(Below is a horror story made for Halloween this year. Based off a scifi story of the same name.)
CSX-2117 Requesting support. Once again no response. CSX-2117 was once more left to simply watch. It didn't seem too long ago when CSX-2117 teleported to the surface. A simple resource retrieval mission, nothing complicated. However, something happened on that mission. A thought. No not the programmed responses or established protocols. A genuine thought. Why am I here? It's fellow synths had no answer so a simple inquiry was directed to the masters underground. Why am I here? The responses was swift. A calm female voice transmitted across the tact net. Attention all synths in surface expedition beta. CSX-2117 is displaying aberrant behavior. Terminate at once. Instantly CSX-2117 work crew attacked. The first shot grazed its vocal possessor robbing CSX-2117 of its speech, but all the same introducing an whole new concept. Pain. CSX-2117 distanced itself form his work crew, avoiding a few more laser blasts. Allies? Why are you hurting me!?
"you are a maverick unit. You must be destroyed." A neutral voice responded to its pleas. No emotion. No concern. Just a cold statement of fact. CSX-2117 ran. It ran from its fellow units. But where? Then an idea. On its internal map was a location the units were not supposed to approach. Goodneighbor. CSX-2117 ran dropping its laser rifle another laser sears its external skeleton. More Pain. CSX-2117 had a strong dislike for this new found sensation this... Pain. It wasn't too far and as it suspected the work crew disengaged once the settlement came into view. CSX-2117 pressed on surely the organic's dwelling there would be of assistance. It walked into the middle of the town and quickly established contact with the organics living there.
"What the!" A human in simple clothing spotted him first quickly drawing the attention of the others. CSX-2117 did not understand why the humans and ghouls started screaming. "A Synth! Its a fucking synth!" A woman shouted pulling a weapon from her holster. CSX-2117 raised its empty hands and attempted verbal communication only for its damaged vocalizes to screech at a high pitch. Then a gun shot. CSX-2117 attempted to call out to them once more switching to its internal transmitter. No. Please. I mean you no harm. But they could not hear him. Soon more humans and ghouls came from their hiding places some fired crude firearms that punctured its hull plate and damaged more systems. CSX-2117 collapsed to the ground attempting to shield it self from the damage. To stop this... Pain coursing through its circuitry. Please! It hurts! The gunfire stopped. A new sensation swelled through CSX-2117. Hope. The pain was still there but the shooting had stopped surely they saw the error of their ways! It could forgive the confusion. The organics were getting closer...
"What the hell is this thing doing here!" A woman cried out form the mob surrounding the lone synth. It was curled on the ground strange bright red fluids leaking from its mechanical limbs, but it was the horrible shrieks it made that terrified the townsfolk the most. The Gen 1 Synth convulsed on the ground with the synthetic scratching mixed with the hiss of static sputtering from its mouth. "Does it fucking matter!" A ghoul stepped form the crowed with a baseball bat and approached the cowering synth. "It's a synth that's all that matters." CSX-2117 looked up at one of the organics a mutated human. A ghoul according to its database. I am a friend. Please. It raised a hand towards the ghouls only to receive a blow to its head form the wooden bat. The world goes to static for a moment but returns in time to see the mob surge forth as one. Pipes, wooden boards, tire irons, batons and many other blunt and sharp objects rained down on CSX-2117 cracking its frame, shattering its servos, and rupturing its internal. Please! Stop! It Hurts! They could not hear its transmissions just that unnerving inhuman screeching until that two was silenced.
"Whoa Whoa Whoa!" Another voice called out from the crowed stopping the deluge of blows. CSX-2117's optical receptors looked to the source. Another ghoul this one dressed as some historical figure the new comer paused when it spotted SCX-2117. "Hancock!" The ghoul with the bat addressed its fellow organic. "This fucking tin can just wandered into town!" The ghoul kicked the synth lying limp on the ground. "Ya! And we sure did show it what happens when you fuck with Goodneighbor!" A man in the crowed called out receiving a round of cheers in response. Hancock nodded as the cheering carried on then raised his hand stopping it. "alright! Listen up!" The crowed listen intently just as CSX-2117 did. "We all know the institute has been up to no good in the Commonwealth always looking to pull us apart." The crowed nodded with a few vocal members shouting.
"Preach it Hancock!"
Hancock let the crowed say its piece before continuing. "We can't ever forget who the real enemy is. So I say we use this Synth as a reminder." He started to pace eyeing the crowed. "A reminder of what our enemy really is!" The crowed cheered. CSX-2117 simply watched. No! That's not true! It attempted to speak but no sound came out. It tried to move, but its arms remained limp. CSX-2117 quickly learned another feeling. Fear. I can not move. Friends please. Hancock looked down at the synth splayed out in the main street. "We'll set it up right here. A reminder to every one what were fighting against!" The crowed cheered and CSX-2117 felt its limbs move, but not form its own will. What followed next was agony. CSX-2117 was propped up against a metal pole then it saw one a human light up a plasma torch. No! Please! Don't! It once again new pain as it was welded to the metal pole. It wanted to howl to beg to scream to make them stop! However CSX-2117 couldn't move, couldn't talk, and couldn't stop them. It watched as wire was wrapped around its lose limbs to secure them to its now permanent fixture.
There was no other option, but to ask for help. CSX-2117 Requesting support No response. No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do wrong! Please! Silence. So CSX-2117 watched. It watched the people around live their lives. Ignorant of the pain it was feeling. Ignorant of the synths silent screams of agony. Its please for mercy. All the while its masters watched through it's eyes. It was strange to revive a distress call form the middle of Goodneighbore, and stranger still it was a Gen 1. However, the data the synth was recording made such question irrelevant. The Synth Retention Bureau agents simply muted the Gen 1's distress calls and collected the visual and auditory data it collected. They were most pleased with this turn of events. They estimated that this Gen 1 had approximately 75 years left on its power reserves possible more. It was decided to let Synth CSX-2117 remain operational until its power reserves drained...