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Title: In All This Blood and Thunder (2/?)
Author: MustInvestigate
Disclaimer: I only own action figures
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: none
Warning(s): advanced geekery, WIP
Summary: Rorschach unwittingly enters the Fallout universe. Probably won't make much sense unless you've played at least the main storyline. Possibly not even then.
Note: Set in 1976. Thanks to Doctor Manhattan's random technological phlebotinum, gaming technology leapt directly from 1972's Pong to...this, why not.

Also, holy crap, there's a Fallout kink meme!!!

2. Springvale

Rorschach sleeps through a solid day and awakes whole. He rolls up the legs of his Vault 101 jumpsuit and stares at the skin of his legs, pale and barely scarred.

He knows, somehow, that this should not feel normal. But…he’s never been hurt, aside from that one time he beat Butch, the vault bully, into unconsciousness for picking on dear Amata for the thousandth time, and that only bruised his knuckles. It seems logical to assume this is how people heal.

Taking days, even months, or never completely healing…no. That is what makes no sense.

He spends a couple of days exploring the suburban ruins that make up his immediate surroundings for anything useful. He finds more Nuka-Colas in a soda machine and stows them in his pockets. A tire iron goes in his belt loop, within easy reach. The locks on a safe and bureau give easily when he probes them with a bobby pin, as if he’s done it many times before. A centuries-old copy of Pugilism Illustrated makes the afternoon pass almost pleasantly, as he practices the new moves it presents.

No paper, though, and nothing to write with.

He tries to flush Silver’s collection of poisonous drugs down the toilet before realising that toilets in the wasteland are strictly for decoration. He fishes the ampules out and buries them under a rock, instead, but the gesture doesn’t feel as appropriate.

Another day passes before he attempts sneaking back into Megaton, hoping to find something in Moriarty’s bar that will lead him to Father. Unfortunately, the front guard catches sight of him when he eases around the pile of rubble, and…waves to him.


Simms greets him warmly. No one attacks, and the only glare comes from the mad preacher half-heartedly worshipping his now-dead bomb. The sign above the saloon has been painted over, and now declares itself Gob’s.

“Town came to senses?” Rorschach mutters, nonplussed.

“Don’t hit me!” Gob shouts when Rorschach enters the bar, but no one else bats an eye. A slimy number in a dirty suit, fedora, and sunglasses waves him over.

“My name is Burke, and I’ve got a deal for you,” he purrs as soon as Rorschach is within earshot.

“No deal,” Rorschach growls and yanks him out of the chair by his pinky. He’s prepared, this time, for an outside attack, but the other customers watch without interest. Gob smacks the staticky radio and Moriarty’s whore, Nova, chides him for damaging the equipment.

He feels like smiling.

“Where is Father?” he demands, forcing Burke’s arm up high behind his back until the shoulder pops.



“I…don’t know…unhand me…you…”

Rorschach pushes until tendons rip and, getting soprano screams but no answer, drops the man.

Burke gets to his feet, glaring daggers. “You’ve made a powerful enemy, young sir. I offered you the world, but now you’ll only get a one-way ticket across the Styx!”

Rorschach’s head tilts, and he touches the tire iron in his belt. “Confessing to intent of premeditated murder? Must be punished.”

Afterward, the customers only mutter “good riddance.” Rorschach takes – no, rescues – the fedora from Burke’s greasy head, and accepts the stimpacks Gob wordlessly pushes across the bar. Nova offers him a free night in the upstairs room – “…but I don’t come with it anymore, now that Moriarty’s gone.”

When he briefly hears through the radio’s static, catching the news that Father had visited the mouthy disk jockey at someplace called the GNR Plaza, and Gob is able to punch those coordinates into his Pip-boy’s map, Rorschach wishes again to be able to record events, this time of the best day of his life.

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