Case stepped back out of the elevator and into the Think Tank, his boots echoing on the metal floor. The atmosphere had shifted. The frantic, wet sounds from before were gone, replaced by a heavy, static-filled silence.
Up in the observation gallery, Dala's chassis was slumped forward, her monitors dark, with the monitor acting like a leg for the brain tank. Zero was hovering right next to her, his manipulators twitching with uncharacteristic gentleness as he tended to her unresponsive frame.
Klein's monitors swiveled violently toward Case as he approached, the glass eyes behind the screens pulsing with a frantic red light. He descended from his central pedestal, his metal frame clattering with indignation.
"Lobotomite!" Klein shouted, the speakers crackling with his fury. "First, you infect Borous with those... those sentimental malfunctions, turning him into an unproductive ethic-first scientist! And now? Now you somehow overload Dala! Her processors are overheating, her internal cooling is failing, and her entire cognitive stack is mushed with… with formography!"
He gestured wildly toward the slumped Dala. "Her data-banks are flooded with biological rhythmic signatures and moisture-level fluctuations! She is currently experiencing a full-system catastrophic shutdown of her logic centers! What have you done to my research team?"
Case stood his ground, letting the verbal assault wash over him. He knew exactly what had happened, and honestly, "mushed with formography" was a pretty accurate description for a brain-bot that had just witnessed Amelia and Markus in high-definition.
Dala was intrigued with a clothed, even power-armor wearing human body, now this was a visceral representation of humans, that did what she told to do, like a literal teddy bear, and she couldn't help herself.
"I didn't do anything, Klein," Case said, his voice flat. "Biologicals do what biologicals do. Dala just chose to watch it. If she can't handle the data, that's on her."
"Insolence! Logic-defying biological nonsense! Now I have one scientist weeping over high-school memories and another whose sensors are fried from over-observation!" Klein shouted back, his screens flashing a frantic, irritated violet.
"I have delivered the schematics," Case interrupted, keeping his voice firm to cut through Klein's spiraling tantrum. "Now, to unlock the Forbidden Zones, the keys are in those schematics, right?"
"What? Unpossible! Mobius couldn't be that stupid… wait," Klein muttered, his monitors spinning as he fluttered through clusters of data at lightning speed. For a moment, the only sound was the frantic clicking of processors. "Delightful! Mobius, always the careless one! The schematics house the key to the Forbidden Zone hidden within the encryption layers. There, I am uploading the key to your Pip-Boy now. But explain yourself, lobotomite!"
"Explain what?" Case asked, leaning back slightly. "I told you, your science team did their own research and simply couldn't handle the results. That's what happened. It wasn't because of me. They are seeing what is beyond the crater through the people I brought here."
Klein's monitors went still, a rare moment of contemplative silence settling over the central console. "Beyond the crater… we thought there was nothing existing out there, just a Great Nothing. But… lobotomite, we will see what truly happens after you have destroyed MOBIUS. Until then, stay out of Dala's sensors, or anyone in that matters. She needs a deep-system scrub."
Case checked his Pip-Boy, watching the data bar fill up as the X-42 access codes settled into his local memory. He had what he needed. The gate to the basement was finally open, fucking finally, just needed a single push to X-42.
"Much appreciated, Klein," Case said, giving a sharp nod as the data transfer finished with a satisfied ping on his Pip-Boy.
"Now, go get MOBIUS," Klein added, his voice dropping into a low, mechanical rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. The screens on his central console flared with a harsh, flickering orange light. "Remove that senile obstacle so we can return to the pure, unadulterated pursuit of Science!"
"Klein, be patient, alright, be patient, first of all, tell me how to restore my brain, and my heart, do you know it?"
"Of course we know it, but alas, you just put our chief medical team on shutdown," Klein added, his screen pointed right at Dala. "Return here later, Lobotomite, when you actually have removed Mobius."
"Will do," Case shrugged.
Case stepped into the elevator, the quiet hum of the lift providing a much-needed break from the chaotic noise below. As the doors slid shut, his mind shifted from the awkward scenes in the lab to the final piece of the political puzzle: Dr. 8.
Unlike the others, 8 wasn't driven by ego or voyeurism. Since Father Elijah hadn't gotten his hands on the doctor's voice module in this timeline, 8 could actually speak, though his thoughts often drifted into abstract frequencies and sonic patterns. He was the quietest of the group, but his support was vital for controlling the facility's high-end acoustic defenses and frequency-based manufacturing.
Case leaned against the elevator wall, thinking. Intimidation was an option—seeing a squad of Rangers in T-60 Power Armor would certainly give the Think Tank pause, including him.
He remembered Corbin mentioned once that he used to play before the world went even more to hell. The old ghoul had a battered acoustic guitar tucked away in his gear, perhaps? It was a long shot, but in a place filled with the screeching of Robo-scorpions and Klein's booming voice, a bit of actual music might be the only thing that could get through to 8.
The elevator doors hissed open back at the Sink. Case headed outside, only to find Corbin checking the seals on his gas mask near the balcony. He was already geared up, wearing the advanced riot gear with the heavy pauldron fastened over his rugged desert duster.
"Corbin," Case called out. "You still got that guitar?"
Corbin looked up, squinting through the lenses of his mask before pulling it down around his neck. "Of course not, I abandoned it back at the Farmstead, why would I need a guitar now?"
Case sighed, "Hmph, alright then, I guess, brute force it is."
Jacob came strolling out from his corner of the Sink, popping the cap off a cold bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla. He was dressed down in a casual white shirt and black cargo pants, looking more like a man on a weekend leave than a Ranger Major. The contrast between him and Corbin—who was draped in high-tech Riot Gear and dusters—was sharp.
"Nice to see you here, Case, about the progress," Jacob said, shifting gears as he set the bottle down. "I've been running the numbers. For maximum protection, we should aim to have at least half of our guys outfitted in T-60. The materials are available, but we haven't stormed the northeast sector yet. I've been waiting for you to give the clear sign."
Case looked out toward the jagged horizon of the crater, the shadow of the Forbidden Zone looming in the distance. "Jacob, since you're already looking ahead at the logistics, do you think we can storm the place now?"
"NOW? Like, right fucking now?" Jacob asked, his relaxed posture vanishing instantly as he set his bottle of Sarsaparilla down on a crate. "Case, are you sure? This time, we're fighting a giant roboscorpion, like you said. Trust me, I don't want to come underprepared against something the size of a building."
"We'll use the tank, Jacob," Case replied flatly.
Jacob paused, his eyes narrowing as he recalculated the odds. "Oh. Well, that changes the matrix. Does that thing even fit through the canyon passes?"
"It will. We'll need a recon team spread out to the entrance of the X-42 facility first. Once the path is clear, we charge straight at Mobius."
"Okay, okay," Jacob muttered, rubbing his chin. "Give me three days. The guys downstairs told me it takes about eight hours to finish a single piece of T-60 power armor. Right now, our pilot list is thin. Markus has his set, Amelia is the only other one with the proper training, plus me, Corbin, Kelly and Lily from the Brotherhood. We need five more to make it a real unit. Give us two days, Case. We'll figure out the training and the tactical layout."
Case nodded, satisfied with the timeline. Two days was a small price to pay for a synchronized strike. He watched Jacob head back toward the command terminal, already barking orders to the Rangers in the courtyard to begin the loading sequences for the heavy armor.
The "Great Nothing" was finally quiet, but it was the silence of a predator drawing in its breath before the kill.
The move that would change the whole Big Mountain, forever.