Chapter 265: The Vaults Weren't Meant To Save Anyone, So I'll SAVE Them Myself [Undertale/Fallout] by NullenVoid
Words: 63k+
Link: -https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/the-vaults-werent-meant-to-save-anyone-so-ill-save-them-myself-undertale-fallout.1048819/#post-87863740
( or "Knock On Wood"
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In the year 201X, a child climbed Mt. Ebott and never came back down. They were not the first nor the last. In 2077, a child climbed the mountain for the very last time... )
Bellome
They say that those who climb Mount Ebott never come down.
The mountain is haunted. The birds don't sing past a certain elevation, and there are worn animal tracks that never shift or fade despite the lack of deer on the mountain. The grass doesn't rustle because no mice or squirrels make their home there, and yet you can always hear an owl hooting in the night. The animals stay away from Ebott, because they don't come back when they climb it either.
They say that in ages long past, the native tribes fought a war against monsters. They won, but not without cost, and seven shamans from seven tribes banded together to seal the monsters under the mountain, never to see the light of day… but the dark of night? They can see that just fine… They come down at night, to spirit away naughty children…
You can scare them off with dust, and so the older residents, after dusting their home, will sweep the stuff onto their porch and leave it there to scare the monsters away. Sawdust works too, though not as well. Sand or salt, slightly better. Gravedirt, dust wiped off a headstone, works best, but that's hard to get in large quantities.
It's all myth and legend, of course. No one really believes in monsters, it's all a story they tell small children to get them to behave and to tourists to sell them hiking gear, because of course if you tell a certain type of person that a mountain is haunted they'll want to climb it. It's all in good fun…
…So they say in mixed company and in front of out-of-towners, but behind closed doors, they know. The people of Bellome know all too well. People go up Mount Ebott to get away from home. For vacation, yes, but also to disappear.
Those who climb Mount Ebott never come back down. Not unchanged.
The native tribes are long gone, but their descendants still populate Bellome and tell their stories, making a living off packaging those stories and selling them to customers, but they believe every word even if they won't admit it anymore. Occasionally they'd let that fact slip in front of the tourists, and they'd get mocked for it.
"It's probably just clumsy hikers getting lost," they'd say. Then, significantly more hushed, they'd suggest, "Or maybe Vault-Tec got them."
It was a surprise to everyone that Vault-Tec marked Mount Ebott as the spot for Vault 66. Bellome was a small town of less than 10,000 people, a tourist spot that was fading as fewer and fewer people could afford the gas to come out to visit, with a train line that didn't run anymore.
But they built the Vault anyway. It's not like the people of Bellome weren't grateful, of course. But they could have told them it was a bad idea if those science-types had bothered to ask.
It was a surprise to no one when construction just stopped one day with no explanation. The construction crew went up the mountain… and didn't come back down.
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October 23, 2077
7:45 AM
"We have just discovered an important note from space.
The Martians plan to throw a dance for all the human race…"
"Hey, turn the dial. I want to hear the news."
Frisk pouted. "Aww, I like this song."
"It'll be on again, come on," their dad said, tapping the arm of the chair.
"Fine." Frisk turned the dial over and the newscaster's smooth baritone drifted out.
Their brother groaned from the table where they were eating breakfast. "Why do you want to listen to the news anyway? It's always the same thing." They held up their hand and flapped it like a puppet. "Blah blah blah, Vault-Tec, blah blah blah China. If it's not politics it's stock prices."
They set their hand down on the table with a thunk, knocking over the salt shaker.
"Kris--"
"Yeah, Dad, I know," they said, tossing a pinch of salt over their shoulder.
"Good man. And I know the news isn't fun," he agreed, "But it is important. You never know when something will happen." He rapped his knuckles against the end table.
Kris just grunted through a mouthful of cereal.
Frisk hopped up to the table as well, and Kris handed them a slice of toast from their plate, which they accepted happily.
"Wilson Atomatoys continues to face discontent from consumers due to their recent change in name following their radical shift towards atomic batteries for all toys. Previously known as 'Automatoys' with a 'u,' the company had previously been known for their use of wind-up and acid batteries, a departure from most other products in this modern age. However, resource shortages have made it implausible for 'traditional' power sources to remain viable, leaving atomic power as the most cost-effective option. While the change in name has been reported as the primary source of outrage, the truth is more complex; most parents are wary of letting their children play with a nuclear battery. While the technology is of course incredibly safe and grows safer every day, the fact of the matter is that accidents will always happen, and furthermore--"
Kris swallowed, pointing their fork at Frisk. "Hey, do you still have that wind-up Giddyup Buttercup?"
Frisk nodded.
"Might want to hold onto it. Could be worth something someday."
"...Are you eating cereal with a fork?"
Kris grinned. "Well yeah. I like my cereal squishy."
"Gross."
"Damp and waterlogged. Milk-logged." He speared a soggy apple loop and pointed it at them. "Moist."
Frisk shuddered at the awful world. "Daaaad!"
"Kris, stop messing with your brother."
"Yeah, alright." With a huff, Kris dropped the fork onto the table with a clatter and stood. "Heading out."
Their dad looked up. "Where you heading?"
"Out." They walked past him and pulled the door open.
"You're not going to loiter in the alley again, are you? Mrs. Terpin complained last time."
They paused in the door, then looked over their shoulder. "...No."
Their dad frowned, but didn't stop them as they left, shutting the door just a little too hard. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him…"
Frisk didn't mind any of that. They nibbled on their toast like a giant hamster, turning it over and over in their hands until the crust was gone before starting on the bread proper. The meat of the bread? The flesh? What do you call the bread part of the bread as distinct from the crust?
"--In other news, Vault-Tec's stock continues to rise as they secure a new government contract for an additional thirty Vaults in Canada and Mexico, bringing the total number of Vaults in North America up to one-fifty."
Their dad snorted loudly, drawing Frisk's attention. "They haven't even finished the first one-twenty, you know," he said. "Like ours. Waste of time and resources."
"It brought us out here," Frisk said, "So it wasn't a total waste?"
Their dad considered that. "..I suppose. It was nice to get assigned back home. They're still sending me a paycheck, too, so as long as no one notices that little clerical error we've got it pretty good here," he mused.
The news continued droning on, switching to talking about China, and Frisk tuned out again.
After a while their dad turned the radio off. "Hey champ, how do you feel about heading out for the day?" he asked. "I know the trick-or-treating scene isn't great here, but that doesn't mean we can't find you a costume anyway."
"It's a little late to go costume shopping, isn't it?" Frisk asked.
"Eh, never too late." He stood up and dusted off his pants. "Come on, maybe we'll catch up to Kris and have a day of it. Maybe even head a ways up the hiking trail."
Frisk brightened and hurriedly finished their toast, stuffing it in their mouth and getting crumbs everywhere.
Their dad laughed and walked over to the door while Frisk ran to their room to get their shoes. He opened it up and frowned.
On the front of the door hung a horseshoe. It was an old superstition that his grandmother had always sworn by; if you hung it on the door with the prongs pointed up, good luck would pool in the bell.
The horseshoe was currently pointed down. It must have come loose on its nail when Kris closed it earlier.
Someone set off fireworks in the distance, and he jerked his head to the side.
Frisk came back into the living room, boots thumping against the hardwood. "Ready!"
Their dad frowned, staring at the horseshoe. Then he knocked the door three times and headed back into the house. "Just a moment, I need to get something."
Frisk blinked, confused, but waited patiently as he disappeared into his room, returning moments later with a drawstring bag over his shoulder.
He stopped just long enough to turn the horseshoe back upright. "Alright, let's go."
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8:30 AM
It was a beautiful day in Bellome. Main Street was as bustling as it ever was in October, and a few tourists were walking up and down the sidewalks looking to get one last hike in before the weather started turning cold enough to make the trek ill-advised.
Old Man Puckett was leading a group of four around, advising them on where the best places to spend their money was, ending his tour as he always did at his granddaughter's store. He leaned heavily on his cane but his stride was unshakable, and Frisk giggled at seeing the visitors struggling to keep up.
Their dad smiled at the sight as well. "Frisk, I'm going to pick up some snacks. You'll be good on your own?" At their nod, he walked into Puckett's waving at the old man as he went.
The one thing above all others that Frisk loved about living in a small town was the ability to wander where they pleased. They couldn't remember much about the city they lived in before, but they knew they almost never left the house.
They passed by a few older kids Kris's age, and a couple humored them with a smile. Almost all the young folk in Bellome were older than them, and they didn't much care for hanging around with someone younger.
But they did still have a few friends, and they met one as they stepped up to the porch of the museum.
The Mount Ebott Museum was both the most and least authentic business in town, from what Frisk understood. Once you got past the front exhibit. You could find actual relics from hundreds of years ago, when the native tribes still lived there. The expected leather pouches and stone weapons were there, but more interesting were the staves; long wooden poles topped with polished stones whose purpose no one had ever quite discerned. The placards said they were suspected to be used for ritual purposes, but the museum owner said that that was archeology-speak for "we don't know."
There were also cloaks, hooded ponchos dyed in a variety of colors, but what Frisk found most interesting were the toys. There wasn't anything else they could be, really; little hand-carved animal figurines, miraculously well-preserved stuffed animals gray with dust, leather balls that still sort of bounced, though Frisk wasn't technically supposed to know that since they of course had never ever taken the ball out of its display case. They would never.
Some of the toys were made weird, less like they'd been carved and more like they'd simply grown that way. Some of the old people in town claimed that they belonged to something other than human, but that was just for the tourists.
But Frisk wasn't interested in the exhibits today, because as they entered the main lobby, a pneumatic door opened in the corner and let out Hawk.
"Reporting. For. Duty."
The old protectron trundled out of his cubby, pausing briefly to take his stetson off the hook and gingerly place it on his head. It wasn't easy, given how short and inflexible his arms were, but he dutifully made the effort anyway.
The hat had been Frisk's idea.
"Greetings. Visitor. To the Mount Ebott Museum. Please enjoy. Our rich and. Varied history."
"Hawk, it's me, Frisk!" they said, happily. The green-and-brown robot paused, whirring as it processed that.
His facial recognition wasn't the best since he was an older model, so Hawk always needed to be told who he was talking to. He was slow and plodding, took ages to construct a sentence, only barely had a personality, and due to his programming constantly tried to steer the conversation back towards the history of Ebott and the products they sold about it. Frisk thought he was amazing.
"Greetings. You rascal," he said at last. "How are you. Today?"
"I'm okay. Dad wants to go up the trail today!"
"May I. Interest you. In a novelty hiking stick. As sold in our gift shop?"
"No thank you, I don't--"
"Hand-carved. By local artisans."
Frisk shook their head, grinning. "No it's not, Hawk. Ms. Judith uses a lathe!"
"I use my hands though, don't I?" Ms. Judith called from the museum store. She stepped out from behind the counter and leaned on Hawk's shoulder. "Don't go saying that where the marks can hear you, Frisk," she warned playfully.
As though summoned by the mention, the doors to the museum swung open again, letting in the group from before. Judith immediately switched to customer service mode and stepped up to greet them.
"Would you like. To purchase. A canteen. Emblazoned. With Mount Ebott in profile?" Hawk continued.
"No, I don't have any money, Hawk," Frisk said apologetically.
"Don't apologize to that hunk of junk, kid," Mr. Puckett said, walking up. "He's the worst salesman I've ever seen."
Hawk made a whirring sound and raised his arms in a semi-threatening gesture. "You should not. Throw stones. In glass houses. (Jim)."
The old man put a hand to his chest and gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I let our Sarah run the store for the experience, not for any other reason."
Frisk giggled, and Mr. Puckett winked at them.
"We have many. Fine products available. Suited for hiking. In style."
"Style means nothing when your 'hiking stick' snaps the instant you put your weight on it."
"Our scarves. Made from imitation monster fur. Are warm. And--"
"Alright, that's enough," Mr. Puckett said, reaching out and twisting a dial on Hawk's chest, muting him. "Frisk, your pop was in my store when I led the tour group in here. Looked like he was getting supplies for a week. You going camping?"
Frisk tilted their head, thinking. "Dad only said it was a hike. Maybe?"
"Best be careful up there," the old man warned. "It's getting to be storm season you know."
"OY, Hawk! Entertain the guests!" Judith called.
The robot adjusted the dial to get its voice back and trundled over. "Yes, Ms. Judith. -*kzzt*- Howdy strangers, and welcome to Mount Ebott!"
As Hawk started his pre-recorded speech, Judith and Puckett sized each other up.
"..."
"..."
The old man huffed, turning on his heel and stomping out. "Let me know when they're done, Jude."
"Oh, you'll know, Jim." She gave Frisk a smile before returning to her station at the counter.
Frisk took a seat on a bench, listening to Hawk tell the story of Ebott between plugging the souvenirs they had in stock.
"So long ago that the details lay forgotten, this land was claimed by a forgotten tribe. At every turn, they were assaulted by monsters. There is no greater word for them, as they came in every shape and size imaginable, each one more nightmarish than the last. Some with teeth that could bite through metal, some with horns that would make the devil blush, and yet more who defied description entirely. -*kzzt*- Examples of these. Can be found. Depicted in both painting and woodcarving. Available at reasonable prices. -*kzzt*- In those days magic still existed, and the nameless tribe patiently studied it to put an end to the threat once and for all, to save their mortal souls. The bravest warriors drove them into the mountain, and then seven mages, the greatest of their kind, sealed them away for all time. For though the monsters were mighty, the tribe persevered. -*kzzt*- Replicas of. The mages' ropes and scepters. Available in our store. -*kzzt*- For millennia, they lay trapped. Brought to justice by the tribe, the monsters--"
One of the tourists, a heavyset woman, interrupted, pointing at the display in the corner. "Forget the history lesson, tell us about that."
Hawk paused, slowly turning to see where she was pointing. It had been a bear, once, Frisk thought. Hunted, stuffed, and posed with paws raised to strike and teeth bared in an enraged snarl. It was still all those things, but at some point it had been dyed white, its glass eyes replaced with cold black stone and crude horns glued to its head.
With great deliberation, Hawk turned back to look directly at the woman. His face was incapable of any form of expression, but he nevertheless gave the woman a dry glare. "For millennia, they lay trapped. Brought to justice by the tribe, the monsters planned and plotted, with no kindness in their hearts. Until, one hundred and fifty years ago… None remain who remember it, but a monster came down the mountain. It is recreated here," he said, pointing at the bear. "A child, two years before, had climbed the mountain and never returned, as so many do not. When the monster came down, it taunted the villagers by carrying the child's lifeless body in its jaws. What horrors the child must have endured for those two years before it was finally killed cannot be known, but the sight did not fill us with fear. A man of great integrity stood his ground, and with swift action shot the monster, driving it away. Alas, the child's body was lost, but the monsters of Ebott now know that a far tougher fight awaits them should they try to escape again. -*kzzt*-"
Hawk trundled towards the door to the rest of the museum, gesturing. "Our history. Does not stop there. Those interested. May observe it at their leisure. Or. Our gift shop is now offering. Limited-edition. Monster toys. Unlike the real thing. This one. Does not bite."
With that said, the group dispersed and Hawk walked into the store, followed by most of the tourists.
Frisk got up and stretched. It wasn't a happy story, but it was an interesting one. Silly, though. They were smart enough to know that 150 years wasn't that long ago in the grand scheme of things. They had photography back then, right? If it was real they'd know for sure.
"People tell themselves lots of stories, kid," Mr. Puckett said, and Frisk jumped, realizing they'd spoken out loud. "They tell so many they can forget which ones are real."
Frisk blinked, parsing that. "Okay, but… Dad says monsters aren't real. And he believes in lots of things, so if he doesn't believe this…"
Puckett snorted. "Yeah, your old man's a piece of work. But as for monsters?" He looked over his shoulder as if they weren't the only people in the room. "I'm too young to have been there… but my grandad wasn't. He told me that he knew that kid--"
"Jim, quit telling my kid lies."
Frisk looked around the old man to see their dad entering the building, his bag bulging with his purchases.
Mr. Puckett scoffed. "Lies? Bah, you young folk. No respect." He rustled Frisk's hair and went to gather his tour group. "Stay safe, you two. And don't climb too high, lest you never come back down."
"Right." Dad shook his head, exasperated, then turned to them with a small smile. "You ready, son?"
"Yup!"
"It's going to be tough going up the trail," he said. "Sure you're up for it?"
Frisk frowned, then squared their shoulders. "Are you challenging me?"
"That's my boy." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's get."
"One. Moment." They looked to see Hawk approaching, carrying a large stick. "On. The House. For (Frisk)." He handed them the staff, made to look like the mage's staves in the exhibit.
"Oh!" Frisk said, surprised. They tested the stick's weight, enjoying the fact that it was nearly twice as tall as they were. "Thank you Hawk! But won't you get in trouble?" Judith didn't like giving anything away for free. She charged people to fill the canteens up at the water fountain.
"It is. Of no. Consequence. (Frisk)."
Their dad tapped his foot. "Yeah, thanks Hawk. C'mon, Frisk, let's--"
"Take care. On your hike. Slash. Camping trip. Good lu--"
"Thank you, Hawk," he snapped, pulling Frisk out the door.
"H-hey!" They waved bye over their shoulder and pouted up at him. "Dad, that was rude!"
"He's just a protectron, Frisk, it's fine."
A radio was sat on the railing 0f the museum porch.
"We're receiving reports of attacks--"
He flipped it off as he passed by it, walking almost too fast for Frisk to keep their feet under them. "Dad, what's--"
They stopped talking, noticing a nervous energy in the air. It was hard to describe, but something felt wrong. And they weren't the only one feeling it, apparently, since what few people they could see on the street were looking worried, hurrying in much the same way their dad was.
There were dull booms in the distance. More fireworks?
Pausing only long enough to knock on the wooden banister, Dad led them through town, avoiding people wherever possible and taking multiple shortcuts Frisk didn't know about, which surprised them. They'd thought they knew all the shortcuts.
They stopped at the edge of the woods where the most popular hiking trails were, and their dad got down on one knee to be eye-level with them.
"Frisk, buddy," he said, and Frisk knew something was wrong. "Remember when I took you and Kris up to see the Vault?"
They remembered. It was shortly after whatever accident that caused the Vault to close for good when Dad had showed it to them. Something about a lesson in hubris, which Frisk didn't understand at the time. They were only vaguely aware of what hubris even meant--
"Well," he continued, cutting off their train of thought, "I thought it would be… fun, if we could camp out in the Vault."
Frisk blinked at them.
"The residential areas were all finished," he assured them, "So it won't be uncomfortable. Just the whole Vault to ourselves."
"Okay?"
There was another boom, far away, and their dad jerked like he'd been stung. Digging into his bag, he asked if they remembered the way. "I need to go and find your brother, and we'll meet you up there, I promise." He finished fishing and pulled out his Pip-boy, holding it out to them.
"You want me to go up alone?" Frisk asked, eyes wide.
"Consider it a… a test. To see if you can put those tracking skills I taught you to good use." At Frisk's dubious look, he quickly added, "Unless you don't think you can do it?"
Frisk's eyes narrowed.
"You know what, you're right," he said with forced flippancy. "I'll walk you up there and then come back down to find Kris, that'll be better--"
"No, I can do it!" they insisted, swiping the Pip-boy out of his hand and clumsily strapping it to their arm.
"Good." He shoved the drawstring bag into their arms, almost knocking them off their feet. "Go up and open the Vault for us. We'll be there right after you." He stood and turned, then paused. "I love you, champ." And then he sprinted back into town.
Frisk frowned in concentration, throwing the bag over their shoulder and nearly overbalancing. They started up the trail, laser-focused on getting to the Vault. It was a fairly easy trek all-told. Mount Ebott didn't have much in the way of wildlife to worry about it, and the harder trails were further than they were going this time.
About a half-mile along, a fence with the Vault-Tec logo marked their turn. A paved path led them to a weird, unfinished tram-thing that was meant to bring people up to the vault. Frisk thought it was called a funicular, but it hardly mattered. The station was done, but the rails weren't completed and the tram car never even arrived. Luckily, a set of stairs was installed as well.
It was hardly a hike at that point, really. Can you call it hiking if you're climbing concrete stairs? Frisk didn't think so. And Dad thought they couldn't do this? It was easy!
Well. Easy-ish. It was a long staircase, and by the time they reached the top they had to sit down for a bit. The hiking stick helped a little, but not by much. But at the end of it, they stood and looked over Vault 66.
From this side at least it looked pretty impressive. The great big gear door still looked brand new; you'd never know it had been left unattended for nearly a year.
The control panel was right next to the door, and Frisk made their way over. Figuring out how to open it took some doing, but eventually they figured out they needed to plug a cord on the Pip-boy in and that would give them access to the big red button.
"Welcome, Security Chief (Chuck Friedmont). Overriding Vault 66 lockdown."
With that message, the hazard lights lit up and the sound of machinery starting up filled the air, startling what few birds had taken roost this far up the mountain.
Waiting for the door to open, Frisk turned and walked to the railing that looked down the mountain. It was a great view, they thought. They could see all of Bellome down there.
"Heh," they giggled. "It's below me."
Then they frowned, head tilted. They couldn't see anything in detail from up here, of course, but it looked like a lot of cars were racing out of town. Why would that be?
They bent down to poke at a few buttercups that were poking up on the edge of the platform, when some distant voices had them look up again. Some people were coming up the stairs, but they couldn't see Dad or Kris among them, so he must still be searching. Did they want to visit the vault too?
Behind them, the door hissed, and they looked to see it slide inside the doorway and then roll to the side. The bridge extended, and they peered inside, but it was too dark in there to see from outside.
Well, should I wait out here, or inside? It's a nice day out--
The sky turned orange.
Frisk whirled around, and what they saw had their jaw dropping.
It was nowhere near Bellome (still too close), but from this high up they could see for miles and miles. And miles and miles away, an enormous mushroom had sprouted, one made of fire and ash and death. Frisk heard the climbers scream far below them--too far, would they even make it?--but they were drowned out when the sound hit.
They took a step back, eyes wide and terrified as the shockwave, so powerful that it visibly distorted the air in its wake, swept out from the epicenter of the blast. Trees were torn down, buildings and farms flattened. And it just kept coming, washing over Bellome and peeling shingles off roofs.
Then a second one, so bright that Frisk's eyes screwed shut in agony, and that was when the first bomb's sound hit them. It shook their bones, and then they were knocked off their feet, thrown back by the force of a blast more than twenty miles away. They rolled, feeling concrete turn into metal mesh, and the last thing they heard before they lost consciousness was the Vault door closing once more. The bridge retracted, pulling them inside before the second blast could hit them too.
And then their head hit the ground, and they knew no more.
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