The Whitespring

The Whitespring is an area comprised of four locations in the Forest region of Appalachia in 2102.

Background
Built in 1858 and named after White Sulphur Springs, the town named with a natural sulphur spring on the grounds, the Whitespring was famous for its Southern-style and sulfur springs. The Whitespring Resort had a long history of business with the federal government and counted sitting U.S. presidents among its guests.

Under great financial strain before the war, the Whitespring ceased to be profitable around 2065 and was forced to sell much of its surrounding land to generate funds for operation and back loans necessary for renovations and upgrades. The most notable of these upgrades was the Whitespring 2080 Initiative, announced in 2075. The plan was meant to revitalize the flagging resort and "secure its place among the world's premier vacation destinations for generations to come." The Whitespring 2080 Initiative included Homesteads, luxury real estate with all the amenities of one of the world's greatest resorts; the Springhill, the Whitespring's celebrated golf course, redesigned for a new era of sport; Business Class, elevated service for corporate clients, including conference facilities, event planning, and corporate promotional opportunities; Modern Heritage, completely refurbished guest rooms, suites and cottages that met the needs of the modern traveler; and automation: Ironclad Service, hospitality perfected with the very latest in service and security robotics.

The financial troubles also made it particularly vulnerable to the machinations of Thomas Eckhart, who funded the creation of the Whitespring Congressional Bunker beneath the resort, a massive, automated facility to be used as shelter by members of the Enclave. In fact, Eckhart invested heavily in the Whitespring's infrastructure. As the bunker grew beneath the resort, the hotel's computer network was connected to MODUS and all terminals within it isolated away from it. All conduits were sealed and hidden, with technical specifications falsified to conceal the connections to the bunker. Few investigated the matter or the sheer extent of the infrastructural upgrades.

The reason was simple: The Enclave was ensuring the resort would act as a surface stronghold for their operations. The Whitespring was ideal not just because of its remote location and the ease with which land could be acquired, but also the geography: Mountains, prevailing winds, and constant robot oversight would minimize nuclear fallout, while the bunker's fully automated manufacturing and fabrication system could instantly replace any robots lost. It was cutting edge technology, well above the indebted hotel's ability to afford.

Terminal American company
However, the company itself was not aided by the Enclave at all and by July 2077, the situation was far from ideal. Half the land was sold to keep the resort going and the Initiative had yet to bear fruit. Out of a hundred lots planned for Homesteads, only five were sold. As a financial linchpin of the Initiative, one that the hotel sold half its land for, this was nothing less than a disaster. That revenue was necessary to prop up the capital improvement loans for Springhill, Ironclad and Heritage stages of the Initiative, and just to keep investors on board. Manager James Wilcox and the board tried to bury the reports from investors to avoid instant collapse.

Ironclad security robots replaced the remaining security and groundskeeping staff, and the Whitespring moved to replace personnel throughout the hotel over the next few months. Staff was expected to assist in training their replacements. The employees took it poorly, which was to be expected. Although the Ironclad Service initiative was announced two years prior, and Appalachia was in the middle of kicking employees out, replacing them with soulless automatons to improve their bottom line, it was still a shock to all of them. With labor unions targeted and destroyed by the corpo-military alliance and the miners of Appalachia crushed as a warning to workers nationwide, the disheartened members of the Whitespring's staff started looking for new jobs. Few found them, and those who did were mostly the younger and better-educated lot. Everyone else was forced into debt just to make ends meet. Robotic malfunctions were greeted with glee, as they meant extensions for those few who needed it.

Of course, nobody thought to replace the executives, who now scrambled to contain the public relations fiasco. The Charleston Herald stepped in to investigate and revealed that the entire remaining staff of the Whitespring was to be let go almost at once, after training their replacements. Whitespring joined the likes of Atomic Mining Services and Hornwright Industrial, crushing the powerless underfoot as they pursued profitability at all costs. Manager Wilcox finally made the front page.

It was no end of troubles for the corporation. By August, the Business Class initiative had failed. General Atomics and RobCo both backed out when they learned Whitespring wasn't going single-source for Ironclad, and when they demanded that the Whitespring comp the Starlight Holiday Movie Spectacular list of celebrities, even the board balked. Hubris Comics canceled their arrangements as well. The only corporation left on the field was Nuka-Cola, with the caveat that guests would use Nuka-Cola bottlecaps as currency for the duration of the promotion, part of the Nuka-Cola Quantum marketing campaign. It was corporate sponsorship in name only.

September was even worse, as the Springhill renovation turned out to be a disaster. Ryan Ainsley, the "lead architect," was forced onto the hotel by one of the board members, who owned two dozen golf courses and wanted their son to get a shot at a big project after nine years of college. The renovation was behind schedule, over budget, and nowhere near complete - and for his insistence on firing Ryan, Wilcox received a threat that he would be fired if he pursued the matter.

When October came, most of the staff was already forced off the premises, with only a scant few lingering, working without pay or on extensions to cover for malfunctioning robots. It turned out that replacing service workers with robots was a poor idea at best. Robots chosen were military-grade robots, not dedicated platforms. The masseuses were the most egregious problems, as assaultrons never had fine-pressure sensors and were constantly causing spinal injuries. Beyond that, the bellmen lost two dozen suitcases in one week, robot chefs set fires to kitchenettes on fire and even something as simple as selling sweets turned out to be a catastrophe as the robot flooded the candy shop with dark chocolate.

The Great War
For Joyce Easton, it was a gift from heaven, granted by her secret benefactor, Lew Palmest, who sabotaged the robot. Struggling to find a job in the economy and with children in college with tuition due, two weeks meant a difference between life and death. When the Great War struck, she was the only one with an idea of what to do and with Wilcox gone, which made her the highest authority. Lew reprogrammed the robots to recognize her as Assistant Manager the following day. Joyce immediately organized the staff, sealing the hotel and making sure no one else got in or out until the radiation settled. Others were to take inventory and retool robots for combat. The surviving guests took it well enough, with those who wanted to get out doing so immediately upon hearing the news, while others decided being trapped at one of the world's best resorts was not the worst fate in the world. The only potential source of the problem, Whitespring executives, were quickly pacified when they realized it was Easton who controlled the robots.

By December, the inventory was complete. With so few people left on the property, there was food enough to last years, even a decade. Other supplies were also well-stocked, including clothing, medicine, spare parts, generators, guns and ammunition. The Whitespring was well supplied and prepared for the future. It made it possible for them to survive the winter in relative comfort - unlike the Pleasant Valley Ski Resort guests and staff - and survive. The terrifying winter of 2077/2078 was harsh and the last snow only melted in mid-July. Easton sent out teams of scavengers to pick through the cars and cottages for supplies. By late August, refugees appeared on the roads, but Easton made the decision to lock down the Whitespring and only let people she approved of. Appalachia might have been a place where one helped others, but she believed it couldn't be done, not in a situation where it was a real, present threat to your people.

Her optimism ran out in December, just as the Modern Heritage remodeling was planned to begin. Despite Lew's work, the renovations were deeply embedded in the routines of the robots. The same force that deprived the workers of the Whitespring of their livelihood would now deprive the survivors of the same come January 1st, 2079. The guests and staff were locked out of their rooms, then a mandatory update would cause them to kick the "vagrants" - lingering guests and staff - out as vagrants, until the state building inspector arrived, that is. Knowing the inspector's arrival was unlikely, the staff and guests decided to do their best and prepare. Wilderness classes started at the Artisan's Corner, sportsmen gave shooting and self-defense lessons on the putting green, while Easton distributed the remaining stockpile of supplies on the New Year's gala to ensure everyone was prepared for the road ahead.

The survivors split. Paula and Joyce headed a caravan to Charleston, Lew and some of his friends decided to take their chances with the robots at the Whitespring Golf Club, while some others decided to risk and go to Sunnytop Ski Lanes and Pleasant Valley to see if the resorts there could take them in. The Whitespring remained abandoned for years, locked down and maintained by its robotic custodial staff. It was not until May 30, 2086, that a person going by the initials O.R. managed to disable the lockdown and open the Whitespring's public facilities for use by the wasteland.

Layout
The Whitespring is a vast area unto itself, surrounded by a fence patrolled by an army of combat robots. The resort itself is almost pristine in its condition with the robotic staff taking every measure necessary to ensure it is maintained, though outlying buildings like the golf club are in a state of advanced disrepair. The most important part of the Whitespring, apart from the resort, is the aforementioned bunker, located just to the southeast of the main building.

Appearances
The Whitespring appears only in Fallout 76.