Chapter 129: Chapter 125

A swarm of Sentinels descended on the Nucleus to fully disassemble it, down to its foundations. The Mr Geigers bots were also sent down to de-radiate the area thoroughly, leaving only the radioactive Fog wafting from the ocean as the sole major contributor to the island’s radiation. As most of the Harbormen were adamant on remaining in Far Harbor, the Nexus quickly studied and improved on the Fog Condensers created by DiMa, the former synth leader of Acadia. The machines were more durable, affected a wider area, and a whole lot of them were piled up outside of Far Harbor’s walls for the locals to plant as they saw fit.

 

With the Trappers being cleared out, the Harbormen were free to claim the whole island. Suitably awed and grateful at the arrival of Nexus reinforcements, several of the grizzled fishermen volunteered as guides for 1st Company’s squads to investigate various sites throughout the island.

 

Sarah found the whole operation post-eradication of the Children of Atom a necessary chore. Sure, some interesting trinkets were found, along with mutated wildlife to be studied back home, but the island’s charm wore off really quickly. Four days of scouting and digging, and other than that vault full of semi-sane robobrains (fucking glad Edward was the one handling that case), and digging up some caches stored away from pre-War times or by cultists or migrated settlers, Sarah Lyons was happy to finally get tick off the last of the sites and get ready to return to the Nexus.

 

She missed the luxurious basic living of home, as well as her friends and, of course, Sev’s dicking.

 

As Edward finished up talks with the locals, Sarah went through the reports and summaries one last time to make sure everything was comprehensive and clear enough for future review. The expedition’s little adventure might be worth simulating for future training. Thinking about it, maybe the troops might need some lessons in focusing their fury. Sure, the cultists getting pulped and healed up repeatedly was well deserved, but Sarah could see how running on rage might affect the already zealous 1st Company’s decision-making.

 

It’d also do well to see how the other Companies react to heavily traumatic atrocities, now that she thought about it. There was no doubt in her mind that what the rad-sucking cultists had done to their captives would not be a unique incident. 

 

Rare and uncommon, hopefully, but definitely not exclusively unique.

 

*****

 

Crazy pre-war rich folk, Edward grumbled after leaving Vault 118. Told about the state of the world up above, the handful of robobrains that called the vault home had chosen to not believe him. 

 

For their self-declared geniuses or talents, the pickled brains on wheels were as disconnected to the reality beyond their home as they were with their bodies. They called Edward and his team charlatans wanting to scam them out of their vault.

 

And who the fuck calls Nexus weapons and armor, technology that Sev had provided to protect his people, props? And cheap props too!

 

Fucking lunatics. 

 

As the delusional brains were practically harmless (unfortunately), the company commander was happy to just wash them out of his hands for now. Scans had shown nothing of value in the vault anyway, so an eyebot would keep nominal surveillance of the ruined hotel that hid Vault 118. If anything suspicious was detected, there’d either be troops landed or a bombing run.

 

Once the Nexus expanded up here, he’d let Sev to the talking. Or better yet, Piper and Cait - See how they react to the loonies calling Sev’s gifts as cheap trickery.

 

*****

 

After the torture and humiliation by the Abominable Fusion’s servants, Confessor Martin and the rest of Atom’s faithful had been banished to a overly-lit maze of hallways and cells that moaned and wept. The green crystal in his chest was unceremoniously yanked out by robots, his body forcefully restored, and then a smaller replacement was stabbed into his reknit sternum. 

 

And then a Sentinel came to drag him out, and Martin’s faith and sanity was severely tested. They doused him in the warm, comforting glow of radiation, and then scoured it clean from his body before bathing him again in Atom’s grace at a much stronger dose and repeating the whole process several times. It was as if the hidden controllers of the devices were taunting him with the taste of divine fission before violently yanking it away from him.

 

They only stopped when his body broke down from the overly high doses of radiation, and then the soul-draining crystal was torn out of Martin. This time, the radiation empowered him, and the confessor realized just how profane the crystal artifacts were. The green shards were draining holy power, parasitizing it fully and denying the faithful their rightful blessings.

 

Martin didn’t have the luxury to hurl abuses at his tormentors though, not when he was struggling to maintain his consciousness as his empowered body was still trapped by the torture devices and the machines were flaying and dissecting him. Blessed or not, the pain was still unbearable. He lost consciousness at some point, awakening to find himself back in his cell with a green crystal once more embedded in his frail, mortal body.

 

The robots dragged him out later for more torture. This time, he was strapped onto a slab within a circle that glowed in hues of blue and red. The scalpels and saws came into view again, and Confessor Martin gratefully surrendered to unconsciousness quickly.

 

To his unsurprising despair, he found himself back in his cell again, too weak in spirit to even spit a curse at the robots when the appeared uncountable moments later for another esoteric torture session.

 

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Confessor Martin held on to his faith despite the ordeal. He was flayed, shredded and broken apart multiple times in multiple ways, but he remained steadfast in his devotion to Atom. Better to die a martyr than an apostate. Holy Division awaited him, after all.

 

It was after his fourteenth (or was it thirteenth?) session that the confessor awoke in a different room altogether. The throbbing pain and the green crystal that caused it was absent from his chest. They were waiting for him to regain consciousness, he immediately knew as he glanced at the trio of Sentinels around him. A heavy premonition fell on him, and Martin felt his stomach lurch.

 

“Go on then,” he managed to spit out with some fervor and steeled his will, “Finish me. Division and Atom awaits me. You monstrous heathens will never know the grace of salvation.”

 

The Sentinels closed in on him, claws at the ready, and Martin steeled himself. He would not shame himself with whimpering or pleading for mercy. 

 

They didn’t martyr him though. There was pain, but there was no relieving demise. Martin screamed as the metal tentacles tore his arms and legs out. He was barely aware of his writhing and agonized torso being lifted and carried into a cavern that glowed in greens and blues. A twist of his head, and horror overwhelmed the confessor’s pain.

 

The cavern was not covered in the glow of radiation, but that of the blasphemous crystals. Massive formations of it stuck out from the ground and walls. A Sentinel was carrying him towards a particular patch. One that, as Martin was brought ever closer to it, was decorated with things.

 

No, not things. Bodies without limbs. The bodies of Atom’s faithful, he realized with horror. Confessor Martin raged in protest, but was utterly unable to do anything when the Sentinel hovered before a particularly long and thin crystal formation and impaled him through the chest on it, just like the other helpless Children of Atom around him.

 

How he still lived, how any of the impaled faithful around him still drew breath to moan in pain, Martin would never know. The throbbing pain and draining frailty was far worse than his ordeal with a small shard in his chest, the crystal’s glow pulsing greedily as it feasted on Martin’s faith, but he still lived. The situation was hopeless, but he didn’t- couldn’t give in. Through pained lips, Confessor Martin frowned as he whispered soothing prayers to Atom.

 

This was an ordeal to endure. One that severely tested the faith, but Atom would see them free from this sacrilege. 

 

Atom’s wrath would descend upon the heathens, and the faithful trapped here would be liberated and ascend to achieve an even more blessed Division. 

 

At the very least, Atom would not allow their existence to be drained and stolen from the cycle of divine fission.

 

Atom’s will would see Martin and his brothers and sisters free.

 

He was sure of it.

 

Right?

 

*****

 

“The last of the Children of Atom have been seeded over the formation,” Cabal reported curtly. “Metaphysical readings indicates Tiberium growth following projected estimates.”

 

“Good.” I nodded with some satisfaction at that news. “Maintenance cost is not going to be a problem, right?”

 

“Affirmative. So long as the circle remains empowered, and the Tiberium growth carefully trimmed, the Children of Atom would not require sustenance or most physiological functions to remain alive.”

 

Well, that’d give us a few decades of stable Tiberium growth that’s significantly faster than the ambient-feeding average. As long as, of course, the cultists keep up their metaphysical connection, ie. They kept up their sincere faith. After that, they’d be fertilizer.

 

Heh, the Children of Atom, worshippers of fission, being made into batteries. There’s a good joke in there somewhere, I’m sure of it. Just a shame nobody but a very select few would ever get to study this scene to figure it out.

 

“If Tiberium growth here continues within estimates, wake the rest of the comatose cultists up and use ‘em to speed up the growth of our newer crystal beds.”

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