A Relic of Past and Future

Chapter 1

The bastards. They must’ve known it was near. That vault is the tomb of loved ones and here i stand, just a few feet away from it. I don’t know much about what happened after the bombs, just being grabbed and thrown in a van. Then, flashes of white light and voices, sometimes, doctors, i assumed. But the assholes stopped making sense after a while, the locations too. First, surgeons in one of those vaults, then scientists in another room. After that were the pristine walls of a white and shiny room, scientists, engineers and whoever walked in and out. I knew vault tech were shady, but i didn’t think they would go as far as taking people off the streets. I know they took me initially and experimented on me. The others that got to me… i have no idea. I took to calling them all bastards, even the kinder ones- meaning those that didn’t outright stab their tools in my limbs. I was only conscious of the weight of my limbs changing every time i’d wake. One time, i awoke to an interface of sorts, names and words next to circles lit up everywhere i’d look, then came the A.I. They put a second fucking voice, although completely mindless – even though it acts differently sometimes – in my head. I would only learn later on what they had made of me and who they were. I learnt it all when i attempted an escape. I was now what was called- in the 23rd century – a Synth, and the bastards were part of a group called the Institute. My escape failed. When they reattached me in one of their workshops, they tried to reset me. They failed. I was lucky i was always good at adapting to situations. I acted like i was off. A few days ago, they lost me in the middle of nowhere, with my only company being the A.I i’ve taken to calling Hailey. One of my plans finally worked and now, here i am. Standing just a few steps away from vault 111, the possible tomb of my little sister, her husband and baby.

I hope they lived the good life Vault-Tech promised them. But, something’s off. The seal seems intact but it really isn’t. It should’ve been opened years ago and then once every few weeks as the provisions dwindled. That is, if the overseer decided to not go on with the three waves of people they were supposed to send upstairs. Otherwise, its door or, in this case, its elevator, should be fully unsealed. The only other reason i can see for it not being sealed is… it’s a bad one. An experimental vault and not the underground paradise these people were promised. I shudder at the thought. I can’t begin to imagine what they suffered but, remembering what I went through, yeah, no. I really don’t want to know. But i will anyways. I have to make sure. What’s the worst thing that can happen, getting my head shot off? That’d be a relief more than anything. All vault-tech vaults have some kind of switch outside to open the door. Just have to find it amongst all the skeletons and military debris. Hell, there’s even a destroyed T51b power armor just laying about in pieces.

Finally, in a cement “house” was the big red button I was searching for. It didn’t take seconds for the gears and mechanisms to get working. A powerful blow of old air, kept underground and pooling around the exit, was suddenly let out as the elevator appeared from deep below. Coming out of the lead-lined cement brick, I took a few hesitating steps towards the platform. What was I doing? There could be nothing down there. Could be skeletons or a vault full of non-irradiated humans. I reminded myself of the rusty, seemingly unsealed exterior of 111. I put steel in my mechanical feet and stepped on for a ride underground. I pressed the button, frowned at the sound of old, dusty gears and began my trip downstairs. All the way down were nothing but darkness and a metal cage around me. Then came light. Blinking and unsteady light. Hailey took the chance to scan pretty much everything and nothing in the area; the air, the radiation levels, living organisms, the vault’s integrity, whatever. There was nothing near to alert me: radroaches of varying sizes, dank but breathable air, no threatening levels of radiation, the power was still on although fading. The only alarming things were the amount of bodies and that one sparkle of human life deep in the vault.; skeletons decorated the halls and rooms of the entire place. What happened here? Did someone enter and massacre the population? Was there an illness or a virus? I’m… not sure I want to know. As for the person still here, why are they so still? And why is only them remaining?

I got off the elevator, black overcoat cinched at the waist, where a peplum trim adorned my abdomen, flowing as I quickly got up the stairs in my knee-length steel-toed boots and got rid of the radroaches emerging from floors and walls with one of my integrated weapons. One even fell on my grey boater hat! God, I hate these bugs… I have to say, the assholes at the Institute did me good with all the thingamajigs they installed in me. But, having seen the other synths, I know something like me is going to be hard to recreate. Really, I’m certain they have vault-tech to thank for what they achieved with me: a humanoid weapon. One laser bullet and these dog-sized bugs blow up like balloons. Crouched, I explore each room, hoping to get the jump on these damned insects or gather whatever I can to piece together what the fuck happened in here.

It doesn’t take me long to find the overseer’s office and terminal. Yeah. I really shouldn’t have snooped. About a third of Sanctuary Hills was accepted inside. The rest? Left to die of radiation poisoning, the bombs’ blasts or to become ghouls. By now, I have a pretty good understanding of how the wasteland and the commonwealth work because of Institute intel put in my “brain”. Hailey is always eager to fill in blanks, too. It’s just- a lot is missing and I have plenty to catch up on, but at least, I can survive out there. Now, to figure out what Vault 111 really is.

I open another entry in the terminal. The overseer had typed it in plain and clear: the residents were stuck in cryopods, frozen in time. The company left the maintenance to the staff for a time, staff who was supposed to leave either after an alert from upstairs or, after 180 days inside. Then Vault-Tech would take over from a distance. The other entries bring up a riot from the maintenance staff and the overseer and scientists hiding in the office with pretty much all the provisions. Sons of bitches. I’ve read everything written in there. A third of Sanctuary Hills were taken in and put in cryogenic sleep, if I was the head of this experiment, wouldn’t I keep a log or a holotape of the “residents”? Absolutely. So, where is it? I look in the desk, every cubby is checked and every single piece of paper is scanned for ink or remains of words. I can make out a few phrases of reports in some well-preserved folders, but some papers have degraded so much, they almost turn to dust when picked up. Not in here.

I walk towards the bedroom and bath. Before getting there, I do take good notice of some sort of gun encased on a wall behind security gates. Upon Hailey scanning it, I discover its great potential and decide to eventually add something like it to my arsenal. The bedroom is empty and so is the bathroom. Wherever that resident log is, it isn’t nearby. Sighing loudly, I push forward, looking in every room for that list. I finally arrive at an intersection of three rooms and , according to my sensors and Hails’ map-making skills, these are the last ones. The one at my left is no good, of course, I could always move the debris away from the door but, once scanned, I discovered how fragile this part of the vault is. Even though it contains the rows of cryopods, Vault-tech still managed to fuck up. The room in front of me contains the last person still alive but, before I let them out, I want to see if the list could be in the other one. Aaaaaand- bingo! The pods are full of dead bodies, every one of them looking as if they are in deep slumber. At the end of the hall, behind all the machinery, is a dusty terminal, still beeping. The list of people names plenty of my sister’s neighbors, all dead by asphyxiation. Will I find the same result in the other room? Damn it!

I almost run out to find the generator powering all these cryopods. On one side it could lock them all in forever or it could open them. Found it! I open the terminal included in the machinery and select the appropriate option. It stops running for a moment then restarts on a slower flow, powering only the necessities. I take off just as fast as I arrived. However, I stop abruptly in front of the last door. The person is up. About 5’6”, 27 years old, female, average built. Vague description but- no. I have to stop kidding myself. She falls to the floor, gathers herself on all fours and then seems to retch whatever fluids and chemicals the cryogenization formed in her body. I watch as she almost crawls to the pod in front of her and attempts to open it. Tired of seeing her try and fail over and over, I finally move and enter the room.

The woman, now on her knees and banging her fist against the cold glass, turns her head towards me, her movements still sluggish. Tear tracks go down her reddened and freckled cheeks, watery green eyes look up at me and change from multiple emotions at once, her red-haired bangs stuck to her forehead. Gwen. All along, that light had been Gwen. My little sister. She resumes her sobs once she realizes who stands in the doorway. Just as she begins to fall forward, I reach her and cradle her in my arms, my own eyes wide as I look down at her face. She looks the same. Same freckles the twins and I drew constellations in when she slept and we were bored. Same hair she’d only let her favorite hairdresser touch. Same green eyes that twinkled whenever she got an idea or a breakthrough, with those small joy lines on the outside. Same smooth and dewy skin her husband hoped Shaun would get. Wait. Wait, wait. Where are they?

I look up at the pod and- there’s Nathan or, as Gwen calls him, Nate. His brown eyes open, his face entirely relaxed, his mouth slightly agape, his body slumped and – in the middle of his forehead, a single, deadly, bullet wound. Frozen blood trailing down his face to his collarbones, he clearly didn’t die of asphyxiation like all the others. I turned over a few options as to what could have happened but, none made sense to me. Why kill him? And only him? And where the hell is Shaun? No way that baby – just a few weeks old – would just walk out of here. The answers lived in Gwen, if she had any clue. As for her, she passed out in my arms, still, somehow, crying. Now, I’ve got to find a way to help her adapt to what became the world and find a way to tell her about – well, about what I am. What the hell am I gonna do?

Note: This is the first chapter of a fallout 4 fanfic i've had in my head for a while now and i guess it's now that i'm writing it ~goat

Some D&D party is out there playing the coolest campaign ever.

THERE IS. a website. that takes 3D models with seams and pulls it apart to make a plushie pattern and informs you where things need to be edited or darts added for the best effect. and then it lets you scale it and print off your pattern. and I want to lose my MIND because I've lost steam halfway through so many plushie patterns in the mind numbing in betweens of unwrapping, copying all of the meshes down as pieces, transferring those, testing them, then finding obvious tweaks... like... this would eradicate 99% of my trial and error workflow for 3D models to plushies & MAYBE ILL FINALLY FINISH SCREAMTAIL...

Felt like the ground was shakin',

Like the waves were hittin',

But was it just my mind breakin'?

I couldn't tell now!

Everything's crumbled, jumbled,

Feels like we're stuck in a jungle

Can't tell the sky from the ground,

The up from the down.

Somebody help me! I'm glued with a frown!

I'm starting a collection named Emotional Colors! Here's the first one called "Sorrowful Blue"!

Here's the second of my Emotional Colors series, this one is called Ferocious Red

It's been awhile.

I haven't touched this blog in what? Two years? Maybe three. I'm nineteen now, almost twenty. Turns out I don't suffer from cyclothymia, but anxiety yes. Although I could've told anybody that. I changed docs, who still isn't sure what kind, exactly, of anxiety I have. I isolated myself completly in my home, left my job and didn't return to school. At a certain point, my home became my prison. I went through an eight-week therapy program recently to get out of that, I got a social worker before that, then couldn't get another appointment afterwards. So, yay! I hope the sarcastic tone is heard in your heads, whoever is reading this, if anybody.

I... don't know what i'm doing. Honestly. I read through my past posts and, I gotta say, some days are exactly the same. Rage, sadness, fear, fatigue, numbness, symptoms i'm all too familiar with, unfortunately. But this time, they seem less random, often with reason, sometimes hard to admit. Still, I go through some days like a robot programmed to act without actually feeling, or needing to.

Tw beneath cut... mentions of suicide. Intrusive thoughts.

I've asked myself if anything's, if I'm, worth anything. Ended up in the hospital for it. Well, that's not the only reason why... also wanted to take a buncha pills and end it all there and then. Temporarily. That's not a solution, as i was already aware. In my eyes, that's the coward's way out. Made my mother cry to hear that her baby wanted to die in her sleep. But, as she cried, i was so numb, so, so done with everything. Silent tears rolled down my face just to think of how done i was with everything.

Still feel like giving up everytime i go through a hard few days. Still feel done when nothing seems to go my way or when the suffering doesn't seem to have an end in sight. I take medication, i practise my breathing techniques, i anchor myself in the present with my senses. Sometimes, that's not enough.

I panic, i cry, i scream, i shake.

Then, I have the good days. One morning, I wake up and nothing weighs me down. I'm rational, I think normally, I stand up straight and think "Wow, I'm pretty today!". I don't force myself to wear my makeup, i wear it just for fun. I smile, I laugh, I joke around, I-I- I feel just a bit normal.

But all it takes to bring it all down like a crumbling tower is one, single, intrusive, thought. "You're fat. Nobody'll ever love you. Lose weight. You're a screw-up. Lazy. Ugly. You should've never have been born. Coward. Dunce." I could go on. I'll be in a conversation and one of those'll slip out as a joke. Then the spark in my eyes dulls and my smile flickers for a second. The mood's changed, the ambiance is ruined. I don't do it voluntarily. I really don't. The thoughts i want to keep in my head wrangle the words on my toungue and distort my discord.

I don't know what I'm doing.

~goat

Let 'em run, let 'em hide

It's just a matter of time before they're found

They left tracks in the mud, their scent's in the wind

The hounds're howling, the gates're open

Won't be long

Before they're found

There comes the rain of fire!

Noone's escaping it, it's jugment day!

God is gone and so's my mind

There comes the rain of fire!

You can crawl but, Hell's waiting!

I'm on the throne and you're my prey

Lucifer is at my feet, he's beggin'

Beggin' to be set free but i'm far done

They're still hiding, hopin', hopin',

How f*cking stupid!

Won't be long,

Before they're found.

Pourrai-je aimer un jour,

De tout mon coeur, tout mon amour?

Des fois, me semble que je suis trop loin,

Que ce soit dans ma tête ou dans mes pieds,

Pour montrer que je m'inquiète, que j'ai penser.

Voyons donc, ça l'a de l'air à rien!

C'est pas un défi,

De dire :《Je m'ennuie,

Je voudrais bien qu'on se voit, une soirée,

J'ai du stress pis c'est le temps de se reparler.》

Mais tout a de l'air d'être une montagne,

Et quand j'ai pas de réponse à donner,

Sur tes maux de coeur et cruelles pensées,

Je voudrais juste pouvoir sortir une autre personalité,

Une pas brisée et sans peur de sa propre tête.

Alors que d'autres disent ce qu'elle leur chante,

Moi il faut que je la fasse taire.

Allons à l'échafaud!

Parce que jamais je réussirai,

À sortir des mots que le monde aimeront,

Et qui me feront pas tuer.

Un moment, je te le dit,

J'avais le sourire aux lèvres,

Le rire de mes cordes vocales y'était pas maudit,

Une seconde, c'est tout ce que ça prend,

Pour botter le divin vers l'enfer

Ma tête, c'tait un démon qu'elle entend,

Bientôt, c'tait plus rien, même pas l'air.

《Respire》

C'est juste ça qu'ils ont à dire,

Quand ton corps répond pas à ton signal,

Quand les larmes veulent couler,

Sans jamais se pointer,

À l'aide! C'est infernal!

Tristesse

Joie

Colère

Fatigue

Répétition.

J'imagine que c'est ça ma malédiction

Ou comme vous disiez,

J'imagine que c'est ça la bipolarité.

Course à travers rideaux de détresse,

Soubresauts par-dessus champs noirs de peur,

Vol haut dans les airs teint de tritesse,

Dieux aux cieux! Faites s'arrêter le temps,

Que je puisse avoir enfin une pause de bonheur!

Forcez les larmes à couler,

Ou je vous en saurai gràce de les faire s'en aller,

Laissez partir ma peine,

Ou je vous saurai grâce de m'en épargner.

Le controle de mes émotions,

Faites m'en reine,

Que je puisse finalement avoir une pause de bonheur!

J'ai crier à un point tel

Mon coeur s'en est étouffé

Il m'a supplier: " je vous prie, mademoiselle,

Vos yeux avec qui vous braillez

N'en peuvent plus, ils en voient des étincelles.

Votre gorge s'est asséchée, s'est mise à saigner,

Votre ventre en est plié, il souffre de soubresauts.

Je vous prie, mademoiselle, écoutez mes mots.

Laissez tomber votre tristesse

Nous vous en connaitrons allégresse

Nous vous prions, mademoiselle,

N'ayez plus de cris à peine franchis

Que déjà ils sont part d'un gachis.

Nous vous prions, mademoiselle"

L'ai-je écouté, moi qui croyais avoir à peine fini?

Ever felt like you could burst out in screams at any moment? Ever felt like telling everyone you know to just fuck off? To be gone for at least a day and not bother you for a while? Ever wanted to be able to lock your bedroom's door, block out all sounds and just be alone for some time? To do all that without the risk of someone trying to open your door or demanding you open just to throw a command at you when you're barely able to stay in control of the pitch of your voice?

Ever thought there wasn't enough space around you? Ever thought there wasn't enough time for all you want to do? Ever thought of doing something but just the thought of beginning is enough to make you stop? That beginning makes you want to curl up in a ball and scream because the lack of motivation brings despair in your soul?

Makes me think that a year ago, i would've gotten up and done what i wanted done. Not anymore. Wish i could go back.

~goat

It's 11:40 am and all i feel is rage. I wanna scream until my throat is dry and sore, until it's bleeding and sound refuses to come forward. I want to throw the first things i can grab as far and as hard as i possibly can. I want to break things made of glass and porcelain and see the shards litter the floor. I wanna wreck my room, take my dressers and push them over, take a knife to my mirror and destroy my closet. I want to punch something- or someone- until my knuckles bleed and my arms ache.

I can feel this bubbling of emotions in my belly, almost like butterflies, but it isn't a soft and happy thing. I can feel tears well up in my eyes from the anger inside me. My breathing gets heavy and my shoulders tense. I can't function. My throat is knotted up. My hands shake. Its overwhelming. I can feel it. I don't know how to stop it.

Its 12:05. My family knows by just hearin the way i speak to them. My patience is non-existant, i push them away, force them away with hurried words and raging tone. They try. They try to help, to somehow make it pass, to somehow make the knot in my throat, the tears under my eyelids and the fury in my head disappear. I wish they could.

The past week had been great! No anger. Almost no tears. Smiles and laughter in place of screams and sobs. Energy in place of fatigue. It never lasts long. Never. I wish it did.

Its 12:14. The anger slowly leaves. No doubt it'll be back. The sadness becomes ever present. No doubt i'll cry. I wonder, how long have i felt this numb? My body's tense but without sensation. The fury's there but without reason. I wish i could be told it'll be alright and without negation. It'll be alright with confirmation.

Its 12:20. I'm numb, but sure my emotion aren't done. At some point in the day, everything'll be back stronger and my efforts to keep together will shatter. I doubt i'll be pleasant. I wish i could spare my family this pain. I know it's hard for them. Every day's a challenge, they never know if they'll win it.

~goat

Okay. Am i really doing this? Yeah, i guess i am. So, i heard about how having a blog can be therapeutic. I decided i'd give it a try.

You can call me goat. I'm 17 years old, and i live in québec, canada. I suffer from cyclothymia, a mental disorder where a person has numerous periods of depression and then of hypomania, but they don't last long enough to be considered major episodes, in some ways, it ressembles a bipolar disorder. However, my cyclothymia is more on the depression side. I have been really suffering from it for almost a year now and have been diagnosed with it since january.

I draw a lot. I like to read. I play sims 4 a lot too. I play mostly rpgs on my xbox one. I've got a brother and a sister, both of them older than me. My parents have been in a loving relationship for more than 25 years(they've been married for 24). I have three guinea pigs, all girls named cupcake, muffin and pudding. Then i have 8 cats and one big german sherperd girl named storm.

That's it for today.... i think this blog'll be some sort of diary, i guess? Anyways, that's me.

~goat