people around me. And now, I had to resolve that issue.

Carefully, slowly, I squeezed into the makeshift alleyway that the gap between the two domiciles had created. It was uncomfortably tight, but it was the only way to Phosphate's that I was immediately aware of. I would probably come out on the other end and there would be a conveniently placed passageway leading directly to the saloon that I had somehow just failed to notice, but as they say, what's done is done and cannot be undone. Hey, it's not like you can just revert to a previous point in your life after committing some kind of unsavoury act that you probably shouldn't have done. No, you had to live with the consequences of your mistakes. I tried to remember that as the alley tightened ever so slightly around me. Just a little longer to go.

After what seemed like an eternity, I exited the alleyway. I immediately gasped for air, the gap having been painfully tight at some times. While refilling my lungs, I took a look around and...yep! Whaddya know? There was a hidden side passage leading through the artificial mountain provided by the roller coaster that I had somehow missed. Ah well. It would be useful in the event of me coming back here. And right now, I didn't care about my lack of passive perception. I just really needed a fucking drink.

Despite Dry Rock Gulch being a constantly changing place, Doc Phosphate's was, in the very least, mostly identical to how I remembered it. While a few holes in the wall had been patched, and steel beams had replaced the wooden ones, the saloon was still the old, friendly looking place that I always visited after school nearby. Phosphate was something of an uncle figure to me, the old protectron having taken a particular liking to me. I never knew why, but it was probably to do with something in my appearance. I could have reminded him of the children that used to visit the park. With my old souvenir shirt and constant expression of joy at seeing him, I very well looked like one of Nuka-World's previous visitors. Yeah. It was probably that.

I swung open the double doors, taking in the surroundings that a large portion of my childhood had been spent in. Yep. It hadn't changed a bit. Still the old stools, still the bottles of Nuka-Cola and the mixing machine off to the right, and still the rusty Protectron in a hat standing behind the bar, absentmindedly wiping off a bottle (Absentmindedly? Do robots have what could be considered a mind, or just complicated programming?). Huh. I would probably have to ask someone about that.

Regardless of potential sapience, Phosphate noticed my arrival and reacted accordingly. "Al! How are you, pardner? It's been a darn-tooting while since you were here. Here, have a Nuka-Cola Wild! On the house!".

There was something about Phosphate, something in the way that he spoke, that had always made me feel... welcome. While his tinny, metallic voice was no different from any-other Protectron, there was just something that put me at ease. Maybe it was the way that he pronounced the word "Nuka-Cola". But still, I couldn't analyse every aspect of the robotic bartender. I was here with a job.

"Hey, Doc. Sorry that it took so long for me to get back here. It's been a rough few months for me.". I didn't explain what those "Rough Few Months" entailed. As far as the Doc was aware, I probably had fallen on some fiscally bad times. Which was not entirely untrue. But he didn't deserve to know just how rough it had been for me. He still had trouble comprehending that the world had ended. I popped the cap off of my Nuka-Cola Wild, pocketing it for later. Maybe I could save up enough to buy a brahmin steak or something.

"So, Doc, unfortunately this isn't a pleasure call.". I punctuated this announcement with a swig of my cola, taking in the cold, rooty flavour. Wild wasn't exactly my favourite flavour, but with where I often was, I couldn't be picky with what I derived my nourishment from. I swallowed the cola, and followed up my initial statement. "Do you know anything that a fella like me could do to keep myself...occupied?". I hoped that Phosphate had an answer. He hadn't exactly given helpful tips in the past, but in the past, that wasn't why I had visited him. I continued to drink my Wild as Phosphate processed the question.

After a few minutes, Phosphate perked up. "I know, pardner! You could explore Mad Mulligan's Mine! Just deliver these Sarsaparillas to--". I swiftly cut him off, raising my hand. Mad Mulligan's had been stripped of anything of value years prior. By the founder of the UCG himself, I believed. Whatever items it had held were long gone, and I doubted that I would be able to find anything other than old scraps of paper there. I needed something bigger, and I told Phosphate as such.

Phosphate continued to suggest park activities to me, all things that would have entertained and delighted the children of previous centuries, but were useless to me. "I know, pardner!" he would say in his tinny voice, before proceeding to regale me with which park activity I could do, none of which would make me any richer. I could find 10 hidden Cappies. I could look for park medallions. I could apparently go on multiple roller coasters. All suggestions, all helpful for a day out, but none which would assist me with my predicament. I had long since finished my Nuka-Cola, and was considering leaving. I raised myself out of my stool, my legs aching after having spent that long in the chair, when the Doc perked up.

"I know, pardner!". I was about to cut him off, thinking that it would just be another activity that, while satisfying, wouldn't help my financial state. But just as I was tensing my arm, he gave me some vital information.

"You could drink Nuka-Cola! There's about to be a heaping helping of it, because there's a new shipment coming in!". That was... news. But most of the shipments had been tapped. Still, I decided to press the matter. "Where's this shipment at?". Even so, I grabbed my duster, slipping it over my shoulders. The worn fabric felt oddly comforting, and I tugged my hat off the coat hanger while doing so. If this tip didn't work out, then I would leave. While it was good to see Phosphate again, I needed to prioritise my income.

Phosphate appeared to process the question for a while, the lights in his dome flickering. I didn't know why I had even asked him as to the shipment's location. The heads of Nuka-World probably wouldn't have endowed a basic robot with this knowledge. But, to my surprise, just near the door, Phosphate perked up.

"Shipments to Doc Phosphate's Saloon come via way of Supply Road 37, Al. This shipment should have arrived by October 23rd, 2077. Error! Shipment overdue for 242 years, 5 months, 2 days. Please contact local Nuka-Cola Corporation representative." Phosphate proceeded to rattle off a load of procedure, protocol, and legalese. But I didn't care. Supply Road 37 was not on any known shipment maps, and as far as I was aware, no-one had even been looking for salvage in that direction ever since the park was first resettled. If there was an intact shipment out there... it would be enough to set me up for life, or at least for several decades. Phosphate might have just secured my future. I really loved the old bolt bucket, especially at that moment.

"Thanks, Doc. You're a lifesaver.". I turned back towards the bar, bringing out a handful of bottle caps. Paying for my drink was the very least that I could do. After all, if Phosphate was right, I wouldn't be needing to pay for a drink for years. So, I gently placed the bottlecaps onto the counter, brushing them over the worn wood. So, with a nod of my head, I walked out of the saloon, flinging the double doors open.

I took the side way out. No need to squeeze through that alley again. Once I was out in the daylight, I made my way to the road, and began the long trek to the supply road. If Phosphate was right, the shipment should be just outside of the park proper. It would take a few hours to reach it, but from the position of the sun in the sky, it was mid afternoon. Likely around 3 o'clock. And the walk would be vastly worth it.

As the road went on and on, the terrain changed from a relatively flat plain to a more hilly locale, the fields of dirt giving way to green-ish grass. The sound and feel of my boots on the decaying path even had a similar sensation to gravel. The sun was less harsh after a time, and a cool breeze blew over my face, mildly refreshing me. While my legs ached, the thought of a vast supply of money making soda, along with maybe a few Old-World pieces of salvage, pushed me further. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for myself, I found the truck less than 30 minutes after entering the outskirts of the park.

It was the right kind of truck, that was certain. A bright red, that, even after years of decay, still persisted, adorned the entirety of the body. A long, tube like trailer stretched out behind it, clearly designed for maximum amounts of storage space. Several empty cola bottles were strewn out around it, and the truck appeared to have been toppled on its side. But, to my satisfaction, the door to the trailer seemed mostly intact. Could pretty easily be opened. I circled around to the back, hooking my fingers under the door.

The thing was persistent, that was certain. What else should I have expected? The metal had rusted partially after years of neglect, and my initial assessment, that it could be easily opened, was disproven. But, regardless, I was more persistent than the metal, and with a screeching sound the door slid open. Success!, I elatedly thought as the contents of the trailer saw the light of day for the first time in over 200 years. As the cargo was revealed, I couldn't help but gasp. Thousands of bottles of Nuka-Cola, an excess of stray bottle caps, and what appeared to be some variety of Old World tech in the back. ''Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the point where my luck is turned around.''

And then the world went white.

Damnit!

Someone had followed me, watched me find the truck, and then lobbed a flashbang at me! I was sure of it, and sure as well that I was going to lose what had rightfully been my claim, my score. Grunting, I tried to regain my bearings, waving my arms out in front of me. I knew where the door was, and staggered in that direction. Maybe, if I was lucky, I could regain my vision in time to fight off the thieves.

Wait. Were those footsteps? The ringing in my ears was still present, but... I was sure that those were footsteps. Hoping desperately that my senses would return, I roared in the direction of the exit, thinking that a display of power would scare the intruders away. I could hear the footsteps slow, and then stop. All except for one. Those feet continued. And, as far as I could tell, were moving towards me.

"Who's there?!", I screamed, mentally begging for the unknown assailants to leave. But in spite of my muffled senses, I could tell that the footsteps continued. Moving on and on and on...Until they stopped. Right in front of me.

I heard what could have been a shout, could have been an order, and the other footsteps picked up again. I could feel a whoosh of air near my face.

Something impacted the side of my head, hard and wooden. Fire shot through my skull, the pain immediate and sharp. I staggered backwards, the white beginning to clear away from my vision. I could make out a silhouette, a shadowy figure, and more flooding into the trailer. I desperately drew air into my lungs, choking out a word. "Why?". The figure did not answer, neither did their company as they flooded the trailer. Any further questions that I had died as the world, in such sharp contrast to the flashbang, went black.

My return to the land of the living was commenced with a sharp, throbbing pain in the right side of my head, and the sight that my limbs had been bound with rope. It was oppressively tight, the rough texture grating against my wrists, as I attempted to take in my surroundings. The sound of conversation drew my attention to my right, and I shifted my weight to take a look, wincing as a second pain flair pulsed through my skull.

I could tell immediately that this was no mere scavenger attack. Nor was it a hit by one of the big businesspeople trying to further dominate the market. No, the people who had me held prisoner were far too well equipped for that. Almost all of them were decked out in combat armour, the ceramic plates painted with an unusual symbol consisting of a skull with a dagger, a paw, and what I assumed to be a sack of coins encircling it. All of my assailants were clutching SMR-90s, and one appeared to be standing lookout. The rest were grouped in a small circle around a campfire, talking in low voices. I tilted my ear towards them, trying to listen in on their conversation. I could make out one of them saying something about a device, and then, to my utter horror, one turned to look in my direction.

Shit.'

"Hey, folks! Look who finally decided to join us!", the man who had spotted me called out. The rest of the group stood up, with one, a tall, grizzled woman raising her hand. Slinging her rifle over her back, she began to approach me. Hastily, I began attempting to cut my ropes, only for an enormous pain spike to shoot through my arm as she lowered her boot onto it.

"Now, why did you have to do that?", she questioned in a mocking tone. "If you stayed asleep for just a bit longer, I wouldn't be having to do this.". I wondered what she meant by "This", and quickly realised when she drew a long blade from a holster in her boot. Fear raced through my mind as my heart began to pound. In all the ways that I had pictured it happening, I never once had expected to go out this way. Still, I continued to struggle. Maybe, just maybe, if I could get free of these ropes, I could--

She lowered her face down to me, the knife still at hand. I could feel every bead of sweat on my forehead, every heartbeat as she looked me dead in the eye. Her expression abruptly changed from one of cruelty to... pity?

"You've just stumbled across what we've been looking for for the past decade. We finally knew where it was, and you just had to open up that trailer.". Her voice was soft, almost morose, as she continued. I writhed further, trying something, anything, to get free. It didn't work, and all that I did was inflict a dozen minor cuts on myself. The leader of my assailants seemed unconcerned, and continued.

"What we have found is so much more important than your life.", the woman announced. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry that you had to get involved in this.". While speaking, she drew closer, jagged blade clutched in her hand. The struggling, the writhing, all of it was doing nothing. I strained against my ropes, hoping desperately to find some way, some course of action, that would allow me to escape.

That all came to an end when I felt the blade plunge into my gut.

Pain, intense and fiery, rocketed through my body! I screamed, hoping that the sound would in the very least draw some attention. This couldn't, this shouldn't be the way that I died. But even so, I felt the knife twist, and my muscles...relaxed?

Death was coming for me. I could see it in the darkness that creeped on the edges of my vision, as the pain, the world, grew more distant. The reaper was coming to take me home. As my life began to fade, I watched the group that had taken everything from me begin to walk away. As if nothing was here. As if I was nothing.

I swore then at that moment, that if I escaped this situation alive, I would brutally kill all of them. But that promise never left my lips, as everything went black.

Chapter Three
Just... Emptiness. That was all that I saw, all that I had surrounding me. A lack of....anything. Nothing more than darkness, blanketing everything.

If I was in hell, then hell sucked.

But I wasn't. I could feel something. Faintly, but it was there. And it was real. If I was some variety of incorporeal spirit, then I shouldn't be capable of feeling things. To do that, one required a body. And if I had a body, then I was alive, or at least by some definition of it.

As I began to focus, I became aware of more sensations. Something oddly metallic in my right arm. What I assumed was plastic over my mouth. And, to a somewhat unpleasant spike of pain at this realisation, cloth binding over my torso. Yep. I was alive.

Somewhat gingerly, I cracked open my eyes. My surroundings were... Not the ones that I had blacked out in. I was not in the middle of the desert surrounded by people who wanted to murder me to say the least. Instead, they looked clean, non-cluttered, and sanitary? There was an odd metal cart off to one side, and another person with what I assumed were burn wounds lay on a bed adjacent to me.

Oh.

I was in a clinic.

Ok, so how did I get here? I hadn't told anyone where I was going, and as far as I was aware, Supply Road 37 was well away from major trade routes. There was no way that anyone had found me, and definitely not in time to save my life. Unless...

The arrival of an older woman in a white coat quickly derailed my train of thought. She strode over to the patient in the adjacent bed, gave them what appeared to be a once over, and scribbled something on a clipboard, seemingly in response to what she had observed. Proceeding to turn in my direction, her eyes widened a small amount when she realised that I was conscious. Quickly, she walked to my bedside, rapidly inspecting me before speaking.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, scavver. I have to admit, some of us certainly thought that you weren't going to make it. You DID give Fixer and I a run for our money, that's for sure.". Her tone was gentle, almost motherly, and something about it put me at ease. But I had to know what the hell was going on, and hopefully, this woman would provide me with some answers.

It almost hurt to speak, my throat was bone dry. Coughing for a while, I managed to get out the phrase "How?", before again coughing my lungs out. The doctor seemed to understand, and did her best to answer my question.

Her name was Maria Smith, and she was a doctor in the town of Rocketsville, where I was currently. Apparently, someone had heard my scream in the distance, and decided to investigate. By the time that he had arrived, my assailants had gone, and I was bleeding out with a knife in my torso. He had managed to get me onto a Brahmiluff and carry me to Rocketsville, where the good doctor had patched me up. I was, at least according to the doctor, extremely lucky to be alive. The knife had just missed my stomach and intestines, but only by an extremely small margin. I had apparently been unconscious for two days, and Smith was losing hope that I would ever wake up. Once we had gotten all of that out of the way, she proceeded with asking me a few questions that I found mildly irritating.

"Ok, can you tell me your name?", she asked, raising the clipboard to her face. I looked around for a second, before responding. "Alex.". She wrote something down, presumably the information that I had just told her. Following this, she asked me my age, background, occupation, and a few questions regarding some ink dots. Again, I tried to respond in the best way that I could. "27." "Born here." "Scavenger." "A bat." "A gun." "Some fruit." "Two bears high-fiving.". It wasn't the worst evaluation that I had been through, but it was somewhat tedious. Finally, she tilted a mirror that was hanging by the bed frame, letting me take a look at my face. ''Huh. Same old face that I've been seeing for quite a while now''. Of course it was, brain! What were you thinking?! It's not exactly like you can magically change your entire body just by looking at it in a mirror for a few minutes. Still, it didn't appear that there was any damage. I motioned a little, gesturing for Doctor Smith to pull the mirror away. She did, and shortly afterwards began to detach the apparatus that had been covering my mouth.

I took a deep breath as the doctor pulled the rebreather away. The air was less stale, but a lot warmer, and overall smelled more unpleasant. Casually, I glanced down to the flexible length of tubing sticking out of my right arm. Doctor Smith noticed and began to detach that device as well. Hoping to know how long my recovery would take, I inquired as to the nature of the fluid that had been pumped into my arm. She responded with what was pretty pleasant news.

"That? Oh, that's what I give to all of the intensive care patients. It's a mixture of a more potent version of the stuff that they put in Stimpaks, and Calmex. Does wonders for rapid healing of post-surgery wounds. Between it and the work that Fixer did, you should be making a full recovery within the day. You could probably get up and walk around now.". Well, that was good news. As she detached the tube, I offered Smith what few caps that I had for patching me up. Generously, she agreed to take around half of them. I didn't know how much medical treatment of this quality usually cost, but what she had charged was probably a large discount. Ah well. I made a mental note to come back to Rocketsville and pay her back later.

Once the tube was out, I grabbed my duster from the coat hanger and walked out the door, being sure to thank the good doctor as I left the emergency room.

As I walked into the reception area, I took in my surroundings as I searched for the door. The clinic was constructed of concrete and metal, a choice in building materials that was pretty standard across the UCG. The area was relatively empty, and there was a stand of magazines in the corner. Eh. I wasn't in the mood to read at the moment, and if I took them for later, then that wouldn't be repaying Smith particularly well, would it? My inspection of the room was interrupted abruptly, when a voice piped up from behind me.

"Ah, hello there! I hope that you were happy with your level of medical treatment! We here at the clinic have only one desire: to see all of our patients safely out the door!". The person speaking had an odd accent, one that I couldn't quite put my finger on. As I turned to thank them for the care that they had provided, I realised that this "person" wasn't a person at all.

The speaker was a robot, and an unusual one at that. A trio of tentacle-like limbs snaked off of a bulbous body, that body being kept afloat by what I could only assume was a rocket thruster. A trio of eyes jutted out on mounts similar to its limbs, and each seemed to regard me with what I could only describe as curiosity. The body itself was painted white, though the coat had chipped in some places, and a green cross adorned its right side. It appeared to be what was known as a "Mister Handy", which made sense. They were pretty common throughout the park. Briefly getting over the slight shock that I got seeing the robot, I responded to its question.

"Thanks. For being near death, it was overall quite a pleasant experience. What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?". The robot pondered for a while, before responding.

"Well, technically, sir, it's GAIP:MH-21730/90/MU. But my associates and patients call me Fixer. I arrived here around 12 years ago, and I've been servicing the fine people of Rocketville ever since.". Huh. A pretty straightforward answer. Not having much better to do, I absentmindedly said "Where were you from before that?", as I slipped my duster on.