"I know about the Railroad. There was a man we called 'the prodigal son', sprang out of nowhere. He got in good with the railroad, and it had been using Enclave territory to move through. That meant if certain people were caught and went missing? Well, I didn't know how fucked up Enclave scientists could be when I was an officer for 'em."
Hank finds an old chair, pulling it up before seeing if it could handle his weight. Satisfied, he pulls one leg up so they're crossed, lightly gripping his ankle. Right. Should let this guy know about the Detroit Enclave. The real Enclave, not what they put on their posters.
"Over a century ago, Detroit was being set back up. But it was slow going. We had good people, generations of vault survivors. Real scientists, real engineers. Genius kids of genius people. But uh..." He sucks air between his teeth. "Raiders liked it too. And they were constantly being knocked back. They couldn't protect themselves sometimes, had to retreat to the nearest stronghold they set up. An old power armor factory. A bunch of fuckin' nerds who had to slap on power armor to defend themselves, tripping over their own fuckin' feet, fighting like kids on a playground but somehow pulling through." He chuckles, having heard the stories. Sad but victorious stories, of underdogs winning on the power of initiative and creativity. They'd been good things to fall asleep to. He'd told some to his own son. He clears his throat.
It also says something that, at some point, Detroit acquired playgrounds for that comparison to be made.
"About eighty years ago, Enclave moved in. Soooo... things cleared up. Raiders got fucked, they could train real soldiers. Keep the engineers safe. Give civilians who wanted to get by factory jobs. Make real homes out of the remains of the old ones. It was fuckin' great. And they could make new gear. Real new gear, no rust. But uh... like I said, rules got more and more strict. Turned out they needed new threats to throw at their new imported scientists. Meat for the grinder. Still, somehow, the safest territory for the Railroad to run through. Fuckin' radiation to the east, deathclaws to the west, and a magazine cover with fangs smack in the middle."
He then leans forward, fingertips together, elbows on his thighs. "Prodigal son figured out how bad it was. Connor was there investigating the railroad and he convinced him to help him. A bunch of Detroit's labrats were released with the whole truth before they could be broken..."
Hank scratches the side of his cheek, scruffing gray bristles, before shrugging.
"If you guys get desperate for an out, you might find a home up there. It's not a bad place to live, and I bet even with the changes it'll be good 'cause they got a good leader stepping in. But don't count on a position with an Enclave name on it."
no subject
Hank finds an old chair, pulling it up before seeing if it could handle his weight. Satisfied, he pulls one leg up so they're crossed, lightly gripping his ankle. Right. Should let this guy know about the Detroit Enclave. The real Enclave, not what they put on their posters.
"Over a century ago, Detroit was being set back up. But it was slow going. We had good people, generations of vault survivors. Real scientists, real engineers. Genius kids of genius people. But uh..." He sucks air between his teeth. "Raiders liked it too. And they were constantly being knocked back. They couldn't protect themselves sometimes, had to retreat to the nearest stronghold they set up. An old power armor factory. A bunch of fuckin' nerds who had to slap on power armor to defend themselves, tripping over their own fuckin' feet, fighting like kids on a playground but somehow pulling through." He chuckles, having heard the stories. Sad but victorious stories, of underdogs winning on the power of initiative and creativity. They'd been good things to fall asleep to. He'd told some to his own son. He clears his throat.
It also says something that, at some point, Detroit acquired playgrounds for that comparison to be made.
"About eighty years ago, Enclave moved in. Soooo... things cleared up. Raiders got fucked, they could train real soldiers. Keep the engineers safe. Give civilians who wanted to get by factory jobs. Make real homes out of the remains of the old ones. It was fuckin' great. And they could make new gear. Real new gear, no rust. But uh... like I said, rules got more and more strict. Turned out they needed new threats to throw at their new imported scientists. Meat for the grinder. Still, somehow, the safest territory for the Railroad to run through. Fuckin' radiation to the east, deathclaws to the west, and a magazine cover with fangs smack in the middle."
He then leans forward, fingertips together, elbows on his thighs. "Prodigal son figured out how bad it was. Connor was there investigating the railroad and he convinced him to help him. A bunch of Detroit's labrats were released with the whole truth before they could be broken..."
Hank scratches the side of his cheek, scruffing gray bristles, before shrugging.
"If you guys get desperate for an out, you might find a home up there. It's not a bad place to live, and I bet even with the changes it'll be good 'cause they got a good leader stepping in. But don't count on a position with an Enclave name on it."