The New Adventures Of The Silver Shroud!

Chapter 3:

The Silver Shroud in: Reactor Of Doom!

Marcussen crossed the Nevada border into Idaho without incident, there wasn't any change in the landscape, no guarded outposts and not even any border markers. In fact the only indicator that the ghoul had even left Nevada was a very obscure landmark which only he would remember, The Yellow Pines Diner. While at one point it was a nice rest stop for truckers and wayward voice actors running from Hollywood with their tails between their legs, now it was nothing more than a blasted tube with the last remnants of its unique allure being slowly stripped away. The diner had a very unique set up, the southern half of the diner sat in Nevada which was part of the Southwest Commonwealth and thus was decorated with the respective colors of red, white and blue and adorned with Bear iconography; it contrasted rather heinously with the northern half which rested in Idaho and thus was part of the Northwest Commonwealth, the colors of their flag were a rather muted blue, yellow and green, complete with an effigy of George Washington to boot.

He remembered what the diner looked like before and though he'd found it to be almost painful to look upon at the time, now it served as a painful reminder of what they'd lost, the bombs were not satisfied with just taking away their creature comforts it wanted their pride too. Had he paid a little more attention to that diner maybe he would have turned back, maybe he'd have seen the northernmost 1/8th of the tube and saw that it had been melted due to prolonged exposure to the hostile radiation from the north; maybe he'd have come to his senses, abandoned his quest and spared his mind the torment that awaited him. Perhaps, but he hadn't, and instead he continued his quest deeper into the heart of Verdant Farms.

The ghoul accurately recalled Verdant Farms, Idaho; it was a series of 3 towns that had been bought out and converted into the world's first nuclear synthetic food factory by a single man, Halliday Greene. Marcussen remembers hearing from David Austen, who had been hired to be cast in a few commercials for the company, that when Greene had first promoted his plan to make nuclear powered food he'd nearly been crucified for bringing up the idea, and yet, in the 2070's nearly every single food brand could trace its roots back in some way to Halliday Greene and Verdant Farms.

It wasn't just the food Marcussen remembered he'd also felt the shockwave, when about 97 years after the bombs dropped, one of the 6 nuclear silos that decorated the factory town had detonated, churning %90 of Idaho and some of Montana into a rotten cesspit of radioactive hell. He wasn't expecting a walk in the park, but he still found himself surprised when the air started to devolve into a thick green fog not even 3 miles away from Yellow Pines Diner. As he traversed the Idahoan wastes he discovered radiation unlike anything he's seen or felt before, contrary to his initial suspicions there were no all-ghoul societies thriving amongst the radiation and he knew why in an instant, it was far too much for any sane man to handle. Even his packaged food seemed to rot at an exponential rate, leaving Marcussen with his only choice for survival being to let the radiation in, every rad seeming to chip away at his rational mind.

He blacks out for a second, awakening within a horde of shambling feral ghouls, how long has he been walking like this? He stops walking, allowing the pack to carry on without him as he shuts himself off from the glow; good God it's hard to breathe in this fog, he struggles to recover his map from his satchel and struggles harder still to read it. He feels an intensive dizziness hitting him far worse than any drunken stupor he'd found himself in prior, unsure if he'd spent 5 minutes or 30 years trying to read this fucking map. Looking around in all directions and everything looks the same, every direction sending him deeper and deeper into madness and despair. He draws his revolver to fire wildly into the distance, hoping to hit something metal or brick, anything solid at all, but upon pulling the trigger he finds that every shot had already been fired and that he had tried this before to no avail and forgotten he'd even done it.

When he returns to sanity again he's shoving his face with irradiated water from a puddle, he quickly recoils backwards trying to make himself regurgitate the rotten slough. He hadn't even realized that he wasn't in control, the body he thought he had mastered now seemingly worked against him and the call of the glow was too powerful to resist. All that awaited him now was a life disconnected from reality, a life spent in mindless service to the glow, he closed his eyes and his final thoughts were of her black dress…

Wake up Master Shroud.

Marcussen opens his eyes, in the distance a flash of light demands his attention, staggering to his feet he tries to make out the source of the reflected light. The light begins to fade as it seemingly came from a figure clad in a tuxedo walking towards him with a gallant stride, the figure walked with one arm behind its back and the other held a silver serving dish complete with cover. Getting closer now, the figure seems to carry contradictions as it's clothes remain pristine and untouched but it's skin is rotten, lacking lips to cover it's pronounced teeth, and the top half of the skull is exposed with nothing to cover it, this however did not seem to impact it's eyes which remain veiled behind the dark caverns of it's eye sockets.

This was no ghoul, the small impressions left against the inside of its clothing suggested that it remained fleshless on the parts of the body unseen by Marcussen.

You shouldn't let Mother Nature's wrath get the best of you Master Shroud, should you find yourself overwhelmed, you will find these creatures lack hands to lend…

Marcussen gripped his head so violently that he nearly began to tear at the skin, the specter before him did not speak with words but seemingly invaded the ghoul's own thoughts and replaced them. The specter leaned in close as if to revel in the wretches' misfortune, but then it returned to an upright position and revealed from behind its back an empty white-gloved hand to unveil the contents of the dinner plate. Marcussen worked through the pain to inspect the contents being presented before him, it was Marcussen's own map from before, now readable and marked with all the locations he'd been since entering this blasted state. For most men this may have raised suspicion, but most men have not felt the crippling effects of radiation-spurned insanity so one cannot judge the ghoul for having followed the map in these moments as if it was a religious text.

There we go Master Shroud, don't let the darkness cloud your judgment now.

He keeps his eyes glued to the map, barely looking up to determine his whereabouts, receiving the punishment in bursts of confusion when he does defy the mantra. His path leads him deeper into the fog where the shadows that move within start to take on terrifying shapes, where creatures that are bipedal no longer resemble humans. Within this section of the fog it wasn't clarity which attracted Marcussen's eyes to his map, it was fear, for these things that existed beyond the page cared not for the rational mind and cared less still for mercy.

Somewhere between 50 and 50,000 steps into the fog, his focus betrayed him and his right foot got caught on what he at first assumed was a rock, as he collided with the ground he took a moment to glance back at the obstruction and found himself horrified at his revelation. The obstruction was not a rock as he'd thought, nor was it living, but this offered no comfort to the ghoul as judging by the size of its horns and the fragments of bone lightly embedded in his legs, it could be nothing else other than the skull of a Deathclaw. Horror colors the ghoul, he had never seen in his 200 years a dead one of their kind, and the prospect that something could not only kill it but strip it's bones clean was simply petrifying.

Well now you've done it Master Shroud…

Marcussen turns to look at the apparition before his freshly wounded leg recalls his attention, he attempts to inspect the wound, the fragments of skull seemingly going deeper every time they are intruded upon.

Hmm… That doesn't look good.

Marcussen stands defiantly, letting out grunts which cannot be distinguished between pain and rage. Seemingly fueled by spite he carries on, re-discovering his devotion to the map as he proceeds further, pain replacing fear. His devotion to the path is met by deliverance, actually literally, as he passes through a barrier which was once a chain link fence now melted by the intense glow. He turns to look at the barrier, curiously though the fence is gone but the fog seemingly sits waiting, or perhaps it is afraid to proceed further as just over the next hill lies the industrial giant that is Verdant Farms.

The ghoul now stood looking at the once great pillar of industry, its monolithic nature has been fading for over a hundred years but the grand luster it once commanded has yet to wane completely. As he makes his way down into the industrial town he can't help but notice the absence of sound, the only noise to keep him company emanating from the other 5 massive titanic reactors that somehow seem to be still operational. His steady downhill canter slows to a cautious walk as he reaches the main street of the industrial village, large half-melted billboards indicating the directions of the R&D Building, Residential Quarters and the Consolidations Department. Marcussen pauses for a moment as he passes a rusted playground, an eerie feeling passing as the sight indiscriminately shimmers with the same invisible fumes produced by radiation so strong you can see it.

He wasn't in a position to ignore it now, the shimmering, looking around in all directions objects both near and far shared the same wavy quality; he picked up the pace towards the R&D department intending to acquire a hazmat suit, before his own mind started to become wavy as well. Approaching the door to the R&D department, the sound of an empty drum falling caught his ear, turning to look in that direction he did indeed see a drum, but no sign of anything that could knock it over.

Have you forgotten how to open a door, Master Shroud?

He did his best to ignore the apparition and forces open the door, adopting the line of thinking that if he gives the vision an inch it will surely take his mile. Stepping into the R&D department felt like waking from a coma for Marcussen, there was no trace of radiation here, and he quickly closed the door shut to maintain the aura he'd discovered here. The department truly was a marvel to behold, the absolute cutting edge of technology was the bare minimum requirement the building demanded, he had seen radiation shielding before, but the scale to which it was employed here was unprecedented. To his left he saw what remained of a first aid kit, he limped towards it and recovered enough bandages to bind his wounded leg, it wouldn't do much but it would stop the bleeding.

As he explored the pristine hallways that littered the building and did his best to understand the cryptic science which went far over his head, he began to notice signs of life in the form of the occasional empty meal container and the sporadic scribbled note.

Of these notes only one seemed entirely legible:

"Today I finally learned the truth, he knew, he's always known and he didn't care. I've dedicated my life to improving the sciences through ETHICAL means and he knew that, AND HE STILL LIED TO ME. Now he thinks we'll just rebuild the factory and all will be hunky fucking dory, producing the same shit that turned us all into these freaks… well I say fuck that. You're going to fucking pay for what you did Halliday, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!!!"

With this note and the ones he'd gathered before, Marcussen began to paint a picture of what happened here. This note seemed to be the first in a long line of unsent hate letters and research notes written by a Dr. Kelsey Gramercy, though her penmanship seemed to devolve rapidly, her goal was outlined very clearly. She was seeking a cure for ghouls.

As he continued deeper in he became more and more entranced with seeing the results of her experiments, steadily dropping inquisitive investigating in favor of running straight to the climax of what he was sure would be jaw dropping. When he came across the hallway with Gramercy's lab at the end of it, he dashed forward ignoring all rooms on either side of the long expanse. Coming to the door he gripped the door handle, ready to disengage the lock and enter the lab where anything could be waiting for him, he draws his service rifle and inspects the receiver ensuring that no weapon malfunction would catch him off guard. A single long exhale marks the end of his preparedness as his shaking hand slowly pushes down the door handle.

The pneumatic door opens vertically and rather quickly, Marcussen raises his weapon and begins to charge in, he only realizes his blunder when his head collides with solid metal. As it turns out the door had opened quickly, but malfunctioned about three quarters of the way through the process, leaving Marcussen feeling rather silly for trying to rush in. The pain recedes quickly and the ghoul turns to diagnose the problem, the sparks seemingly indicate an electrical failure but as he tries to pry the door open the rest of the way it becomes apparent that the door is melted on the other side. Not eating for several days and instead feeding on the glow had changed Marcussen's form to a degree that he was now thin enough to slide through the crevice with ease, he would feel concerned at this development were it not for another emotion taking center stage at that moment.

Despair.

Do you reckon Master Shroud, that the good doctor majored in lint production?

The vision stood at the far side of the room right next to a massive hole in the far wall, sullying his incorporeal white cloves with the dust which coated the entire room. Ironically, the hole provided a rather scenic view of the cracked and impacted reactor core in the distance. Looking at the rest of the lab Marcussen began to weep, the very same radiation that had kept him alive for these long 200 years had seeped in through the massive opening and ensured he would never be free of its tyrannical embrace. No spot within this room had been spared the lingering effects of radiation, gently cooking the room and melting the equipment over the course of several years. It was clear that if a cure had been produced here, it had long since been destroyed by the same means as the rest of the room had been.

In this moment he had abandoned all hope of ever becoming human again, and began to feel his world slipping into darkness…

Oh quit weeping, you sniveling tit!

He looked up to see the apparition leaned in close, and seemingly fed up, the apparition pokes Marcussens shoulder pushing it back to his own surprise.

The first sign of adversity and you give in? Pathetic! Perhaps we should go outside and give the shroud to the nearest feral bastard we come across hmm?! Perhaps they might have some mettle!

The phantom strikes Marcussen, sending him to the ground, shattering the illusion that he couldn't be touched by the apparition. The phantom towers over the collapsed ghoul, his eyes now shining like searchlights, his voice booming with all the thunder reserved for demons.

YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF THE SHROUD! IF YOU REFUSE TO WEAR THE MANTLE OF DEATH ON YOUR BACK, THEN IT SHALL COVER YOUR GRAVE!!!

Marcussen heard the phantom's threats and did not pretend he wasn't afraid, still he didn't move, fear as a motivator seemed almost pitiful in the face of his darkened indifference. As he laid on the rotting ground and readied himself for damnation, a single flicker of green dominates his peripheral vision, his full attention turns toward the flicker and the phantom dissipates in an instant. Never before has the ghoul risen to his feet so quickly, he had recognized this glow, it hadn't come from radiation like everything else that was tainted by the room; no this was the glow of a computer terminal and maybe, just maybe, it had some of the answers he'd sought.

He let out a long, drawn sigh of relief; the system was functional and the yellow standard text on the black background was a welcome sight for the weary ghoul. He began to read the text:

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Personal Terminal for: DR. GRAMERCY

Access to this Personal Record Terminal is restricted to AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL of Verdant Farms Senior Production, tampering with this device is punishable to the fullest extent of the Law.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Research Logs

> Staff Announcements

> Human Resources

> Creature Sightings [PENDING APPROVAL]

He allowed himself to bask in the green glow of the monitor for a few minutes before bringing himself to make a selection. Gramercy may be long gone, but the research notes may give some insight into the possibility of a cure.

Marcussen took a deep breath and selected "Research Logs"

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Dr. Gramercy Personal Research Logs:

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Entry 1: Hypothesis

> Entry 2: Research

> Entry 3: Experimentation

> Entry 4: Conclusions

Anxiously he hovered the selector over Entry 4, the answers he sought were within his reach, but he couldn't bring himself to proceed. Instead the ghoul resolved himself to start at the beginning and work his way down.

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Dr. Gramercy Personal Research Logs:

Entry 1: Hypothesis

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I, Dr. Kelsey Gramercy, hereby reject the notion that this affliction which has gripped the entire Verdant Farms workforce is rooted in the superstitious nonsense of a "curse". My hypothesis is as stated:

"What has happened to us is not the result of the occult but instead a by-product of science and therefore can be cured completely."

Should I fail in this venture then I shall forevermore refuse the title of Head of Scientific Operations!

He caught himself chuckling at the stubborn nature of the scientist, it was almost as if he could picture her giving a defiant speech in the middle of the lab like Verdant Farms' very own Doctor Frankenstein.

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Dr. Gramercy Personal Research Logs:

Entry 2: Research

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In an effort to silence me that ninnyhammer Halliday Greene moved all my records to the administration wing, oh I bet he's sitting comfy right now on his coward's throne! He can burn my files and destroy my servers all he likes though, it doesn't matter. I've already completed my research and what I've found has rattled me to my core. Compound XB-38-1 is the additive we put soil to produce ingredients at a the rate we have been, it was supposed to be safe, Green specifically provided results that the Compound was safe for consumption, how is it possible then that all the sample tissue from any part of the body I've looked at contains a ruptured version of Compound XB-38-1? I've run every test there is to run, there's no beating around the bush, Compound XB-38-1 when exposed to intensive radiation alters its composition at the fundamental level.

Oh God, we're responsible for what has happened to us and to every one else who has regularly consumed Verdant Farms ingredients.

Marcussen takes a step back from the monitor, it must have been a few dozen days since he's eaten anything Pre-war but still he feels the need to abdicate the contents of his stomach.

Would you care for a towel Master Shroud?

He reaches for the apparition but it pulls away just as quickly leaving the ghoul alone and slowly reclaiming his dignity leaning against the terminal desk. He's not sure why but he feels compelled to continue his search.

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Dr. Gramercy Personal Research Logs:

Entry 3: Experimentation

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am not sure how much of this will be recorded, Green has completely gone off his rocker and he's scrubbing everything, he's ordered the science wing be stripped of supplies and cordoned off to "preserve the integrity of our great farm". I have no problem sneaking in at night though to carry on my research, I know Green is afraid of the possibility that I'll speak and his security thugs have made sure I haven't thus far, but the science speaks for itself and when I produce the evidence I won't even have to speak!

My experiment has been nearing its conclusion, I had a smidge of trouble finding a proper subject to fully analyze the effects of the Compound, Green's purge of this wing was at the very least thorough. He hadn't thought of bug control though, even the most sterile environment in the world is still subject to creepy crawlies, in our case we happened to at some point foster a colony of centipedes. My initial results were quite promising and injecting direct doses of Compound XB-38-1 seems to increase the creature's lifespan as well as cause exponential growth! My hopes are restored, perhaps once I've cured the affliction we may still keep some of the beneficial traits!

Marcussen stared blankly at the screen, he hadn't shared the good doctor's enthusiasm, as it happens he truly dreaded it. After all, it wasn't a human reading these entries, but a ghoul.

Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) TermLink

Dr. Gramercy Personal Research Logs:

Entry 4: Conclusions

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This log terminal serves as a final record of the results of my experimentation, a formal letter of resignation from the Verdant Farms Senior Research Staff and as my final will and testament.

The experiment is a complete and total failure, all efforts to extract Compound XB-38-1 indicate that the Compound ingratiates itself so tightly with the host tissue that removal results in death of the tissue and full dissolving of the Compound into a gray mush. Subject 91 is experiencing more severe mutations and has eaten the other subjects. It seems to be growing a lot faster and doesn't show any signs of slowing down. I've thrown a blanket over the glass case because looking at it for extended periods gives me conniptions.

To Halliday Greene, I cannot bear to allow you to walk unimpeded through the world you've destroyed for so many people. I have seen the Blue Folder in your office, and I spit on the fact that I thought you were a good man at some point.

There is only one action left to take now, I have no possessions that matter and time has dulled all I thought I once cared about, all I have left is my sanity and that seems to be slipping by the day too. I cannot allow such evils to go unpunished… tomorrow I will go to Reactor 4 and I will set right what we have done to the world.

Well there it was, in writing no less. Definitive proof that things will not get better, that all actions were taken to cure his affliction and it still was not enough. The wretched thing that is Marcussen attempted once more to sink into despair when the phantom acquired his attention.

What do you suppose happened over there?

He wasn't very good at ignoring the gruesome visage of his former colleague, despite his efforts, and his failure this time would feature his eyes following the thin and lanky outstretched arm of the phantom pointing towards a very familiar looking shattered glass case, and then the scratches on the floor, and then the very sizeable hole in the far ceiling. It was very apparent to Marcussen in that moment that no bomb could have made that hole, no that hole had been chewed out.

With all due haste the ghoul quickly left the lab, now experiencing the intolerable feeling of being watched… no, perhaps hunted by something lurking in the shadows. He raced through the corridors of the research wing, tracking with him heaps of radiation as if it was dirt on his shoes.

Where are you going Master Shroud?

The apparition spoke from one of the many rooms Marcussen sped past, he paid the ghost no mind, running aimlessly toward a destination he was unsure of.

Would you just stop for a second you madman?!

Standing in his way now the apparition remained defiant, Marcussen slowed to a halt attempting to look past the specter hoping to find a hole he can slip through to continue to feed into his similarly slipping psyche. The specter clapped his hands together forcing the attention of the madman.

Listen to me! What are you doing? Is your plan really to run into the glow again, lose your mind and hope that you survive?!

Yes, that was his plan.

Ridiculous! You won't survive a single day out there, the glow is too much for even a ghoul, save the body to spite the mind? There are better ways to die, you know.

In that moment something the ghost said clicked with the ghoul, "Save the body, spite the mind, despite the body the… the mind is saved!" The phrase was surely gibberish, however to Marcussen it made perfect sense. He would need to acquire a radiation suit to mitigate the radiation in the unforgiving glow, it wouldn't protect him completely but even a plastic sheet can stop acid for a moment. Remembering the signs out front, he rationalizes that the Consolidations Department must contain at least one unused radiation suit and readies himself for a moment before setting off.

Making it to the entrance of the R&D Department was no easy feat, he was unsure if this was due to not remembering the path he took to Gramercy's lab through his fit of hysteria or if the R&D Department was specifically designed to be hard to navigate. A flash comes over Marcussen, a memory of a time long past, he remembers drinking coffee in a sickeningly pristine kitchen reading an article on the wild lengths Halliday Greene would take to secure Verdant Farms from foreign espionage; it was a fairly forgettable memory but in these moments the vision lingered for an unsettling amount of time.

Shroud.

Snapping back to reality, he looks over to the grisly visage of his mentor who now stands leering over him, he always was a tall sod but thinking in retrospect he couldn't have possibly been as tall as he appeared now to Marcussen.

The Consolidations Department, Master, you must not tarry now.

Peeking past the main entrance of the R&D Department he sees the entrance to Consolidations, it's just across the extremely exposed main street where he could be attacked from any direction. He made one final exhale, said his goddammits and booked it into the street. The air was thick as hell which was to be expected, it slowed him down but he'd spent most of his 200+ years running from all kinds of horrific what-have-yous, today was no different.

Something wicked this way comes…

About a quarter of the way between departments, Marcussen heard the sounds of plastic and metal canisters at the end of the street being disturbed with force and he wasn't willing to wager it on the wind. Already at his limit, he pushed himself harder to the point of feeling his world shake around him, he'd have been forgiven for thinking it was a symptom of exhaustion, a glint in the corner of his eye would show him just how wrong he was. The sight caused him to stumble momentarily as the thing he witnessed scared the ever living shit out of him, far worse than any Deathclaw, the abhorrence was terrifying beyond words Marcussen could produce.

The thing gained on Marcussen with incredible speed and let out a violent shrieking which sounded something akin to laughter, it seemed to be enjoying itself. The thunder of a hundred stomps is a chorus that sparks a primal fear within the ghoul, he vaults over a park bench but the creature glides over the obstruction with ease and the action serves only to slow Marcussen. With the creature just inches away from him, Marcussen limping on his bad leg makes a desperate lunge toward the half-peeled door of the Consolidations Department, as he slips through the barrier the beast similarly lunges but it's massive size denies it entry into the passageway, it's brobdingnagian pincers managing to snag only a boot from the ghoul… for now.

End Chapter 3